on the night of November 23

Tonight, I plan on getting as drunk as possible as possible./Let that be the first and the primary goal of the evening. /I’m so sick and tired and sick and tired./I’m depressed. I’m depressed. I’m depressed. I’m the sort of person who lets myself fall into the pit I see in front of me. It’s like watching a train wreck from the inside of the train. I just want to jump off, but I just feel like I can’t. Sometimes I’m seduced by the artistic, dramatic, theatrical, Romantic image of the Depressed Man. I want to be simplified and codified as a character in a story, to become something meaningful, something where my life is a metaphor. Doesn’t that just sound great.

But SNEER because I’m talking to one of my best friends and her father is dying of liver damage from his alcoholism. And I’m talking to another friend who cuts herself to feel something. And then I think to myself, you stupid fuck, how could you possibly give up on those gifts that you’ve been given. Then I think about Angelica Ross and her comments at the Trans Day of Remembrance, that I have this privilege that I can’t just hide behind. If I have this privilege, then it doesn’t matter that I care or think about people without the power that I have, that I have to live myself actively in a way that destroys the systems of oppression that I have taken/ partaken in. I have to take them down or I have not lived a life worth living. Does that make sense. I have this responsibility to change the world because I have been given gifts that allow me to do so.

I need to do more, I need to be more, I need to be more, I need to do more. I can’t be what I am, because this isn’t the world I want to live in.

If I want to live in this world, I need to pay the price, and that price is awareness. That awareness means that I have to change the world because I can’t stand to live in a world where all people like me would give in. I can’t stand to live in a world where all of the people with the gifts refused to helps those who did’t. I don’t care if that sounds patronizing. It is patronizing. I’m being a patron. But I also the opposite of patron. The patron gives to as to solidify their position within the power structure, I seek to erase myself from the power structure. I want to be sublimated. I want to be used. I want to become. I want to be a part. I want to give myself over. I want to belong.

Whoa, where did that last part come from. Do I want to belong? or do I want to stand out. Can I want to be both? Are they mutually exclusive? Is that a binary? If so, can I trouble it?

Whoa, I’m feeling a lot less depressed. I don’t feel quite as much like I want to hide in my bed for the rest of forever. That’s nice.

I worry that the wrong person is going to read this post someday. I both want and don’t want my own madness to affect my life. But also, unlike Schellhart’s advice, I refuse to hide a part of my identity because it might make other people uncomfortable. It’s me. I won’t be silenced. But I also want to be just another person, judged by my own merits, not by what other people think they might think about me. I think that makes sense.

I think the best thing I ever got out of therapy was, aside from medication and DBT, the idea of the twin hemispheres of my nature. It’s almost Confucian in theory, twin elements, both feeding off of and feeding into the other. I both want to be around people and want to be away from them. I want to be anonymous and famous. I want to be normal and extraordinary

I’m drunk on life. I’ll come back to this when I feel like it

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA. I’m so happy right now. I have the apartment to myself. I’m talking to people I like. I like the ability to become by online persona.

Well fuck, now I’m starting to question myself. Am I really who I thought I was? Do I have to become this person to be happy? Is this persona real? Or just another avenue of drug culture? But more than that, I’m afraid that at the end of the day, I will have made all of the effort to connect to the world and no one will have made any effort to connect with me and that means that no one really loves me. Is that possible? NO ITS NOT. People love me. I swear to god they do. Well fuck, hitz, then why do you feel constantly shitty? Why did you pick the easy major? Why aren’t you good enough? Why aren’t you attractive enough? Why are you so whiny? Why are you a drunk? Why are you a fucking loser with no real friends?

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