Am I Needy?

According to an online dictionary, to be needy is classed as “needing emotional support; insecure.” I suppose to figure this out I’d have to ask myself whether I’m insecure. The answer is of course a resounding yes. Am I needing emotional support? I guess I am. Does that really make me needy though?

I’ve felt pretty depressed today. I feel alone. Apparently I don’t matter; this, according to what is very likely my depression brought on by both recent events and my shiny new older age, in much contrast to yesterday’s more positive entry.

When my, I guess you could say ex—to whom I’m still strongly connected and with whom there may still be some hope for the future—hung up on Skype to go hang out with her fairly new female friend again, I felt sadness. According to my brain, she’s pushing me out, I’m in the way, and she doesn’t care about me anymore. It’s a really saddening thought process I’m having about those close to me that I can’t shift lately.

So, I went online to seek some sort of comfort with other people like myself who have problems, and got talking to some friendly familiar faces. I felt a little better, but still I was missing something.

When I called my dad, we chatted for a while, I tried to say I wasn’t feeling good, but it didn’t really come out well, because I’m not good at verbally saying these things. We brushed on a serious topic or two, joked about silly crap, then he had to go do stuff, so that was that. I felt alone again, like I’m not important; I don’t matter; I’m worthless.

Maybe that makes me needy?

I’ve never particularly thought of myself as a needy person. If anything, I have the opposite problem sometimes, in that I often want to isolate myself, whether for good or bad.

I feel like I’ve failed everyone. I’ve failed society, I’ve failed my parents, I’ve failed my friends, I’ve failed those with whom I’ve been romantically involved, and for sure I’ve failed myself a number of times.

I know this is just depression, or at least I hope that’s all it is. Still, it doesn’t change how I think and feel, because ultimately, I have let people down a number of times. I have failed. The sad thing is I will continue to fail, because that’s just what happens in life.

At the end of the day, all I can do is hope the successes will outweigh my failures.

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Independent Living #5

Have a bad dream? Too damn bad. You’re alone now. Oh, what’s that, you don’t feel well? Tough titties. Granted, this isn’t so much about independence as it is going solo.

I’ve been depressed lately, which I suppose is to be expected when you disconnect from someone you’ve spent half a year getting very close to. I don’t think it’s just that, either. I’m alone. I never fully appreciated that I’m alone, because I had her, but everything seemed to have changed in a blink of an eye. Now I have to figure this out.

Likely as a coping mechanism, I seem to have taken to my old habit of overdoing the resistance workouts. My neck and shoulders are pretty achy, especially the left of my neck which is very stiff. I put some Deep Heat on it this morning, so hopefully that’ll help.

No pain, no gain, … right?

A bit over 2 years ago, I started really working out again, on a mission to lose weight depression put on, and to gain more muscle mass than I ever did is a young lad. I lost the weight and gained a fair bit of mass for someone who was once such a lanky git. Unfortunately, I realised I had crap form for some of the exercises I was doing, but I realised it too late.

I did something to my neck which essentially makes it uncomfortable and stiff. I think it comes down to inadvertently working muscles probably best left alone. It surely doesn’t help that I have anxiety issues, so I already have a problem there as it is!

It mainly started around the time I got the pullup bar. I would thrust my neck forward as I pulled (or ‘chinned’) myself up, not realising it was damaging my neck each and every time. An amateur mistake. My own stupid fault. You don’t think about these things much when you’re so obsessed with improving your own body.

I’m still endeavoring to lose more body fat as I want to get lean, but I don’t look too bad, at least in my eyes. Sometimes I hate looking at myself, feeling as though I look like crap; weak, ugly, and overweight. Other times I look at myself and think I actually look okay, maybe even pretty good.

How do I keep my bad habits in check, if the only person to prevent them is me?

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We’re Not Quite Alone

There’s nothing worse than feeling alone and actually being so, be it generally or romantically.

An agonizingly slow melt in some molten lava right before the gasses rise and essentially cause parts of your body to explode until you’re entirely submerged under the 1,000+ celsius sludge could be worse, but then I suppose it depends just how much you hate being alone!

To all you single Pringles: you may not have a warm body next to you at night, with two ears to listen to your woes, and lips to kiss away your pain, but across the interwebs, through the phone lines, and over the seas, rivers, and oceans are people who may just think about you and care about you more than you realise.

It may be cliché, but we’re in this together.

Are you depressed? According to the World Health Organization, apparently “an estimated 350 million people of all ages suffer with depression,” worldwide, so the next time you think you’re the only one going through the pain you have, think again.

There are many mental health disorders and I think you’ll find that you’re not the only one. There are almost 7.4 billion people living on this planet, so the chances of there being people like you aren’t quite as low as you may sometimes think.

There are many organisations dedicated to helping people who suffer, whether you’re homeless, starving, a vulnerable child, struggling with old age, suffering with mental health problems, or just need someone to talk to. There are people out there who care.

