…

You should all give up on me.

Really, I’m not ever going to be any better. And the sad-posting on this blog is just a part of the [redacted] ideation. I like to think that one day when I do it, and people really know, yes, it was that bad, her feelings were bad, then people will come back and read this stuff.

Except that we all know I’ll never really do anything. This is for attention. It’s always for attention.

And it always works, you know. Maybe everyone should start ignoring me.

Another concerned citizen came to me today and said, “There are a lot of evil people in the world. You have such a bleak worldview. How do you not know that? How are you surprised? It doesn’t mean anything about you. Don’t internalize that. Don’t think you deserved it. Hey, why don’t you do something to make you feel better? You always bring food out to the homeless guys in your city. You should volunteer for a food bank. Also therapy wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

Why not? Sure. I’ll see if the food bank needs help. I’ll see if the homeless shelter needs help.

I don’t know what to do with myself, so maybe I’ll do that.

I tried to be more positive. i really did. It was a lot of pretending and a lot of trying to exert control over my brain, a lot of shutting thoughts down.

It was a lot of work for a lot of eh.

I wish I could write something very deep and meaningful. Something evocative. Something heart-rendering. Something honest and awful and true. But I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I never will.

Or if I did, I wouldn’t even believe I’d done it, because people always say nice things about ‘Combustion’ and I never believe them.

I try to shut my brain off most days. I think about the future, even the next five minutes or so, and I make a plan of what I’ll do and then my brain goes “Why? What’s the point?” and I try to shut that off and just say “Don’t worry about the point, just keep going. If you’re going to prolong yourself out of weakness, you might as well shut up and not whine about it. Don’t make it any worse than it has to be.”

Well, don’t worry about me. I’m a dramatic fuck, but I’m also not a very brave fuck.

The worst I ever did was the time with the pills and they made me eat this tube of charcoal. It was really gross. I kept puking and they kept making me eat it because I’d taken so many pills. They threatened to pump my stomach and I yelled “Fuck you! Do it then!”

I was always like that with doctors, which is probably why the whole experience was so unpleasant.

I try not to think about it or plan it, because it’s stupid because I’ll never do it.

But I do think about it. A lot.

I think of how they say women don’t like it to be messy. I bet that isn’t right. I’d want it to be as messy as possible.

Like a Jackson Pollock painting. Although, I guess the flecks are kind of more evenly spread out in a Jackson Pollock painting and it would end up more concentrated in one spot, the slight Pollock effect expanding upwards in a halo that faded the further from the splat you went.

I think about that a lot. What it’d look like.

Don’t be ghoulish, Jen. don’t be morbid. Stop it.

You know i only know who Jackson Pollock is because when I was in college I wrote for the newspaper and we went to a journalism conference in New York City and the girls who shared a room with me were pretentious nasty fucks who mentioned Jackson Pollock and then laughed at me when I asked who that was. It was really embarrassing.

I made it a point to go and learn who Jackson Pollock was. Not that I’ve ever really needed to know and if you don’t know don’t feel bad. Shitty modern art a toddler could paint. Everyone puts it in the MOMA and makes a big fucking deal out of it, but it’s nonsense. I think most things people make a big stinking fuck about are nonsense. And then, you can’t be the one person like ‘Hey, this is bullshit, right? It isn’t just me?’

I try to think about what would make me stop feeling this way and I can’t think of a single thing.

When i’m right in the thick of writing a book, I feel a little less this way. It’s so brief though.

But I guess it is something. So I guess I should start working on another book.