Refrain from the Throwing of Rotten Fruits and Vegetables

ay I’m sitting here with a more level head than last time, but I fear that my fears are only better disguised.

I’ve been feeling the better the last three days on a surface and slightly deeper level, but I have this guilty terrifying feeling that I didn’t quite leave my bad behavior in January. I just cleaned it up a bit. I’m substituting risk-taking behaviors, but also challenging the status quo a little bit and seriously considering making some changes in a couple of areas.

You know I sat here wanting to write this all out and painting it all bad tonight, but honestly I don’t think that’s fair. This week I’m having money thrown my way for the first time in 2018 which is an enormous weight off my chest. I can’t discount enough how much financial stress affects me, and even just the feeling of being trapped by the lease on my apartment, monthly bills, and obligations. It all weighs so heavy.


  • Don’t get into bed and not get out for a month. Don’t you fucking dare.
  • Don’t get fired from your job like you did last time. We all remember how that went.
  • Don’t get emotional and leave your job without solid prospects.

And the fact of the matter is that when the money is flowing more freely and I’m working regularly, that’s an entire facet of my depression/neuroses that’s just no longer even a factor. Other than feeling trapped in a more basic way because I can’t leave without breaking my lease, but I can chalk that up to adulthood and leading a stable life. I guess.

I’m going to try so hard to make it back to the gym this week. For like two months my body was like transforming daily, it was the first time I’d ever started working out and It felt amazing. I had all this positive body image and self-esteem and feelings of empowerment just from something I was doing. Like a positive feedback loop. I need to try so hard.

In a month and three days I have my intake to get back into counseling. I haven’t seen a counselor or a doctor without a tablecloth between us in over three years. I don’t know if I mentioned this so far, but on December 14th in the late hours I purchased myself a health insurance policy. Another first in three years, being a card-carrying insurance policy holder.

I have so many things bouncing around in my head, like plot-lines, or possible destinies and they’re such unreliable sources of information or advice because they all shout just as loudly that they are real and happening now and their prognosis is doom for me. I need accountability for all these different voices and viewpoints.

The voices in my head are not disembodied or from external sources. Everyone of the voices is mine. They are a collection of perspectives from all the people that have ever loved me. It’s like my brain is constantly collecting new personalities to add to the algorithm. It’s like a nervous habit, if I examine the situation from every perspective I can imagine, I won’t make the wrong decision. When I’m up this amounts to almost paranormal intuition and charm, it feels effortless like a superpower. When I’m down I can’t turn off the churning sea of voices, and the conclusions they arrive at become more and more far-fetched, more convincing, more damning.

They get louder the longer I go without talking about them, and I know this. The problem is that I believe that I can hold on, that I can handle whatever the voices throw at me. The problem is that I have to believe that I can do this, because the voices want me to melt into a big puddle of panic and ruin everybody’s shoes…

Here I am babbling, but I think the only thing I really want to say is that I’m going to try really hard this week.

Here is an absolute mess for you. Rough draft, barely proofread, and unexamined. Refrain from the throwing of rotten fruits and vegetables.

I’m an emotional mutant serving time in a dystopian dreamscape, my mouth agape, and as I look on the omens morph and rearrange and conspire to see me engulfed in flames. But all the while amidst the fire I smile because I want the same thing that they do. I know I can’t stay true through the miles ahead and I welcome the crooked end. And there’s where I belong just beyond the bend where I’ve cut everyone off, and I baffle the wildlife, and every dialogue is just a side-swiping monologue designed to slice the ligaments of my best intentions that I meant to see to the end and natural resolution. Here I am with my voices debating final solutions. I can attest this is not my best, but it’s all we’ve got to offer, all this just a karmic plot to alienate everyone who’d even bother to check as we’re fading away, but we’ll be back some other day and wearing some entirely different face.

PS: Through some wordpress glitch I wasn’t able to publish this for several days. I say this just in case I write tomorrow from a far different perspective.