I know what you’re thinking: you may still be physically alone, and yes, that could well be true for you as it at least romantically is for me, but until that changes, it’s worth keeping in mind that we’re not quite as alone as you may think.

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Dear Extraterrestrials

I’m having a rather interesting evening sucking up all sorts of information via the interwebs. A thought occurred to me: what would I say to alien life should they come a-knockin’?

I’m probably going to sound like my deck has been replaced with soggy toilet paper shoved into a pack that once housed cards, but I have always wanted to be taken away.

There have been occasions in my life when I’ve looked up at the night sky full of undiscovered mystery, and then damn near begged the sky for someone to show me something more; something better. At first it was God, but as I got older, it became the stars; them.

Let’s assume these remarkable beings are not inherently aggressive, and are a lot like humans, but of course still completely alien. Let’s also assume these outlanders speak English, or are at least so massively smart that they can grasp such a language with ease.

“Hey there, martian. What brings you to my planet?”

I want to tell them we can be awe-inspiring; the compassion we can have for one another. At the same time, I rather desire to show them the bad side to humanity; the gluttony, the abhorrence, and the jealousy; to show them our blemishes in the hope that perhaps they have the answer, or at least some helpful wisdom.

I want to tell these sentient life forms that, together, we have felt deeply alone for such a long time. How many of us can be surrounded by others like us, yet still feel unheard, unseen, unappreciated, and even unloved.

I need to show them our strength, courage, and persistence. How one single person can fight tooth and nail for those he or she holds dear. How just one human being can stand tall for what it believes to be true and just. How one couple, despite all odds, can make their union work; to show the world that they will not be defeated.

I long for them to show me what exists out there. Who are they? Where are they from? What is their planet like? I want to learn from them and communicate with them. The possibilities are endless.

I don’t ask for much, do I?

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What if we’re smaller than we think?

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been interested in space. I’m no astronaut, I’m no astrology nerd. I’ve never really had the opportunity to pursue such an interest, and to what end anyway? It’s not like I’m going to solve any giant mysteries. All I can do is what we can all do, and that’s wonder.

One freaky idea that crossed my mind tonight, is this: what if we’re all just a tiny part of something much, much bigger? Turns out this question has already been asked and scientist are apparently already considering it—typical.

Basically—not that anything about space is basic—what if the universe (and not just the observable universe) were just some microscopic spec on the back of an unthinkably big creature on an unimaginably big world? What if galaxies, suns, and planets were simply hilariously small parts of a far, far bigger world? Maybe there are beings out there looking through telescopes of their own, watching our planets, or even just our galaxies, and wondering what we are, how we work, and how we pertain to their existence, just as we look through our adorable little telescopes to understand our puny, insignificant selves. I’d really like to see a movie that puts this idea into something visual. They say the universe is infinite and is ever-expanding, but what if this growth is merely the growth of alien skin on an animal?

I wish I had more knowledge of space and time so I could better wrap my head around it all. As it stands, I feel like I’m just a kid asking his parents silly, annoying questions. When you possess knowledge about something, you start to ask the right questions, otherwise you just fumble around in the dark. Where’s that light switch?

How can space be infinite anyway? I can’t get my head around that, naturally. I doubt many people look at that and are like “yeah, that totally makes sense—duh.” I can’t help but to think the universe is finite, but I guess that’s just because I refuse to believe something can truly be infinite, unless we’re talking mathematics. The scary thing is, if the universe isn’t infinite, then what else is there, …nothingness? It just doesn’t compute in my mind. Think you’re alone? Damn, imagine being stuck in the emptiness of the non-universe, assuming that’s counted as the universe, but then that raises the question of whether that empty void is itself infinite or not! I’m fairly sure that the one thing which truly is infinite, is our ability to question, seek, and wonder.

Next time your problems get too much for you, look up and consider the bigger picture. We’re just 1 tiny person on 1 large planet in 1 giant galaxy that hosts an estimated minimum of 100 billion planets. Do you think they’re lonely?

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Women don’t want a man with mental health problems, right?

It’s 1:23am, I’m tired, and I’m on my own. Don’t get me wrong, there’s some great sides to being single, at least there would be were I not plagued by stupid mental health bullcrap that has no business being in my head.

I’m a guy. I like women. I wanna be out there exploring, or, better yet, exploring with one woman who is my own—totally not in a creepy possessive way—rather than feeling imprisoned inside my own head, and most of the time stuck indoors, typically with sod all to do except the same damn two things I’ve been doing for years, ever since I were a lad: guitar and computer.

OK, OK… so it’s not all bad. I can teach myself German, connect with people across the globe, get advice about obscure or embarrassing things, and totally not occasionally peruse certain dopamine-releasing websites.

I’ve started this suggesting it’s about the physical stuff. Sure, I miss the physical stuff. But it’s not just that sort of stuff that I miss, it’s the closeness, the passion, the love; all that gooey stuff women go mental over in bloody, terrifying horror romantic movies, like Ghost and Dirty Dancing, both of which I’ve willingly actually seen, as in, without a gun to my head.

