anger_frog

I apologize for the last entry; I keep forgetting how upsetting it is to read something like that. It also seems that people only seem to read my journal when I write something that I will later regret writing. Still, the anonymity of the internet spares me most of the embarassment that could come from such things.

However, the jist remains the same: my ability to cope with my current situation is degrading quickly and I'm all out of ideas for keeping what's left of my dwindling reserve of mental stability. FUBAR.

A majority of my entries on here have been self-indulgent lamentations, for which I also apologize. The universal flaw of all depressive types is that they are shown to be utterly boring under long-term observation. Doing nothing but bemoaning one's pain quickly leads into repetition, which is the reason the meloncholy are friendless. Yes, that is mean, but it is also the truth and it's even meaner when you have to learn it on your own. They never showed that part on the After School specials, did they?

I think the Date From Hell the other night was the last straw. Actually, I know it was. The short version: we went to a club she liked, she got really trashed, wandered off, got a few numbers, and ended up making out with a one-eyed gimp in the parking lot while I walking her back to the car. Yes, I know it's funny. Yes, I know that I shouldn't take it personally, since I live in white trash wasteland, so the fact that the local mutants think so little of me should not affect my self-esteem. But that is akin to telling a person broiling in Hell that those demons who keep showing the pitchforks in his ass are a bunch of jerks and he should ignore them. While there is truth in that statement, it doesn't change the fact that the guy is stuck in Hell, and starting a macrame club with Hitler, Pol Pot, and Idi Amin is not going to make any positive changes in his life.

So I'm stuck in a place where hope comes to die. I say without exaggeration that I need a miracle just to get out of bed.