"I've got nobody on my side, and surely that ain't right. "

How can it feel, this wrong?

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    Usually, I write when I am depressed. That's why most of the content on my page is unhappy. I don't mean it to be, it's just that whenever I am happy, I do cool, mellow or happy things. Or absolutely nothing. Passiveness while in depression is a bad thing, because it leads you to over think everything and do stupid things... Like jump out of a window for instance, or off a bridge, or unto oncoming traffic. No, I'm just kidding... Sort of.   

   So what do I think? I think it's time we look at the truth. I have a very cynical, unhappy view on life most of the time. "Everyone hates me, the world sucks..." However, when I am happy, I am HAPPY. I mean, you should see me, I giggle and don't stop, I am friendly to bus drivers, and I give my seat to old people. But who am I?

The Many Me...

 The dark side of the moon... Barbie and her lot: 

I think this dilemma comes from the fucked up society we live in. Probably encouraged in part by our parents' dreams and expectations of us (usually for us to do as well as they did, or to do what they couldn't or failed at, And this is assuming your parents care, for caring parents can be as bad as uncaring parents.), and our role models from TV, movies and toys. Fact in point: Guys grow up with G.I. JOE, girls grow up with Barbie. The slim-waist, large-breasted perfect blond who gets to be everything and have everything like the Barbie mansion, the Barbie corvette convertible (in pink no less) and all the wonders of the materialistic shallow world. And we wonder why so many girls only think of shoe shopping! When I was young, sure I played with Barbie-dolls, but it's probably thanks to my brother, who turned every play into something terrible (like that time Ken was run over by drunk Barbie in her pink convertible, and their children were taken away because Barbie was in jail for killing her husband (which is ok, cuz he was cheating on her with that brunette) which probably kept me sane. So yeah, maybe there IS something wrong with me, but I proudly admit I stand above the shallow sheepish masses. Or I like to pretend so at least...

    Why ask you? Well, I look at it this way: "God, look at those shallow girls. Rich little princesses!!" doesn't make me any better than the "God, look at that weirdo all dressed in black! Who does she think she is? A vampire?" And no, I do not dress in black. I'm more of a blue-gray kind of person. It's just that it puts us kind of at even ground. Although I am proud to say, I was more intelligent than to think that Germany won World War 2 ( and trust me, it's sad when in your grade 11 history class, 4 or 5 16 year old girls (brave enough to admit their ignorance- imagine all those that didn't.) In a class of thirty or so. Enough to almost give out poor history teacher a heart attack) are fully unaware that we do not indeed live under a Nazi reign.)  Oh my, the humanity! I must admit that a good 85% of my high school were of that crowd (male and female alike, jocks and bimbos... But again, I judge them). Judge not, lest he himself be judged...

   Through the looking glass... Me, myself and I:

So I said, this would be about me. Who I was, am, will be. But I don't know. I don't know what I want to do with my life. I wanted to be a cop, but after my entire family (save for my brother who saw this as an opportunity to advance in a world of crime (just kidding)) crushed my hopes and dreams, I gave up. "Why? If it's something you really wanted to do, you should have just stuck to it!" Well, no. I wanted to be a cop since I was a kid, but it was one of those romanticized American movie things where I get to go around and be a hero, without getting in trouble for not listening to my superiors, I never get shot (Not seriously anyway, except maybe for one life-changing dramatic moment with a near death experience which involves either the love of my life, or the best partner I ever had (probably a dog of some kind who saved my life...), I always get the bad guy, except maybe for my arch-nemesis (and if this was an erotic thriller, we'd have a strange Clairice-Hannibal relationship (except maybe without cannibalism) who would hate-love me and get in trouble to then come to my rescue. Well excuse me to burst my own bubble but I don't live in the magical land of Hollywood. That's what role playing is for.

Now see, I don't like the idea of sharing this, but no one reads my page anyway so it's ok (other than this awfully funny sarcastic rant is going to waste!) I always wanted to be a hero of some kind. Not a hero as in heroic, but more as the main character of a fantasy story. Think of it this way, I don't want to be superman, I want to be that guy (or girl) who doesn't really get powers, but he/she is the person with the destiny that will forever change the world (despite the fact we KNOW no one notices) Ugh! Now I am at the part where I choose what I want to do and move on with the rest of my life, but instead I hang in limbo, frozen in indecisions. "It doesn't matter, you can change your mind!" But this is the rest of my life we are talking about! Sure, I know where I want to get to, but it's how to get there that I worry about. 

I want a Japanese looking house, with a Zen garden in the middle, so I can practice that strange Kung Fu I learned, dogs, (for sure) and maybe 1 cat. Kids perhaps. I want a job, for I refuse to be a house-wife. 

I thought that maybe if I did martial arts, I would learn discipline, but in the world of the mass produced, quality is lost, and I didn't even have enough self-discipline to show up to my classes... Shame on me.      

Two way mirror... A Lion in the streets 

That's it, she lost it! no, I am as sane as I was... I lost track of all the things I wanted to say. Because the last thing I thought about was why was the world so cruel that everyone hated me... And do we love by need to feel loved, feelings of duty, habit or through love itself? I picture the world in the future to be an aweful hybrid. Not it's not a spelling mistake. Awful, AWE-ful (for the less witty :) A mix of Techno-classic-opera-metal. Yes, the music. Music speaks... Music shows you things through imagination. What do you picture when I say these words? A Victorian church with steel benches and bullet proof tinted stained-glass windows, High steel sky-scrapers with marble gargoyles perched and looking below into the abyss of misplaced technology, metal and flesh... ? I picture a dreamy place made of our nightmares. My nightmares anyway...

Strange Reflections... the irony of it all

You ever wonder why there are so many suicides? Surely, a sane person doesn't simply go home one day and decides to "snuff it", for no real reason whatsoever. Ok, apart from maybe you lost your job and gambled the rest of your money away, you go home and do it, but I'm thinking more long term. Like don't your friends and family members notice? Do you not become increasingly depressed or restless until you just can't take it anymore one day? When the thoughts of doing it turn into plans of doing it? Surely, if someone cares they would notice something is wrong? Unless you're killing yourself because no one knows you're alive... But I digress again. I have a theory...

It's that: sure, people know you're depressed, but as you have been depressed for some time, and it gets increasingly more difficult to make you laugh, or make you smile, or distract you generally, the people who care about you, who call themselves your friends, your family, become weary of being your clowns, your entertainers... And they leave you to your own devices more and more often. Ironically, this sort of isolation gives you more time to yourself, more depressing moments when you have to face whatever "truth" is haunting you... And that's what leads to actual suicide. "What difference will it make, they won't know I'm gone anyway..." and your friends will say, after they hear about it: "Oh my god, I never saw it coming! Why didn't he/she talk to me? I would have helped." But the truth is, they did try to talk, and sure, their friends and family members listened at first, then dismissed them with "I don't have time to listen to your shit" or "God, you're so overdramatic, calm down. It's not the end of the world."

But I assume a person willing to commit suicide is far from balanced, or reasonable enough to think: "hey, maybe I am overreacting." I bet they don't even know why they are upset... The probably feel left out, rejected, confused, powerless and lost, without being capable of expressing what bothers them, annoying those that "care" with, "no, I am ok.. I just.. don't feel so well". So who's fault is it in the end? Those that couldn't reach out, or those that end up pushing a friend in need away?