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10:29 a.m. - 2005-06-01
That and the fact that my penis is a lucky charm.
Yeah, I donít get it.

I saw an HBO special on suicide that my Tivo thought I might like. I didnít very much, to be honest. No real insight, just attempts to disturb and train wreck aftermath. No investigation as to what these people felt other than an interview with a very depressed and inarticulate recent attempt.

Plenty of confusion and anger from those left behind.

The only segment that seemed to be anything other than what would be expected was regarding the study of the brain of depressed people and particularly those who attempted or succeeded in committing suicide.

Simply put, way too many serotonin receptors in those of us who walk around with a cinder block in our chests. We were just born that way is all.

This shit isnít romantic. Itís fucked up. Iím taking the new miracle pill now that keeps those over abundant cells from being over active, but there is something else that isnít right either. Years of living with that over activity has affected the way I think, the way I view things, my susceptibility to being hurt, my ability to cope with adversity, to forget about things, let go of lost hopes and people and just fucking heal.

Iím not depressed right now. I came out of it. Again. I canít escape, though, the terror of feeling like I will fall back into it. Again.

No, Iím not running from the devil this morning, but that son of a bitch is still right here with me. Sometimes I can really feel it, like a living being, caressing me, flirting with me like a sexual predator who has me right where it wants me.

I vaguely remember reading, or knowing my degenerate ass seeing on T.V., the story of a kidnapper who had so brainwashed his victim he would send her home to her family and make her return to him. The way I imagine that false freedom seems so familiar to me. I can feel the sun on my face, but it is so far removed. I can see and listen to the waves crashing on the beach, but itís as if Iím viewing and hearing it through a motorcycle helmet. That indescribable return to childhood that used to come with falling in love feels as distant as childhood itself.

Love. Itís been like an abusive parent to me, so nurturing one moment and able to flip and beat me down with the look of murder in its eyes the next. Canít trust it. Because when I do is when I am most vulnerable to its wrath. So Iím trying not to laugh, or make noise, or even move. Just stay still. The less noticeable I am the safer Iíll be.

No...not quite free.

See what I mean? All this negative crap was not preinstalled in my frontal lobe when I was born, but the fucking defect that was has made me so feeble and weak I've developed this permanent twist in my mental spineÖ

In other news, Iím a professional gambler. I turned $6,100 into $11,700 during my 8-hour shift today. If all these idiots who play with me would just realize that it is math, not effin karma that decides what card is most likely to come out of the shoe next, they could make money too.

 

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