Is it strange to say that I enjoyed myself last night... and that enjoyment has me incredibly depressed right now?
I drank. Got drunk. Nothing bad came of it. Did drive home drunk and crash or hit someone. Didn't embarrass myself by throwing up all over the place. Didn't even get a hangover (though I would have taken that over all these bites I got).
But... I enjoyed myself because of the alcohol. My coworkers there (it was a party for my boss's birthday) enjoyed talking to me... hanging with me... joking with me...
...because of the alcohol. One of them said how alcohol brings out the real me. Fun. Smiling. Laughing. Social.
...but that isn't the real me. It is the intoxicated me. They don't like me for me. They only liked the drunk me. The me that was the opposite of me. An illusion.
Sometimes I feel like it is the same here. Do you guys really like me? Or some image of me that you get from my writing that could never truly portray who I am in real life? If you really met me?
Want to know one of the most depressing things to think about? Every reason people have to like me. It is depressing because it is so short. I depressing. I'm anxious. A stick in the mud. Always tired, always down. A real bummer to hang out with. My humor, if I have any, is dry and apathetic. Dark at best. I'm not attractive to look at. I remind people of futility. Sadness. I have little energy to do anything. I lose focus. I lose interest. I'm always sick. I have no charm. No charisma. I'm not nearly as smart as I once was, and everyday I feel my intelligence slipping away. I complain a lot about things people don't care about. I'm paranoid. Nervous. I'm obsessive compulsive. I'm lazy. I'm very irritable. I find little enjoyment out of anything, even things I like... or used to like.
...just one... big... drag. One people only care about when under the effects of some drug or hiding who they truly are behind a computer.