In stark contrast to yestoday, Friday went worse than expected. Well, objectively, anyway. I enjoyed it somewhat.
Sleep is a hard thing to control. When I actually try, it rarely works out the way I want to. I then get frustrated, and stop trying. My “fair tries” usually work like this: I pick a period of time (usually about 30 minutes these days) where I try to go into sleep mode. When this inevitably fails, I say “fuck it” and start reading vns / writing vn reviews / writing blog posts. This happened today… and kept happening. Utilzing my Failure skill to the max, I managed to get only a three-hour nap-sleep-thingy in the evening and proceeded to wake up at midnight. I woke up in a half-zomibiefied state, headache graciously included. I suppose I paid a lot, ’cause it was rather taxing.
Oh god, that one was bad.
As I got up, I was resolved to get to work; I was tired as fuck, and thus unmotivated as fuck — but hey, my dad yelling at me is really fucking annoying.
Well, he could be away from the house, I guess… why not check?
A little miracle.
He was not there; apparently the municipality had found some work for him — he’s a preschool teacher, and employed in a pool of workers. Work suiting his circumstances has been kind of hard to find for management, though, due to his bad back.
As one does (if one is an irresponsible fuck like me), I decided to stay at home. Yes, it was fairly probable that my parents would discover this. The scolding would likely be significantly more ignorable than if he had been home previously, as well. Yaaaay.
I’ll note that I didn’t call in sick. I do also have a way to contact my boss using e-mail, but I did not do this either. How the fuck to people say they are
just not coming to work due to slackiness? I really don’t want to lie about being sick; I’ve done it already, and frankly it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I
prefer lying to my parents, people who give me deadlines, and the occasional person that is involved in any effort to get out of my slump. That and
psychiatrists. Presenting a moderately honest, decently optimistic front is probably one of my skills. How do you tell people you’re just floating by passively
in the stream of life, with the occasional languid breast-stroke marking a futile attempt at change? Nobody wants to hear that, and hell, five percent of the time I might actually think that myself. Incidentally, this kind of optimism tends to increase somewhat when I do something productive, like work, or visiting a psychiatric/whatever. Still, I’m aware I’m making barefaced lies when I see them.
I am not proud of this side of my personality, but I’ve more or less given up on fighting it 95% of the time. And so, I tell people what they want to hear, fail to live up to expectations, and ultimately fall down to my default NEET stage soon enough.
I didn’t really use to be like this. In secondary tier education, however, I was struck by a depression, blooming into a magnificent case of bipolar II disorder. I started skipping school, and eventually went below 70% attendance and stuffs. I didn’t reach out for help for a year or more. I said I was just lazy. People seemed to believe me. I resent that a bit.
Following a slow but steady path down into emotional instability and self-hatred, my grades went in a similar direction. After a long while, I visited a doctor, got meds, they helped a bit.
Not really as much as required, though. See, I think something inside me kind of broke that year. My spirit perhaps, if I may be metaphorical. I kind of wish I could return to the days of yore where I actually didn’t suck as much at life, but I suppose it’s a rather futile wish.
Incidentally, I’m making a somewhat spirited effort to actually regularly take my meds for that right now. It does seem to be somewhat of a help, at least. Regularity always was one of my problems.
From a faggot, with love.