Well hell, there’s a need to overdo it with painkillers and spiritual self-harm, till even the Grim Reaper knows I’m too far gone
I probably should’ve died, I had it coming, and I can’t deny I wanted it to come.
But things change? I bet you’ve heard that one before? Christ I’ve said it too many times before, let’s see if it sticks.
A loved one told me, ‘running’ helps with your depression. It made me realise I’ve been running my entire life from depression, I have no reason to run alongside it for 40 or so minutes everyday I thought. Truth be told being alone with my depressed mind on an isolated backroad, jogging, seeing a truck coming my way, in the heat of the moment I might have thrown myself in front of it.
you be the judge
Just from reading this post you’re judge, jury, executioner of my blog and my ‘personality’. Sometimes I’m fearful that the only reason I write this blog is knowing people read it. Sure the ‘talented’ self-confidence goes a long way, but it doesn’t go far enough.
Sometimes (in the vein of Mac Miller’s ‘I’m not real’, off the modern classic Watching movies With the Sound Off- I’m calling its classic stature) I feel like I’m not real. Seeing myself as a voyeur. I’m the guy everyone sees and wants to know but no one can ever truly get close enough. They think they know me, but they let them disappear from my life with the blink of my eye and loosening of my grip. Leaving them wondering if everything I ever said was the truth- if I was put in front of them today I couldn’t truly tell them if it was the truth.
Now that’s changed, and the four letter word, I’d long since given up on, hit me hard with a defibrillator and the shocks still echoing throughout my every moment, with an overwhelming bliss. It turns out someone can know me inside out, and hold my hand with warmth. I admit, I was wrong, love does exist (and I hate being wrong, the significant other would gleefully agree).
The bountiful social life, excessive drinking, the afternoon after vomiting in my bedroom bin, trying to piece together how I survived the night. It all seemed so nihilistically beautiful, the perfect way to spiral into oblivion. Amidst the obsessive notion of never trusting what I say when in altered states, all of it left me questioning my reality, sometimes I still do, for the briefest moments.
As for the title, well who doesn’t love Bojack? and the second part, well I’m on anti-depressants, and you know I relate to Bojack still and just as much.
Life rarely changes
Is that a positive or negative?
I want to let the past give me the answer, but it’s the present that is tugging at my heartstrings.