It stings like a wave of reason when your content being irrational.

When I feel like shit it runs through every extremity. It soakes into my bones, melts into my stomach and penetrates every one of my desires.

Although Im not quite sure I desire anything. I certainly have no desire to find my medication. I didnt take my tablet today and yes I can feel it. I know its in my closet somewhere. It must be. I dont want it. I hate that missing one single dose makes such a massive difference to how I feel. Its rather disempowering to say the least. Who needs God; who needs anything, ever when your life is at the mercy of a single pill. As if everything you need to be human doesnt matter cause if have that but not your pill your rendered totally fucked up anyway. It could be illicit drugs or could be ZOLOFT. We love pills.

Its a self -fulfilling prophecy isnt it - that Science thinks it can map our entire humanity. I guess it follows that if there is no empirical way of measuring our souls then they simply must not exist. Well Im convinced after today. Nobody has a soul if they are addicted to pills. The essence of your being becomes happy/sad, pleasure/unpleasure, your essence becomes the funtions of your neurotransmitters. My neurotransmitters grew they like a spastic fucking ghost-child when I started being scared to go to school everyday. Im not talking about being scared to die. Just being scared of being humiliated day in day out. I'd try to leave as late as possible knowing that the line out of Year 8s outside their classroom would yell "faggot" and "poofter" the second I made it onto the schoolyard. Why didn't I fucking well go up to them and tell to shit the fuck up. Take a pill and dont worry about that shit. Im too worried about my soul when I should have been more concerned with more my balls were at that pojnt in tim. I was a cock-head. I hate myself when Im weak. I dont like the sickly depression that fills me up and rolls me out until Im limp and flat and useless all over the couch. I dont like the anxiety that spreads along my bed and curdles and vomits into the empty space in my mobile phone inbox.

Let's call it MENTAL GASTRO - just for fun. Its important to have fun and be entertaining, even when you want to die. Im positive I'll still be seeking approval as Im taking my last gasps. Still wondering if my hair looks ok, about my undiscovered talents, if I can say something sufficiently witty and ironic. Im positive that if I couldnt think of anything funny to say, Id be happy to let life slide.

MENTAL GASTRO - except that I can only vomiy up irrational thoughts and misidentified needs I never would have guessed that I had. Im not sure if you need to cut yourself. That said Im not biologist, Im not David Attenborough so how the fuck would I no. Maybe, he would know what depression would look like if you could shit it out.

My guess is slimy, brown with a tinge of furious red. Its half-mouldy. Infected with bacteria from years past. Its half-rotted and you can see traces of your brain and your heart and life you wish you had. The person you wish you were.

Or perhaps it would be like a stupid, teenage boy with a narcissistic personality disorder, good hair and a small dick.

My piece of shit depression would never return my calls either. When I sit it would leave me starry-eyed as it sat told me about me about the worlds most uninteresting shit.

Too much TV means we think things are their surfaces. Its all visual. If it looks good it must be good. I blame Home and Away, I blame my Dad, I blame you.

And then suddenly you realise that the feeling of sickness becomes so familiar you dont want it to go. Its like it protects me from the awful truth. Cause, yknow, something tells me the world isnt this type of shit that I think it is. I do know it is some kind of shit, like as in ordinary and boring and average and forgettable. Maybe like some people see me. Something tells me that in some way one human doesnt really matter all that much to the next. Thats harsh. It is comfortable and poetic tho isnt it, to cool and depressed and think everything is horrible???

Im thinking of not taking my Zoloft for a week or two to see what happens. I know from today that Im dependant on it from now on. I feel a little twinge of excitements when I think about going back into the depths of despair when things become surreal and magnificently melodramatic. Its an adventure. You kind of feel alive. Like drug addicts say when they are coming down off drugs "its shit, but its better than reality". Oh yeah and dont yell at me and dont tell me what to do and give me lee-way cause im ill motherfuckers.

Not to mention all the things Ive failed at, all the people more talented than me, all the failed relationships - its all because Im sick. Ha ha ha. Its not because Im me. If you follow this line of thinking to the end suddenly your ACTUAL POTENTIAL seems limitless.

If only I wasnt a depressive I could achieve anything, right???

Ha ha ha ha.

Delusions are better than realising your just a person as plain and insignificant as the next.

Unless, of course your the guy im messaging in which case you must be fucking amazing. You must be the boy I never was and the boy I never had. How can be so wonderful and tell me the same and ignore my messages for the next week???

Is it because Im a person, as plain and insignificant as the next??

Perhaps Im as plain and unsatisfying as that shit fucking Sunblest White Bread my arsehole Dad buys. I blame his bad choices in bread for my hypoglycemia.

Im writing generally and Im thinking in particuluars. I know who Im talking about. Ive had his number again for nearly week. I deleted for a reason and yet you will always find a way of getting THAT number again. Something keeps pulling me back.

The pain and hurt I think Im feeling now for no reason gets morphed entirely into a need to be loved by some young think. Today, I got close to calling him. I dont think his ever answered one of my calls. I picked up the phone to call him again. My parents pulled in the drive away. I was breathed a sigh of relief. They had spared me from heartbreak for today. Still, I want to grab him and smother him and tell him I love him. Oh and then put him on my knee and fuck him senseless.

He's a dumb little shit who I barely even know and what I do know I cant even stand. Get the fuck over it.

*

I found a prescription on the floor. I was hoping it would be a Zoloft prescription. It was for Viagra. I can blame the drugs, the truth is Ive always had erection problems. The prescription reads "take one tablet when directed by the Doctor". The thought of some slimey Doctor telling me how to have sex doesnt help my cause. Golly gosh Science can even give you stiffies now. One pill, another pill, instant happy. Limp Dick. Lets feel human together. You limp dick shit my didnt u tell those people at school to fuck off and stop calling you a faggot or you would cut their fucking throats. Would I do that now? Or would I save that threat for the next hairdresser queen who refuses my calls???

*

Morning after the depression I find my tablets.

This morning I weighed myself Ive been as high as 78 and as low as 59 just in the past 18 months.

Today the scales read 66.6 Kilos.

The mark of the beast. Lol.

Beast, hey? What is an opposite to soul. The type of creatures that like to eat and love and kill and sometimes, it would, to kill ourselves.

Just as God and nature intended???

Just as I cant possibly breed??

The 66.6 moment reminded me instantly of a dream I had about a month or so ago. I was sleeping on heroin. Apparently, it gives u nightmares. I dreamt that I was outside my parents house, nobody was home and it was pitch-black night. It was as if some terrible fate was hiding in the bushes for me, waiting for its moment to pounce.

A lecturer from my Uni came up to me. She was freaky, with her little reptilian face and designer-dyed multi-coloured hair....she whispered.

"Do you remember the night the devil was here"

She stared at me, I wanted to cry.

I woke-up with the feeling of a primal fear running through my veins. I told my friend about the dream. I sat there and thought about that dark, winter night that I sat in the car outside my parents house with a hose running from the exhaust pipe to the car window. Id got out a tee-towel to stick in the window as well. I sat there for 20 minutes egging myself to turn the engine on. I never did. Instead I went inside, smoked a bong and cut myself while staring at the mirror.

Maybe suicide is all part of the side of ourselves that the simple minded can only call "the devil". Maybe it is evil.

It is our dark side - where violence, hatred and death seem terrible, necessary and strangely illuminating all at the same time.