I'm not 100% sure where I'll be living in two days.

The name of this post pretty much says it all, as I've been trying to move to Kansas. I've lived there pretty much my entire teenage life, and decided that I've developed too much of a life there to throw it all away. Because of a feud between me and my grandfather, I can't live there anymore, so, I have to find a new place to live.

It's not particularly going well...

 

But anyways, I called my friend Travis later, and he said he has no problem with it, but took forever to ask his parents if it's okay with them. After he finally did, it wasn't difficult to convince his mother. His father, however, was a bit skeptical. But from what I can tell, he's accepted it and I'm probably going to be moving in with them.

At first I was expecting living with one of my best friends to be a great experience, however, I've come to a more logical conclusion.

What I expected:

 

And THIS is what's probably going to happen:

So yeah, I'm not sure that this is such a brilliant idea. But hey, only time will tell.

So, I like to believe and/or pretend that I'm a moderately reasonable guy. I'm not a genius, but I like to think I'm not a moron. But every now and then, I lost my sensibility and begin stewing on the stupidest things. When this happens, it almost always ends in me slipping into a spiral of self loathing and staring at pictures of whoever it is that's caused me to slip into this spiral.

Naturally, like most depressed people that are mourning over an event or person, I only recalled the good things. I'd lay there and sort through my head doing my best to remember every single little nice thing about our relationship, not once taking into consideration that there's something to be said for how hard I had to try.

But to get to the route cause of this particular story... My friend once had a girlfriend. She was insane, like one of my exes, and at one point for one reason or another, they broke up. Point is, he got on my Facebook account and deleted her from my friends. Not only that, but full on blocked her. Feeling like it's the bro thing to do, I went along with it without any complaints. However, a girl broke up with me once. And from then to today, he continues contact with her on Facebook. This didn't bother me so much when she commented on his statuses every now and then, but according to a comment I saw, they've been chatting as well. And maintaining a friendship in the real world.

I know this isn't a huge matter of life or death, but it bugs me that I had to block his ex, while he can continue being best friends with mine. I'm trying not to make a big deal out of it, but it's hurtful.

So, I sulk. I do nothing with my life and go into this weird stage where I'm more than certain that my life is completely over, yet, I'm too much of a pussy to kill myself. So, I browse the internet without mercy for days at a time.

However, that usually betrays me because my internet access is a cruel hearted bitch aunt. She will lure me in with promises of amusement and movies, and friendship... Then molest me and disconnect herself, only to discover it's not even my aunt, it was a computer the whole time.

Long story short, when I got on the internet while I'm depressed, all I see is relationship statuses going to "In a Relationship" despite the fact that not a single relationship had been formed during the 4 month period that I was happy as fuck.

 So, all I see is shit like this.

Then, something horrible happens. Every time I'm depressed, it happens without fail. I go insane. I begin plotting murder on humanity. I sharpen tools while listening to shit like Tiny Tim. I draw pictures of severed feet. I talk to myself as though I were talking to the target of my insanity. However, a little fraction of my normal psyche has always (so far) remained and kept me doing things around my house that make me feel deliciously evil until something happens and I snap out of it.

Now, that brings me to the WHOLE reason of making this blog post. Why is this event of depression so much more important than the 10,000 others I've endured? Because it's stupid, brief, and how I get over the depression is the real point of our story.

Now, at this point, I was fairly determined I was the next world ruler that's batshit out of his mind. Point being, I waltzed into the kitchen to make a sandwich in this state of mind.

However, fate decided to play a trick on me and make everything worse. So I thought. I went in the kitchen to make my amazingly evil sandwich, and found out there was no lunch meat.

...At this point, I was at MAX emo mode.

This is NOT a state I always enter. It happens incredibly rarely. But usually after something's taken months to unfold in my head. Not after an hour. But, at this point, I was hopeless. At that moment, I was fairly positive that lunch meat was going to be my driving force to suicide.

But then, the stupidest thing ever happened.

No, this discovery is not the stupid part of this story. The stupid part of this story was that THIS is what brought my life meaning again. THIS is what cheered me up and stop caring about my problems. THIS is what made my life perfect.

...Peanut Butter and Jelly.

So, I made my sandwich with a smile on my face, love in my heart, and a sandwich in my stomach.

The Day I lost a foot.

Hello, everyone. I apologize for my lack of updates, but I figured it's time to pull out the cobwebs and get back to work. I regret to inform you that I no longer have much communication with... Well, any of the people mentioned in previous posts. Jason is no longer allowed around me because of past experiences, and Pappy has disowned me. I've moved to St. Joseph Missouri, but will be returning to Hutchinson in about four days.

