I'm sitting on my couch in an air conditioned apartment that is at least 50 degrees cooler inside than the hellscaped 120° Arizona summer is outside. I have a giant 50 inch TV screen that plays endless content at me at decibel levels that are slowly making me go deaf. I keep scrolling through TV shows and networks. One by one. And there's nothing on even though I can order up virtually any movie, book, or music ever made.
It all seems boring.
I don't know if you sit in the dark like me eating a two day old gas station donut reflecting on how pleasure disappeared from a world built on making everything easy, but it did.
It starts with how your attention span goes from reading a book for six hours in a row to not being able to focus on the next 7 seconds of a Tik Tok video. Despite the fact that the video contains nothing other than the seductive dancing of 20 something girls shaking their assets at you.
I should take a moment to warn you. If you were hoping for a moment of cheer, or for a happy ending then you've come to the wrong place. One reviewer of my content once commented that my blog was, "nothing more than a showcase for the relentlessness of the of the psychology of depression."
There is no happy ending. If you are happy you should probably stop reading this blog and go on with your happy life. If you are sad, you should stop reading this blog; otherwise, I suppose you might find yourself in the kitchen holding a razer blade in mocked suprise as your artery gushes out a maroon waterfall of death.
Perhaps this blog/podcast is best left for posterity, or for the professional psychonaut who seeks only the most extreme mind spaces. Because in my world there is no escape. This is after all the End of the World.™ We don't just cover the apocalypse of the world, but the apocalypse of the mind. How depression will tear at your soul. Rob you of your personality. Steal your happiness and contentment, and how it will eventually degrade your humanity. It will leave you in a stinking pit, to rot, as you watch helplessly as layers of morality fall in to the fire. Eventually you will be stripped of anything you value, you will notice you are the nothingness. A black hole sucking everything into it. Crushing all around you. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Nothing escapes the gravitational pull of a black hole. Not even light.
So with that warning be wary of what you seek. Perhaps avoid this content at all cost. You too could accidently slip into the event horizon of my self destruction. Because here it is so easy to ignore the outside world and become terminally fascinated by the inner dwelling of ego.
Another morning and another ultimate cheeseburger. Two cow patties placed on a bun. The Jack in the Box© puts too much mayo on the sandwich. I take a bite of the burger and ignore the swelling in my legs and feet and the dull ache in my forearms from the blood clots that never went away. My blood pressure on a nice resting day sits at 140/99 but after the salty burger it zooms to 165 over 120 and my heartbeat surges to 120. My face flushes bright red and later when I walk to work I'll try to forget I can't feel my right foot anymore because of the self-diagnosed diabetes.
As I gobble down the rest of the fat & protein from some sickly cow put to pasture too late I notice the restaurant is full this morning. A homeless encampment has sprung up. Half a dozen or more homeless have taken up the few booths I usually sit at. None are socially distanced. The place now reaks from body odor and unwashed clothes. Some of the homeless are happily munching down the fatty food.
Some are slumped over their tables satiated, or perhaps nodding off from pain pills. Others still scattered in random seats are pushing the regular customers to the 'bar like' seating near the windows where I see immigrant workers eating on benches dressed in neon yellow jackets preparing for a hard day's work of jack hammering and construction.
I won't be joining them. Duty calls at the grocery store next door. I take my free ultimate cheeseburger© granted to me because I accumulate so many Jack Points® that I get free food all the time and stagger towards the building I call work.
My walk to work is interrupted by my phone constantly notifying me of some Tik Tok® Only Fans® gal begging me to fill her Venmo up.
“Go ahead." I tell myself. Just finish your final self destructive act, because you'll be dead in a few years anyway. You can ignore a few drops of blood in your fecal matter, but the growing cancer won't ignore you.
Only Fans & the Simping contagion of your Mind
When you lock eyes with a praying mantis you know you have finally fulfilled your purpose. She needs your destruction. Her feeding on you brings forth her unborn life. In your old age your feeble sperm deposits on the ground so don't worry that she intends to bite your head off. It's just one more final humiliation to join the indignity of being fleeced by a generation of women who refuse to tuck in their entire shirt which seems to you less style and more borderline satire.
At work after nearly 30 years of laboring you watch an anomalous labor shortage turn teenagers into hot commodities and watch children lap you making 15 dollars an hour to start at jobs that you've worked your whole life at. You begin to understand the cruelty of Darwin and survival. That life doesn't even out and the powers of the world have no intention on keeping their word to you. So now you cycle between feeling of jealousy and self pity.
You know that an economy finally asking the ruling class to behave and give decent wages and working conditions eventually benefits mankind. But even the martyrdom of a depressive is tested when 35 years of sleeping on pull out couches, growing up on ranch beans and hominy and now watching teenagers who get fed organic coffee espressos, drive their parents jeep wranglers, and complain about about only getting 2 dollars an hour more than you to do the same job you've done for 30 years, who spit on the sidewalk of hard work, knowing all along that it was just a ruling class meme, that deep in the pit of your stomach you know there's something wrong with you. That the world was probably better off without your success. That you were the idiot. The imbecile. You were a fool. You weren't the champion of the underdog. You weren't on some Marxist crusade for worker freedom. You were just a failure. And it was you who needed protection.
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