Out of Hand, Out of Mind

So tonight was the holiday staff party at Pour, it was meant to begin with a white elephant gift exchange at 6:00, and dinner would be over somewhere around 9:00, but I’m getting ahead of myself…

The last two days were pretty excellent, out of the blue I was feeling more and more like myself and finding my ability to interact with guests at work and friends restored and improving. Everything seemed to be going in a very mellow and safe direction so far as the big picture of my mental health was concerned.

This morning I woke up low. I mean though my perception is likely unreliable, I would tell you it was one of the lowest mornings I’ve ever had. I zoned out in the shower for about forty-five minutes and was late for work.

Have you ever gotten caught up in a compulsive stream of thought? Essentially an argument with yourself where each consecutive blow must absolutely warrant a rejoinder, and you end up trading impossibly improbable scenarios with yourself in no helpful direction and can’t seem to end or walk away from the conversation. I got so stuck in my head I didn’t notice the time slipping through my fingers.

Late to work I was myself or some such version for at least the first forty or fifty minutes. Soon after I was possessed by such despair that I refused to speak to anyone except my guests for the next three or four hours, and my interactions with my guests were terse, forced, and strained. I started to think dangerous thoughts, feeling existentially trapped because I was closing brunch and would have to be there until the bitter end and didn’t know how to feel better.

I started initiating some bad behavior via text, about halfway through brunch. This seemed to calm me down whether it was a conscious correlation or not. I dropped worrisome hints to a co-worker most likely to understand and care, but it was too late. I did not want to be talked out of my plans for the evening.

I kept working on these plans straight through the end of brunch and the two-hour gap between work and the staff party, which was neither entirely a social occasion or a work one, but some terrifying hybrid I felt I needed to go to. Leaving work I walked to a thrift/antique shop to source my gift for the exchange. I walked through the entire place, really warehouse sized/shaped, quick as can be, barely looking at the aisles and items on display as I passed. Back at the cashiers station where I had started, I looked purposefully for a few moments and found a wooden elephant in a plastic case and snatched it from its shelf. I paid for my elephant and departed.

Back home I lay and cuddled Moon, my roommates cat, for a turn. Sooner than I cared to acknowledge, 6:00 was fast approaching. I dressed, several times and most insecurely, and dashed out the door with six minutes til. I walked through back alleys and side streets the whole of the way to the Gypsy Kitchen where the party was being held. For whatever reason I was spat out just next to the Theological Seminary in record time and I was no more than fifteen minutes late.

I should have aimed later or walked slower.

The party was below the threshold of camouflage for anyone not standing or sitting as apart of a group or actively engaged in a conversation. Many silent gaps claimed the air inside the beautiful old stone building.


I’m sorry I can’t write about this anymore, but I’m afraid that later on I won’t understand what’s happening to me if I don’t save the fragment that I’ve documented. I’m in the wrong place. I’m messed up and I’ve got to fix this. I hardly know how, but I’ve written to myself oh so recently about how these are the times that make people. These are the times that I am absolutely required to show up to. These are the experiences that make up who I am, and if I don’t remember that than I am doomed to shoot far below whatever ideal potential I possess. I will grow old numbing the pain of understanding as best I can manage. I will always know that somewhere there existed a more beautiful destiny for a more courageous version of me. I have to halt my descent.


PS: Wish I had a poem for the tail of this post, but I don’t and I’m looking for any excuse not to post this so I’m going to cut myself some slack this time.

Whoa… Deep Breaths.

So obviously it’s been the better part of three years since I’ve written here. Before tonight I’d completely forgotten there was documentation of my mental state three years ago when I made my last momentous life move. After sitting here re-reading the incredibly important place I inhabited the last time I was attempting massive change in my life, I feel obligated to report the high points and major changes since I last wrote here. Unfortunately I feel unusually pressed for time in a sanity sort of way and I’m going to begin typing as thoughts come without any regard for a linear or thoughtful progression.

