He who sees, but is not seen

So, I’m not sure who reads this daily anymore, yeah, but here’s the deal.

Last week my doctor put me on a prescription for prozac.

And it is wreaking havoc on me. My emotions are all over the place, I have some shitty ass insomnia, it’s ridiculous.

I don’t know if I like it, but my doctor told me to stick with it for at least two weeks. But dammit it’s whipping me around like a rag doll.

I just don’t intend on being that gay 20 years down the road taking a prozac every morning and meeting his own, dead empty gaze in the mirror before facing the day. I do that enough as it is, I don’t need prescription drugs and 200 mg of fluoxetine to accompany.

Shit ass.

Upon reading the comments to this article, I feel I have to throw in my opinion.

It is not a big deal, you guys. The nation was converted to the metric system a long time ago, and it is used where appropriate. Yes, you guys, that’s right. The nation is officially on the metric system; it is just not implemented in daily life.

And that’s fine! There’s no reason we need to convert everything completely for whatever reason. Learn both systems and we’ve got it made in the shade.

I can’t possibly imagine how converting the nation entirely to solely run on the metric system would benefit the people. The Imperial system is pretty ingrained in society, I have to say, but we have metric measurements to. I buy gallons of gas, but litres of coke.

Look, yes, the science field needs to use the metric system so as to work on a universal standard, I understand that point. But guess what? They do. Scientists use the metric system because that’s how it works; so if they already use it, why are we arguing about a total conversion?

Use both systems where appropriate. You’re an engineer; something is shipped to you in metres, work with it in metres. Something is shipped to you in feet, work with it in feet. There is no conversion neccessary.

I don’t want to suddenly have to switch to saying ‘yeah, I live 16 kilometres away from school’. It just seems akward to me. So for daily occurences, distances, heights, weights, the imperial system makes the most sense to me.

We all learned the metric system in school, and it’s a really simple system, working in base ten.

We know both systems; why can’t we function on both? It’s not an either/or situation, you guys…

God dammit.

-IAN

I don’t know why I’m going to prom.

I know exactly how this evening is going to play out; I can see it in my mind, now, and how I will feel when the night comes to a close. It will be much the same as last year; that is, a weight towards my spiralling depression.

Even if I know everything is going to Hell, I sit in the boat and wait. Why? Why do I do this?

I loved Emily. Genuinely loved her. She was everything to me. And even through the way she treated me and the way she desecrated me and the way she tore me apart, I loved her. I don’t know why.

I don’t know why I let myself do things I know are bad for me. I don’t know why I let myself stay in situations that will just sink.

I make new friends, I try new things, I smile more often, but I’m just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.

Emily destroyed me completely when we were together, and I’ve spent the last 14 months reconstructing myself off of what little remains there were left of me.

14 months I have slaved and climbed and built. I’ve been inside myself and I’ve sought myself outside myself. I’ve tried to find my niche, and I thought I found it. For a while, I was happy.

But it was nothing more than a house with no nails… the house can look as grand and fantastic and as sturdy as you want it to be, but without nails it will merely collapse in on itself.

Where are my nails?

I am a dying star… I’m slowly collapsing in on myself and everything that’s gone into me is snapping outwards like screws that have no teeth.

In my freshman year, I summoned the courage to ask my mother for therapy. Therapy I never saw. Therapy I knew then that I needed, and therapy I need even more now.

I think my mother didn’t want to admit that her son had problems that she couldn’t fix. Bless her heart, I think she hoped that it was a phase and would pass on. And from that point until now, I have spiraled in and out. Sometimes better, sometimes worse.

As of late, I’ve become very self-destructive. I’ve grown… tired. Sick of everything and dealing with disappointments.

Nothing seems to swing my way any more, and I can’t quite seem to catch a break. And so I’ve created a game.

How much can I take? How much shit can we shovel onto me and have my knees still straight, my back still strong?

That’s why I’m going to prom. I’m going because I know what’s going to happen, and I invite it warmly. Openly.

Some day it’s going to kill me, all this shit I shoulder. I have a feeling I’m going to die young.

What kind of childhood is this? What child thinks these things? What happened to my golden high school years? What happened to me?

I’m going to prom because maybe it will kill me.
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