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Photograph by Kyle J. Thompson

When I’m thinking on my own, I am sad.

I’m frustrated that I’m thinking about loneliness  and wanting, needing someone in my life. I’m thinking I’m better than others and they are not good enough for me — I take care of my appearance, I am intelligent, I am socially adept… and I’m ugly, I don’t know how to do much of anything really, and I’m anxious and depressed, and I’m frozen.

My mind wanders through existentialism(s) —
— What is worth doing in my life? What am I doing? Am I just the product of the processes around me, or am I something more? I can’t be something more, there is no more, yet I think more…

I have a project due. I have so much to do this weekend — (Really I’ll only work for three hours, maybe five, of the entire weekend which I booked off just to do this project, but not really because I knew I wouldn’t do it and I’d just go on the internet and cook microwavable food and watch meaningless shows and maybe read a bit of a book that’s not really the book I meant to be reading because there are better books and better uses of my time which I never seem to get to because I’m always on some meaningless tangent which I seem to think is both the entire point of my life and also the least productive goddamn thing on the entire planet because I couldn’t get my hair straight this morning and that pissed me off and made the think that this whole goddamn day is stupid.) So, really, I basically have my whole weekend open which I’m using to wait for a phone call, a text message, or more realistically someone to comment something completely benign on facebook. Which, of course, I’m going to comment on so that they’ll message me and we’ll say something incredibly obviously scripted like “what’s up? –nm, you? — nm man, I didn’t want to go out tonight, but I was invited to this stupid thing I’m not really supposed to go to, cause I have work to do. — Yea, I have lots of work to do too, but I dunno, what is it? ((which of course means I’m going because even though I do have lots of work to do it’ll get done some other time that I’ve probably already relegated to it subconsciously because I never intended on doing it this weekend anyways, I mean, the deadline is next week so why the hell would I bother doing it this weekend))” And of course I end up going to that stupid party no one was supposed to show up to because God knows that’s going to be way better than staying at home feeling the ever penetrating loneliness that hits you.   .           . Even when you are talking to your supposed best friend whom you talk and talk and talk to and say things to that you’d never tell anyone else yet are not the things you really want to say because God knows what you really, reallllly want to say is that you just don’t want to feel this lonely, pointless, frustrating feeling anymore that drives you crazy but you can’t say that because they’re your best friend and they’re not supposed to make you feel lonely.


When I talk to my friends, I want them to say exactly that to me. I want them to tell me that they are really upset and they don’t know why. That they have no F-ing clue why. Even though they might have just broken up with someone, just got rejected at a party, just flunked a midterm, just missed doing that one stupid class assignment again. They might say that, but they aren’t just upset because of that one stupid class or person or creaky, awkward door that ripped their jacket when they were distracted by the… No. NO.
They have no idea why they are really upset.

So those friends never actually say that to me, and I never actually say that to them.

I say I’m sad that random guy at that party I wasn’t supposed to be at didn’t give me his number, that I’m not keeping up in class, that, I dunno, I’m just feeling kind of shitty today. Then that friend, or myself, or whoever the fuck, we go home and sit in our room and listen to some super depressing music that is so profound it’s going to change our lives forever, and write in our journal about the shitty things that happened to us today, and rub our heads into a pillow to forget. But that doesn’t work, obviously, because who’s stupid enough to think rubbing their head into a pillow will make them forget what is fundamentally happening to them everyday in their constant, inevitable, repetitive, forever-long… That person, they turn on a video game, flick on Netflix, open Reddit, click Stumbleupon and then open Facebook and see that they have about two notifications, which are basically the same thing anyway so they really have only one stupid notification and so they message their one random friend who they almost never talk to who is also on at the same ungodly hour and you end up having “Thee Most Life Altering Conversation Ever.” Which you promptly forget by next week because of that assignment you had due that you never fucking did and now it’s stressing you out and you can’t believe how completely unproductive your entire weekend, which you had booked off to do all your work during, turned out to be even though you tried so hard for it to not turn out that way.

I know, I mean, I know, that rumination happens when you keep thinking the same things over and over again which makes you think of the same things over and over again because you aren’t getting any other stimulus. You ruminate and that lowers your dopamine levels which makes you sadder which in turn makes you want to do less which of course leads you to think on the same things you were thinking about before. Or, you could keep trying new things and force yourself to find lots of distractions that will take you away from those fundamental thoughts you kept having about life, the universe, and everything (to which the answer, you realize, is definitely not 42). You kind of, sort of, at the back of your mind realize that this next video game you play, this next movie you watch, this next person you meet, this next hobby you start, this next thing you buy, this next job you get, this next book you read, this next… is not it. But at least it’s better than being sad.
So the next time someone asks me “What’s wrong?” I want to say this. Except not this, because this is some shitty written version of what I really wanted to say, and an even shittier version of what I actually thought because God knows what I actually thought, I just wanted to be distracted long enough to stop thinking about it because I’m thinking on my own and it makes me s…

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