the first question, and i ask it over and over and over for the first few hours of each day of my miserable life, is : am i depressed? that is if the body has not been telling me how fucking godamn awful i feel but last night i slept more or less for 7 hours and there has been a tropical heatwave which australians would laugh at but i am not in australia and i don’t know if i am australian anymore. but now it’s cool and i open all the windows at 05:00. it smells of rain but there is none. not here. oh no. not yet anyway.
the second question is : do i want to kill myself? the newspapers and other media say depression is to do with the levels of serotonin in your brain … oh wait now they are saying that’s it’s not. it’s got nothing to do with it and it is in fact to do with … oh they don’t know but anyway even as we speak 8 million people in the uk still swallow their serotonin reuptake inhibitors and their … and now it’s the public’s fault, they think they are depressed because of their serotonin levels and so they demand these prescriptions and the poor old doctors well their hands are tied they can’t say no to the poor depressed people but when i say i want fentanyl for the pain they say oh no quickly enough because i might swallow them all at once and then there will be questions.
anyway i don’t want to kill myself today, at least not yet. i wouldn’t mind if i died through no fault of my own though that would be fine no one could blame me for that and i wouldn’t have to walk around as a ghost and haunt everyone even though i definitely would if i could, like my grandmother who believed in ghosts because she had seen one several times.
i say not yet because everything is always not yet, like the joke about the guy who had always wanted to go to andalusia and then when he got there he didn’t like it and someone asked him, but why? and he said, it’s the dogs you see.
but there are no dogs in andalusia. — yes but the might come.
am i crazy? not yet. but i am a lot crazier than before and as i have become crazier i have also become better at hiding it.
for example, i have 15 computers and ten of them look exactly the same. you could only tell the difference if you started them up and knew where to look and four of them are actually exactly the same except for their storage capacity.
but no computer is exactly the same as another because nothing is ever exactly the same as something else. it’s impossible. you could have four eleven inch macbooks air built in 2015 each with the same 2,2ghz Haswell processor and 8 gigabytes of ram and it just so happens that is exactly what i have. why, because it’s the best computer ever made, dollar for dollar, byte for byte, and gram for gram, this is in 2022 of course, and the most beautiful.
at some point apple decided these computers were too good and no one would ever need to buy another computer so they stopped making them.
my friends, the people that i live with, sort of, in a sort of community, are fickle, and sometimes, now, i find my-so-called-self all of sudden so completely bored shitless with their shallowness that i want to kill them … i mean myself.
als je nog een opmerking maakt over die kamperfoelie dan maak ik je dood, sorry, maar ik geef het vast aan opdat je dan weet waar je aan toe bent — of als je me voor de zoveelste keer gaat vertellen hoeveel weken het nog is voor je op vakantie gaat, dan maak ik je ook dood. ok? goed.
the problem is that i have lost the ability to be my-so-called-self because i don’t actually feel like i have or inhabit a self, there is no self there. there is just a collection of more or less random thoughts and habits and some things that seem to happen within this particular field of vision and hearing, but i am not connected to them.
if i do have any sense of a self it’s this hate, this utter contempt that i feel for the others, the people that i live with. and of course, and you can probably see this coming, i think/feel i can sense their hatred of me.
and now i want warm milk and a hot water bottle
my anger subsided. i’ve stopped muttering ‘stupid cunt’ under my breath at passers-by and thinking ‘you shallow fuck’ when someone is speaking. i still hate all people (except for one) and some dogs but that’s the fault of their people not the dogs themselves.
i realised there’s a lot wrong with me, much more than i’d ever cared to admit but i was brought up by someone whose motto was : never apologise and never admit that you’re wrong about anything especially to your children or child.
i love the world but that only makes me hate humans more more because they pay no attention to the world and the attention they do pay is so insufficient and shallow.
it is always about them they are always concerned their selves and with things that don’t matter in the slightest except to them
they fill the silence with noise and incessant talking about inane things
and they fill all the spaces with their things
and they make the stars invisible with all their unnecessary lights
it was impossible and although impossibilities were my speciality i always remember the sign on the desk of the administrative assistant at the university where i worked which said, the difficult i’ll do right now but the impossible will take a little while
never realised that is a song