No, what I’m talking about is primarily the companionship; the kind of nearness you can’t get from another bloke, unless of course you’re wired that way, which I’m firmly not. I’ve been single for a few years now, but I do remember quite clearly how great it feels to have someone there. I miss the feeling of hope, strength, and purpose.

But I’m “disabled.” I don’t work as a result, and have no idea when or perhaps even if that’s going to be a proper thing that I can realistically, consistently actually do. I’ve never had an official job, only cash-in-hand type jobs that I somehow was able to do some millenia ago, oh and volunteer work a couple of years ago, which sadly did not last too long.

My point? I think it’s common for a man to measure his worth based on how much money he makes, so what happens when a man makes no money but instead relies on the income luckily provided to him by his government? How much am I worth, now? A woman wants security. Money offers security. Sure, I can clobber some robber’s head with an assortment of workout equipment, or just go it alone with lefty and righty, but I can’t go around beating up the council when they demand rent, or my ISP, when they decide they want their money; apparently it’s illegal.

I’m told it doesn’t matter how much money a man makes, but the older I get, the more I feel it truly does matter. A woman doesn’t want to provide for the man, and fair play to them—I get it—but what happens to someone like me? I suppose I should be grateful that I do have money, and I wouldn’t say I’m poor either, but none-the-less, I do not have a job, and my income is only through benefits, therefore, my desirability seems to sink to the deepest depths of something really deep.

I know there are situations in which two people might find each other and see past all this bullshit, but I find this a rare occurrence, particularly for the man. For some reason, it seems OK for the woman to be disabled by mental health problems, but the man gets overlooked. I’m sure I’m entirely wrong but this is an assumption based on an observation of the many single males with mental health issues, and the many taken women with mental health issues. I apologise for my pessimistic side looming over me, tonight.

Is this all in my head?

Truthfully, there are so, so many reasons why mental health problems are, well, a problem for relationships. There is, however, that one woman out there who gets it. That one woman is patient, understanding, and perhaps even has a little experience of such problems herself. That one woman still would love me for me, despite my downfalls that I never fucking asked for.

I did not ask to be disabled by this crap. This was not my choice. I have worked bloody hard to make the best of what I have, as little as that might seem to a normal person.

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The Toll is Being Taken

It feels like I’m doing nowt, but in my lame defense, I do lots on my computer, such as dealing with this blog, studying up or practicing my German, games for fun, reading guitar tablature, watching stuff on YT as though it were a TV, and so on! But it’s just not outside, it’s not ‘proper’ social stuff, and it’s not exercise which is giving me a case of cabin fever. I’m sick of being stuck indoors most of the time, and I’m worried about the potential side effects of being so, both mental and physical.

I’m off to my dad’s in about 10-15 minutes as he rang me up offering one of my favorite home-cooked meals: mince ‘n’ tatties. That’s mince and potatoes, to you lot who aren’t familiar with the Scottish lingo.

I’ve had a lot of stuff roaming around my skull lately. I’ve been feeling empty and alone. I miss having someone. I hate that the idea of having someone freaks me out. The idea of the stresses that “having someone” brings is equally stressful.

I discovered I’ve put on weight, despite not looking as bad as I had thought, and even thought I’d lost some body fat. I had hoped that meant I’ve just put on muscle, which I suppose I may well have done, but I’ve also gained body fat which is pissing me off. It’s my own fault, really. All the crap with moving here through some of my best laid routines outta whack and I’ve just really struggled to get back into the game, as it were. I’m not eating all that badly, really. In-fact, I’m not sure why I’m gaining given how little I eat. I assume it’s the lack of exercise. There’s so much to the subject of fitness that I could be here for ages trying to figure out what it is or isn’t, but the fact remains that I need to sort my shit out.

I’m Just so frustrated and pissed off with myself. I worked so hard to lose so much weight and to gain muscle, but if I carry on feeling so defeated and keep lacking willpower, I’m going to end up back at square #1 and that scares the crap out of me, because I felt completely and utterly rubbish the way I was; I just gave up.

With my mental health crap, things always go up and down. I’ve been ‘strong’ for a while, blasting through some tough challenges, and I guess I’m just going through a down phase. I’m not a manic-depressive, but it’s a similar idea, just not so exaggerated as I assume it is with a manic-depressive, or Bipolar Disorder as I think they call it now.

I got offered to join in on another interview for potential support worker staff. I’m anxious about it, whereas I was a hit last time and apparently very good at it. I’m wanting to go, minus the usual anxiety making me apprehensive, but I’m also concerned that my sleeping pattern is going to get in the way as usual. I was doing very well with my sleep, but lately it’s gone bad, thanks in part to the idiot upstairs, my stupid OCD, and well that’s about it.

I haven’t posted too much in a diary fashion, about personal stuff that goes through my head and/or heart, but I’m going to try to do that more, on the off-chance it’ll be insightful or interesting to you, plus it might help me gather my thoughts.

Off I go to get ready for an awesome munch.

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