While collecting links to schedule for tomorrow's tweets related to the fortean website, I found an article at Psyche called How To Support Someone Who Is Self-Harming. What caught my eye was the blurb, "A person harming themselves is not attention-seeking but attention-needing. Reach in and show them you’re listening" which really touched me. It made me wish this article was around years ago. In Rory O'Connor and Ellen Townsend's piece they also align self-harm with suicide. I've attempted suicide five times. Cue Sideshow Bob's "(N)ow honestly, did they ever give anyone a Nobel prize for "attempted chemistry?"

I wish I had attention. Loving attention, rather than the distant attention of a professional therapist. Especially one I only just met and spoke with three times before being released back into the sane world. I'd show this to Leah. Not to shame her or belittle her, since she did what she thought was best since she's just a regular woman and probably out of her depth.

depresh mode

My friend on Long Beach Island recommended The Hilarious World Of Depression podcast to me earlier in 2021. The podcast had recently changed its name to Depresh Mode for some reason. John Moe invites celebrities and experts on to have frank discussions of mental health along with its messy parts. A recent guest's appearance hit home with me — Peter Sagal from Wait, Wait! Don't Tell Me!. He spoke about the aftermath of a very challenging divorce, but more interesting was how he found real love and became a father again. That conveyed to me that there is hope for me. My situation isn't forever.

I hope.


Thursday was a very tough day. Every time I found myself alone I'd whisper, "Kill yourself" then respond, "No!"

Half my time in-county was spent working. The other half was staring at the wall.

After work I headed to Seaside Heights hoping being outside and in the presence of the ocean would help my mood. Found a bench at the top of a dune and looked out at the waves. Already the ocean was starting to become a light blue-green rather than the deep green-brown of summer. I switched between futzing on my phone and staring at the horizon in hopes of finding peace of mind.
After a while I wandered onto the beach and as close to the shoreline as possible, watching the seagulls, almost all were herring gulls, watching the tiny holes bubble like crazy after a wave washed over them, feeling the sun on my back, and dancing with the ebb and flow of the tide for the sake of my sneakers.
I still didn't feel much better. My mood was exascerbated by how fucking fat my body feels of late. I wandered back over the dune, down the boardwalk, realized everything is expensive there, even during the off-season, and returned to my car.
I still didn't feel much better, but at least the harsh voice seemed to have quieted down or shut up entirely.
So I went to the Chinese buffet. It was alright. What bugged me there was I was seated across from this other fat guy with a very noisy phone. "I get it, you're important" kept running through my head. A helluva lot better than ideation, ĉu ne? But that wasn't what troubled me. He stood up, was about as heavy as me except shorter. And he used a cane.
Fat guys who use canes are scary to me. Scary because I don't want that to happen to me. Fortunately I seem to have good, sturdy bones.
I finished my meal, paid, tried to call my friend in Bloomfield but the voicemail was fulls, and went home.

Right now I'm smoking weed hoping it helps me out.

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