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Sympathy for Exorcists

Last updated on November 18, 2021

This blog post is part of an old series of journal entries during a time of major depression. In my effort to build shame resilience and become more comfortable my authentic self, I am publishing these previously unpublished journals.

This article was written on Wintergatan Wednesday November 20 2019 at 9:52 AM PST

2021 Chris is doing much better.

What does that title mean? The world may never know.

I dumped my drugs down the toilet. I did it because I took one hydroxyzine and felt very intoxicated for close to 12 hours. No way I’m going to put that in my body on a regular basis. The seratonin shit can kick rocks as well. I’m offended that my PCP gave me pills which can actually increase suicidal thoughts and actions. I may actually do it if I take those suicide pills.

Whatever. Out of sight, out of mind. There’s no chance I’ll take them now that I flushed them.

Seriously though, Hydroxizine is a terrible drug. It feels incredibly toxic, imburdens my thoughts, and upsets my stomach. No wonder they told me to take it at night. I took it during the day because I wanted to be sure of the effect it had on me.

I literally could not concentrate. I was distracted by collapsable folders in Atom. I would just click it over and over and be completely focused on the movements. I put down my IDE and picked up my PS Vita. Project Diva came easy. My body felt burdened by the substance. I began to feel tired, then angry.

A day of productivity was lost and I had to take a nap. I could feel the effects even as I slept. I felt groggy. I felt uncomfortable. Definite unease. My muscles felt less tense, but it was as if the feeling was dulled rather than my muscles being at all relaxed.

I awoke several times, unable to relax. It took me several minutes to realize that was the problem, since I could barely feel my tense leg muscles.

Hydroxizine is a terrible drug. Marijuana is much better. Marijuana actually relaxes my body, doesn’t make me angry, and doesn’t give me an uncomfortable toxic feeling. Still makes me tired and not want to do anything, but I may be able to tweak THC to CBD ratios to get a more beneficial effect.

Seriously, Hydroxizine should be the banned drug. It has harsh, long lasting feeling to it. Marijuana is very gentle in comparison.

Now that I know the feeling my PCP was trying to give me, I’ll just go out and buy marijuana instead of taking the shit they prescribed.

JS Bin

Check this out. It’s a JSBin I put together last night which is a concept for VOCALOID studios. Nice Isometric floor tiles, huh? It’s 100% CSS, no JS required. If you mouse over the tiles, the tiles turn yellow. I can imagine a little vocaloid on the floor tiles, and when I click the tiles, I imagine her walking to the tile I clicked.

Only it’s not so trivial. I have to somehow get an animated avatar of a vocaloid on top of the transformed CSS grid, without the avatar being transformed as well. If the floor div is a parent of the avatar, then the avatar inherits the isometric transformation. If the avatar is absolutely positioned, then I have to sync up the avatar position with the floor tile’s. Then I have to tween the avatar’s position between the two points, origin and destination. Anyway, I hope to work on that more this weekend. I’m going to look on itch.io’s global game jam calendar and use whatever game jam is going on this weekend as an excuse to work on my game concept.

I’m not seeing any of my projects in progress being profitable. I think I have to bite several bullets and get a temp job. I’m seriously not doing well. But at the same time, I don’t want to continue unless I’m doing what I love. It’s a catch 22.

Maybe part time? I could work at the airport again. That’s a shitty job and the drive is long and gas is expensive. I’m not really sure what to do. I wish I could get unemployment benefits for a few months so I can focus on finishing my jeopardy project.

I think the only way I can finish my jeopardy project is if I invest all my time into it.

I’ma check the unemployment website to see if I’m elligible. Unfortunately, not being able to work for health reasons must be verified by a doctor filling out a form. It’s not enough to be majorly depressed and anxious..

It’s useless. That website is so hard to use, and every option is impossible for me to fill out because I get too depressed.

It is just impossible. I am going to be homeless.

Homeless but at least I’ll have health insurance! Too bad I can’t find a dentist that accepts it though. Bottom of the barrel health insurance. Unlimited state sponsored suicide pills provided at no cost to me!

I should have sold the pills on the black market. The name brand of seratonin pills I was given sell for $1000 per 100 tablets. Absolutely insane! Maybe I could have ended up with the same amount I would have got if I could get unemployment benefits.

It’s disgusting how easily I was prescribed those pills. They don’t even know me. They don’t know my fitness level, nutrition, environment, support structure, and they quickly prescribed pills which will alter my brain chemistry and may put me at further risk of suicide. DISGUSTING. The root cause of my depression is money, and an inability to connect with people. The pills would only treat a symptom.

I specifically went to the PCP to find a professional counselor to talk to. This has been dragging on for three plus months now, and I still haven’t talked to a counselor. I have to wait one more week until my first appointment.

Maybe I’m putting too much faith in counseling. Maybe I have to fix myself. Well, I definitely have to fix myself. They suggested that at the behavioral health orientation. “We aren’t here to fix you” or something like that was written on the paperwork.

Too much fucking guesswork. I’m so stuck! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!

I should go stand atop a building downtown. Maybe from the hospital roof LOL. Then when I’m caught, I just go downstairs and FINALLY FUCKING TALK TO A COUNSELOR.

That’s all I want! 1 on 1 counseling FOR FUCK’S SAKE. I’ve been patient enough, GET ME IN!

I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. What is the reason why I can’t have people close to me? What is the reason why I can’t talk?

At least I can type. At least I can type? I should be able to make money with this talent. What the fuck is wrong with me. What the fuck is wrong with me what the fuck is wrong with me what the fuck is wrong with me what the fuck is wrong with me.

I need money. Lots of it. Shouldn’t I be able to generate money? WHAT THE FUCK!

No, because money is a language that communicates value. Money has to be communicated from a company to an individual. Or money has to be communicated from an audience to an individual. I have neither a company nor an audience which values my work. FUCK!

I need 3 more weeks, and Jepurdee will be complete. There are only 2 weeks left in November.

Pointless project. Any project not monetizable is pointless.

But I totally could monetize it. SaaS with a paid PRO account enabling advanced features and shit.

Pointless project. Your work is mediocre.

It matters not! If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. My work may be mediocre but IT WORKS. People like shit THAT WORKS!

Ok you have a point, but pointless project. You can’t finish ANYTHING.

I can if it’s FOR someone. This project is FOR my family.

Pointless project. Your family does not deserve this much time invested in the project.

I agree, they don’t deserve it. BUT I DO. I deserve to have the experience of making this project, seeing it through to the end, and ending up with something to show for all my hard work.

Pointless project. In 2 months it will be dead. Nobody will ever play it.

It’s too soon to make that call. Like I said, IT IS WORTH DOING!

go fuck yourself


New subject. A peasant 2 meters tall with a long burlap shirt. Naked underneath and without shoes. What will you order this peasant to do?

  • Chop wood
  • Mine stone

Chop wood you say? The peasant goes and chops wood. The peasant gets big and strong chopping wood all day, and quickly grows out of their burlap shirt. The peasant brings the ripped shirt to you and asks for another.

Mine stone you say? The peasant goes and mines stone. The peasant quickly dies of hypothermia from the cold striken mines.

  • give replacemnt shirt
  • don’t give replacment shirt

Give replacement shirt you say? The peasant gratefully accepts your gift, and gives you a life of obedient work as a lumberjack.

Don’t give replacement shirt you say? The peasant angrily throws the torn shirt at you, then swiftly swings his axe and decapitates your head right off.

Looking for VOCALOID trading cards?

Check out Sakura Blossom Trading Post