I think the last three months have yielded some of the most significant mental-health symptoms I have ever experienced. I can say without a doubt that I came closer to suicide than I ever have before on December 14th in the eleventh hour. I can say that I yielded to more bad and isolating behavior than I ever have since the beginning of January 2018. I know the place I’m in is frightening.

And at the very same time I’ve been beginning to feel more like myself the last two or three days. Although there are so many things that I am still so confused about, so many circular thought patterns that just repeat and turn back on themselves, I have this karmic feeling that this has been happening forever, and that there is no quick fix for my ailments. I have since the eleventh hour of December 14th been progressing a plot to return to outpatient counseling for the first time in years to address some of my lingering issues, but as of now on January 27th, my initial counseling intake is still some 40 days away and I will have to either exist as I do now, or succumb to forces I have been resisting since elementary school.

Some observations on depression related from recent experience-

  • The worst of it is that sometimes it feels like I’ve been cursed with an inability to think good thoughts.
    • I’m in no means an amateur at depression, or by extension self-care and doing what I can to get out of bed. So much of the time though I find my mind flooded with involuntary visions of horrible, terrifying, awful things that I would never ever do; and yet my mind in this place does everything it can to convince me that I am evil, irredeemable, and secretly capable of ugly things.
  • My brain will rationalize away the only parts of me that are really and truly worth keeping.
    • I am sometimes obsessively possessed by the idea that I am not really the decent person that I so often convince others that I am. I sometimes put myself way out there for other people and most often strangers in attempts at random acts of kindness and some kind of karmic altruistic force, and my mind scoffs when I’m alone and calls those actions narcissistic overcompensation for my own self-loathing. It’s so telling that one over-arching explanation can single-handedly disqualify any action resembling selflessness.
  • I suppose it’d be simplest to refer to it as over-thinking, but I’m not sure this really does it justice.
    • I think so long and so hard about my life, and these thoughts turn back on themselves so many times that at the very end of them I logically conclude that if I do absolutely anything, make absolutely any changes to the status quo that the resulting path will lead to complete and utter ruin. If you asked me to explain, I could absolutely explain to you how the sum of my circumstances mean that I am paralyzed by outside variables, and that there is absolutely no way I can fix the state of things. This however, is also far too convenient. I know for a fact it’s my depression speaking, but I have no idea how to see beyond it. My depression is apart of my mind.
  • I can’t trust any of my assumptions. Any of them.
    • Anything and everything that I am thinking could so easily finally be on the level or way way off of it. I have no level or barometer for gauging ideas, because my thinking has become so paranoid that I don’t trust anyone enough to talk to them truthfully about what I’m thinking. I have logically concluded for dozens and dozens of reasons that anyone close to me is off-limits for the unloading of radioactive thoughts.
  • I am constantly coming up with desperate schemes to make things better and here is an actual and completely serious list of some of highlights from the last two weeks…
    • Literally walking out of town with a backpack containing a months worth of powdered meals and very little money and disappearing.
    • Faking my death.
    • Actually dying.
    • Robbing a bank.
    • Buying a pickup truck, learning to tune and restore pianos, and picking up pianos from the free section of craigslist (there are an absurd number of pianos listed free for pickup on in my area).
    • Becoming an escort (this dreams not totally dead just pending).
    • Going back to school, for a year or more.
    • Taking out a personal loan and fleeing the country to Vietnam or Africa.
    • Grabbing that rat bastard Papparo by the collar and demanding my father’s motorcycle. Then leaving town on my father’s newly restored and running 78 750 Yamaha…

That was a short list, but it gets the point across. My thinking has been desperately decalibrated, and without being checked soon I’m definitely in line for ugliness down the line.

While I was reading back through all these other posts from so long ago I found I really enjoyed that there was a poem at the end of every post. I haven’t been writing near as much poetry as of late, nor journal entries, and obviously not blog posts which I’m not going to fucking apologize for because it takes up the first ten minutes of every spree of writing motivation I’m granted when I write about how I’ve not been writing as much as I wanted to. So fuck that.

