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  1. I've gotten another opportunity yet again, to introduce myself back into society; I have a job opportunity. It involves hard work. I'll be socializing with what I like to think of as "bullies", in a mental sense. I just need to keep my mouth shut, and do he job, then leave without any problems. I'm still struggling with my intense fear that I have had a stroke from the series of epic events that have occured in the past 5 years, my severe depression, and mental illness. I don't believe in any god, but I pray every day that I don't have one, and that the pain in my head (that has been checked out by an MRI, mind you), is purely from the anxiety I experience on a day-to-day basis from it. I need this job, I need to have my own space. I need the affection of a woman...Last weekend, I went to a bar, and drank alcohol, which was a terrible mistake for me, but I ended up standing my date up, even after we were making out, because I realized that I shouldn't be at a bar right now, someone without any social standing outside of his few friends shouldn't be masquarading as someone worthy of weekend public social interaction, and I hated everyone there. I'm going back to the source (possibly), I hope that I can handle it this time...
  2. I'm going to look into it at the start of the day tomorrow. I haven't had good experiences with a psychiatrist, so I'm going to look into possibly look into a psychologist. Venting about it actually helps a lot.
  3. My experience is to push yourself, but also know your limits. It goes without saying for everything, but some people forget that they aren't perfect. It's taking me a while to realize this myself, and things takea long time to change. Myself, I want them to change in a day, and I feel I put in the effort to make them change.
  4. I'm not sure if it even pertains to what depression is, I get a lot of symptoms that are common with depression, such as fatigue, headaches, etc, but the thing is, If I wasn't angry, I don't think I'd be depressed. My anger stems from broken social connections with people, or being disheartened with people not wanting to interact with me, but it also stems from me being disappointed with a lot of people in my life (including myself). I don't know how to get out of the rut, I exercise everyday, and it feels good for a while, but I feel like all of my work towards that isn't filling the void in my life that is human interaction. I guess my problem with people is, is that I can find a flaw in someone that disgusts me with them, to the point that I'd rather be alone, angry and depressed, than fake liking them. It seems that when I try to make the best out of compramised relationships, the past always destroys whatever progress I think has been made. I'm kind of at a loss of what to do.
  5. I'm none of these people. Hell, I may not even be like them. I try to be artistic, cutting edge. The result is usually less-than. I've idolized these people my whole life, for their revolutionary ideas towards art and life. Their insatiable pursuit of knowledge, passion, and expression. In my heart though, I believe that the universe had spared me what Kurt Kobain considered his reason for existence, and any fan knows the famous quote made famous by Neil Young, and recited by Kurt himself, "it's better to burn out, than to fade away." In my heart, I believe I was destined for a slow fade. Growing up, I was the chubby, funny kid. Who used comedy to deflect my own self-hatred, and the hatred given to me by other people. I also had a very serious, very violent side to me; that I cannot give any real evironmental reason for having. I remember as a child, having a crush on a girl by the name of Gloria, in 1st grade. During recess, Gloria was playing with another boy, his name was Kyle. He was a more popular child from school, he was the prototypical blonde haired, blue eyed kid. It had infuriated me that she paid him attention, but me none; so with both hands, I grasped his blonde hair, and proceeded to whip him around by it, throwing him to the ground. Gloria was quite disturbed by this, and rushed to him to comfort him, which in my mind, understood that even though I dominated him as a young boy, it wasn't enough for her to see that I was the more powerful. This way of rationalizing, is primal, instinctive. None of which a nomal-thinking six year-old boy should be thinking about, or much less, acting on. Memories like these, plague my mind on a day-to-day basis. The harsh reality of life as a human is something I'm always thinking about. The constant struggle to assert power, and dominate others. Something that facsinates me, even if what I believe the motivation, is what I consider to be an obsolete tool used by humanity to propigate it's own species. I'm sharing this anonymously, because I cannot share these thoughts with even my closest friends. My closest friends, feel as far away to me as the Earth does to Sun. They've seen me at my worst, and abandoned me. While driving, I was having a conversation one night about what friendship is, mind you, he was high as a kite, and drunk as a skunk. He told me, "...friendship is a symbiotic relationship...". In his belief, friendship would be a lot like the relationship between a bird and a Rinoceros, or any larger, less mobile animal. In return for protection from larger predators, the birds are allowed (really, the Rino can do nothing about it really) to eat parasitic organisms off of the Rinoceros's back, and get a free ride. This shocked me actually, because in my mind, the friend that just explained that what he thought friendship was like, was an overall optimistic, good-natured guy, telling me something Charles Darwin would have trouble stomaching, having to evaluate his own friendships towards people. I for one, don't think of friendship that way, at least consciously. Then again, I've never given it much thought. The segue to this instance being, I was being an emotional parasite to my friends. Sapping them of willingness to cooperate with me, because I was endangering them to be revealed as pot users, and I also put them in a comprimising situation with them and the police, that could have landed my friends with drug charges, even if it wasn't my intention. Cannibus has never been good to me. It's debatable whether it's the pot, or if it's just me. Well, isn't it always just you? If someone overdoses on heroin, no one ever blames the heroin, right? (and I'm sorry for being insensitive to those users who have actually overdosed on heroin). They blame the person, but the reality is, the heroin actually depresses the nervous system. Cannibus hasn't been shown to have any effect on the nervous system. To my knowledge, humans have no cannabanoid receptors in the part of the brain that controls the nervous system. I can't blame the pot, I can only blame myself, right? The brownie had about 2 grams, give or take. It was delicious, aromatic. I love the smell of cooked marijuana. The thought of thought had crept into my mind again. Taking me to a paranoid place. Stillness is death in my baked mind, the Matrix is real, and another bad trip is happening. "It's you, not the weed". Keep yourself occupied. I ask myself, "why?". My mind races, it's getting harder to block out the thoughts, the master computer is on to me. Agents are coming, in the form of police officers, my heart races 911 beats per second, I can't control it. Unplugged. Death is coming. They arrive, guns strapped to their sides, my friends rush to hide. Their weed, it's me. Poeticly paranoid. What? What? Paranoia is what? I've heard many things, it's a "heightened state of awareness". Is awareness objective? Can a homeless man be aware of his state, can he be aware of the lifestyle of the man whos change he takes? It doesn't matter now, they've got me, I've confessed, "I ate some pot brownies", I didn't say that. "But you just said that you did". It's the day after Christmas, we're not looking for trouble, but the way he's acting, I've never seen someone on weed act like that. Pumping me full of drugs to disillusion my brain, "he's a strong one" I remember, all clear as window on the albulance, outlooking the night sky, it's just a bump in the road. Oh boy am I high. My heart is racing, death is near. I'm being taken to be plugged back in, to the system, to aleviate my fear. So many questions, plague my mind, will they let me survive, with the knowledge I've got inside? Paranoia, will eat you alive. The scariest part, the beeping of machines, to the thought of my thoughts, telling me to stop. Recognizable faces, from the past, in different roles, like struggling actors. I think I know you. DON'T LIE TO ME, I KNOW YOU! I'VE SEEN YOU BEFORE! I'VE SEEN ALL OF YOU BEFORE! We're all connected, the security guard, looks at me when I look at him. I look away, how does he know to look at me, when I look at him? Why are these machines beeping when I have these thoughts? When I'm by myself, I'll get unplugged. I'm finally released from the hospital, the nurse wanted me out of my room. They pumped me full of drugs I didn't want. Probably to sedate me. I don't know what they were. This is my final experience using cannibus. Getting a little high, gives me so much paranoia that the machines will unplug me because they know how it effects my state of being. This is not rational thinking. This is possible. I don't know how much longer I can deal with the amount of anxiety I have on a daily basis. It started about five years ago, what I've read other users experience as a break down. Where one has a moment of enlightenment, followed by the harsh realization of one's own flawed self. The nervous system kicks in, but weed doesn't stimulate the nervous system by default. It's me. Anyways, back to the story. 5 years ago, had a real breakdown, where I was suicidal. I got high with some friends, and we all went out to a bar. When high, I am extremely paranoid (if you haven't guessed from reading the crazy hands-on experience I've described in that non-sensical paragraph about 6 or 7 lines up), and them screaming in the back of my car made it extremely worse. They wouldn't just shut up, and let me concentrate on drivng. I guess I hate bars, at least being high, I hated bars. I also hated my friends, well you know what. I guess I hated me. I hated the guys playing pool at the bar, ignoring their girlfriends, almost like they were more into each other, than their girlfriends. I hated the way alcohol made me feel. Back to their house, hate, hate, hate..."Oh crap, I think I'm going to die". Not a good night. 5 years, CT scan, Stress test, Cardiogram, scan, whatever. You're fine! I don't feel fine... - I Hope you can give me a warm welcome, I may be here a while.
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