But to get onto the topic of this post, I have something to confess. I obsess. A lot. I get very interested in one thing, and it becomes my entire life to an unhealthy extent. I don't know why, but when something peeks my interest, I want to know EVERYTHING about it. From time to time, I will even forget that said thing is not real. Right now, I'm obsessed with a children's show. However, that is a story for later on.

 Now, the most intense of all of my obsessions would have to be the movie SAW. Saw has always been my favorite movie since I first watched it, and it was definitely not a movie one should take to heart. For some reason, I remembered watching the Saw One foot chopping scene, and thought it was a glorious piece of art to watch a human go that far into their psyche to free themselves... Unfortunately, I wanted to find out if I had that in me...

And unfortunately, some mentally handicapped cousin in my brain decided it was a good idea... So, I tried it on. Granted, I didn't give it very much thought. I have this bad habit of realizing that what I'm planning to do isn't intelligent, and then trying to stop myself from doing it. Why is this a bad habit? I'll tell you. Because then my fun side decides that this HAS to happen, and ignores all logical thought. Not just the logical thought that's telling me why I shouldn't do this, but logical thought in general.

So, from the point that I make my brain logic-free, to the point that I'm doing whatever it is I've set out to do, I become temporarily mentally disabled.

So, needless to say, I make stupid decisions during this period of time, because EVERYTHING seems to be a logical and understandable decision. But anyway, back to this story. I pulled everything out of my ass that my ass apparently contains in order to sever a limb. I figured a knife and a tourniquet made of a shirt was enough. Again, logical thought was out of the equation.

So, I sat there on my bedroom floor chopping away at my ankle.

 Logical thought is a sneaky bastard, and manages to sneak in there right when you suspect it's gone for good. My brain managed to pull itself out of my ass and return to normal function, just as I hit the bone. Needless to say, when my father walked in and found me sleeping on the floor with blood stained on the carpet, it was a disturbing scene.

Needless to say, my father panicked and when you find your son laying in a bunch of blood, you call the police. So, the police came, asked me something along the lines of "How fucking stupid are you?" and sent me straight to the hospital. The cop was a decently nice guy, but he had a thorough disgust for my trench coat. Granted, it was bloody and dirty after staying with me for so many months, but I LOVED that trench coat, damn it. He, however, felt the need to crack jokes about its mangled appearance.

Then god decided to play a joke on all of us for his own amusement. Try to grasp the fact that these people had never met me and knew practically NOTHING about me. This is necessary, because I need you to understand that the ONLY thing these people knew about me, was that I had attempted to sever a limb. Not only that, but I was pretty damn close to success. So, when the doctor decided to lay this on all of us, my reaction was amusing to everyone but myself.

So, moments later, the cop came back with the syringe to take blood. I made quite a scene as struggling, begging, and whining through the whole preparation. Personally, if I were a doctor, I wouldn't make the kid WATCH as I prepped the needle. I would prep it when I left to go find it, then come back and just got it out of the way. Well, he was probably trying to make me learn from my stupidity. And honestly, it worked. The only reason I haven't convinced myself to go back into chop-mode is that I'm scared to get needled again. Anyways, they finally stuck the needle in me, and I was not even remotely okay with it.

 "Dont? Don't you mean 'done?'" Yes. I do. Fuck you, I'm not drawing this again.

Yes. I cried. I honest to god broke down and sobbed like the little bitch I am when they put that needle in me. I fucking hate shots. 

Point is, the cop began to make fun of me by saying things like "So... You can chop your foot off... But stick a needle in you, and you're sobbing like a baby?" 

Also, at one point, the nurse asked me if I had any surgeries lately, and the cop felt the need to say to me, "Not the ones you've performed on yourself." Douche.

Anyways, I didn't know WHY he was taking my blood from me, it's not like I had too much. It wasn't as if I had been bleeding all day or anything. So naturally, I asked him what he was doing with my bodily fluid. He told me that it was to make sure I wasn't under any influences. Luckily, I was not. I was just stupid. Anyways, he came back and my bright self decided to ask a stupid question.

Obviously, they explained to my stupid ass that that's not how this works. For some reason, I became belligerent, and DEMANDED that they return my bodily fluids to their rightful home. They declined. 

Anyways, long story short, I was in therapy for about a year a two months afterwards, and went to live with my grandparents, because they deemed my father's home to be unstable.

My grandparents' place didn't work out, but that's another story. I'm alive, healthy, and have a fucking SCAR on my leg.

^^^Actual leg. So yes, this is a true story.

So, I'm fine now, and all is well. Plus, I get to tell people I kicked a shark to death. Life is good.