But here’s a poem with a tad of context.

I recently got into a relationship, recently like the early days of October, and I broke with her in the late hours of December. It was so confusing in so many ways, and I don’t know what was my fault or what might have been hers. Just as likely we simply weren’t meant for each other, although even in failing together I know I learned a lot about myself that’s not the way I want it to be. So this poem I wrote was before this woman knew how I felt about her, and before it looked like there was any chance that she’d feel the same before me. In that there is a special kind of innocence, something pure.

So here you are.

Your hair like a fire, that dances and maims,

But I’m a burned child, romanced by the flames,

Your head in the clouds, but also in your networking group,

Your Gurus,  Mondays, and your business to boot,

Your gaze a ray of positivity, your laugh an applauding crowd,

Disarming me subliminally, I betray my deepest shroud,

And all the while I wonder, is it too much to ask,

For you to scorch my insides, as we cross our paths.


It’s impossible to know if I’ll write again tomorrow, or three years from now, but goodbye and more to follow if the universe so wills it.


So I quit my job…

So it’s been sometime since my last post hahaha, mostly because my life has been fairly ordinary for a couple weeks. I’ve come to regard that as a red flag however, because when I grow stagnant I stop writing and let a very important part of my mind lie fallow. So first a funny story. Up until yesterday I was still working at the call center, but I finally couldn’t take it anymore. The promotion promised to me a little over a month ago was given to someone else on Friday, which on its own I could live with until I found another job, but yesterday when I came into work they’d made him my supervisor. The guy they gave me my job to, Justin, was a good friend of mine until recently. We lived together out at the Water House, and knew each other fairly well. Even this, I told myself, I could live with just a little bit longer. I read books for most of my day, and no matter what’s bugging me I can handle it so long as I can read. On Tuesday I took a day of paid time off after writing the poem I’ll be posting below, to cool my jets and save up a little serenity to come back in Wednesday with. All my serenity lasted me about two and a half hours, but I still had my book right? So I could still deal with the job, right? Then Justin looked over at me and said, “Sam, Sam!… I need you to put your book away.” I set the book down and took some deep breaths. I tried to pray but couldn’t seem to get it out, so I grabbed my vaporizer and went to the bathroom to pray. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (the people in this office and the way I’m being treated), the courage to change the things I can (whether or not I continue to work for these people), and the wisdom to know the difference. I walked back into the office and quietly packed my things. I discreetly clocked out, and patted the new guy I was training on the back and told him good luck. I walked up to my boss at his desk and said, “Spencer… I quit.” And I walked out. I immediately felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest and felt some of the excitement for life and its endless possibilities flood back into my brain. I’m looking hard for another job, but I expect I’ll be doing a lot more writing in the meantime.

This poem I wrote on Monday after my boss nearly made me snap. I was fuming and about to give myself up to rage, but after the first stanza I was smiling and cackling and treating him politely in an extremely facetious manner.

Spencer’s Misstep

There it was, the last sleight he’d ever make,

I rise from my seat with not a tremble or a shake,

I pull my blade from its place, sharper than death,

I watch him gasping for air, fear on his breath,

I walk casually forward as he’s frozen in place,

I slide the blade down my palm and wipe the blood on his face,

My hand finds his throat so as to silence his cries,

I pull him down on the desk and take the first of his eyes,

He struggles and screams but his limbs have grown weak,

I drag the blade out the socket to pluck the rose from his cheek,

My knife finds his throat as he ceases to fight,

With a smile and a slash I have ended his life,

With excitement and glee I raise the knife to my lips,

To taste of the blood he must surely have missed,

His eyes wide and staring with no hint of a spark,

I chuckle to think that I scarce showed my dark,

Moving On

So after two and a half months I left the serene Water house to move into the city. A lot has happened since my manic mood swing last week. First and foremost, I have been asked to move into one of the nicer city houses as house manager. I won’t be headed there for another 13 days, but I needed to move into the city asap or lose my way to get to work. So last night I packed up my things and headed for the ghetto, where I’m temporarily living in another recovery house. I already know where I can score heroin within a block of this house but it doesn’t really bother me. If I wanted to get high I would get high, but I don’t so I don’t. So far I’ve gone out for coffee twice, went for a nice long hike in a massive park area not far from me, and have made plans to explore an equally massive cemetery right across from the house I’m living in now. I’m also working on getting involved with a poetry group in Lancaster. In short, things are pretty good right now. I wrote this poem the other day at work. It flowed out of me in 14 syllable lines and flawless iambic pentameter over the course of like a half an hour. Very happy with it.


Some days I find that I must write of death and suicide,

Or else instead I’ll soon be dead and wishing I had tried,

To get that demon out of me by any means I could,

To stop that madness in its tracks and kill it where it stood,

The things I write of black and blight are not so dark you see,

But vessels I create to keep the darkness out of me,

Awake at Last

So last night I found myself in a peculiar spot. Although everything in my new life is conspiring in my favor, I realized I still felt completely empty inside. I found my self saying to a friend that I felt like I was always trying to come up with little things I could change so I could maybe feel okay on the inside. After a short bout of elevated moods and self-confidence, my consciousness leveled out and began to invite in that quiet anxiety I wanted so badly to have left behind. Slowly but surely I found myself silently terrified at meetings, cigarette breaks at work, and any other situation where  someone might find a reason to make eye-contact with me. So last night I decided to give one last change the old college try, despite the fact that it amounted to pure and simple insanity because I’d tried time and time again and always found myself close to suicide and broken. I decided to not take my anti-psychotics. Oh what I night I had. I haven’t slept yet, but I can tell you it’s going to be a beautiful day.


Tonight I play high-stakes, I don’t know to what end,

Desperate to awaken, I’ll dance with madness again,

Anything is better than this waking dream I live in,

So I sacrifice this bitter pill, and pray that I’ll be given,

Back the spark of mania that made me thirst for life,

That gave me hope in the darkness that someday I might,

Know this love beyond love in the truth of my heart,

And know myself better for the time we spent apart,

For all this time I’ve spent dwelling in doubt and in fear,

Some part of me knew that the rest was not here,

But far away waiting for the threshold to break,

The moment when at last, I’d be truly awake,

I just had this sudden feeling last night that I knew what was missing, and that it was me. Somehow I just didn’t have the courage to commit to this new life of mine, not fully. I was too afraid, too anxious, too doubtful. What a fantastic thing to happen. Praise God, I’m back at last.

Still Kicking

So I haven’t posted in ages here, I’ve been doing well, but not putting aside a lot of time for writing. I spent a little time yesterday writing and rereading all my poems and I’m gonna try to make more time for that. So just an update, I’m getting a promotion at work very soon. That’s right, I will now be running my very own gang of drug addict telemarketers! Exciting, right? Anyway I’ll post more about my life later in the week. For now here’s my latest poem, I was kinda finally able to capture that elusive anxious feeling that’s stuck with me for so long.

Anxiety Attack

I’m walking down the hallway where anxiety creeps,

Where fear reigns king as honesty sleeps,

The truth is irrelevant here where the lines begin to blur,

Between reality and fantasy where nothing is sure,

I’m afraid to go forward but there’s no way to go back,

I’ve had one too many thoughts to cancel this attack,

So I begin and keep my head down, resigned to my fate,

And pray that no one notices, if they do it’s too late,

They wouldn’t let me go, they’d tie me down or lock me up,

If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that there’s no one I can trust,

No, I can’t talk to anyone about this, they would never understand,

To speak the truth of this feeling would be more than I could stand,

So I bide my time until I can make it to my bed,

Where I swallow that most bitter of pills that quiets my head,

As I lay there and wait for the voices to stop,

I think to myself that I do this a lot,

A place for sharing, fleshing out, and fine-tuning thoughts and ideas