I can almost memorize every word by heart.
Tag Archives: mental
One Day
I want to pack up and move away from this city. To get away from all the dramatic deaths in the depths of this depressingly dark city overrun by thieves, thugs and thwarted futures. The City of Brotherly Love? The City of hijackers and hoodlums getting high and hospitalizing the hostages of the city with hammers and 9mm heaters white tees and wife beaters. There are no seasons in this city. No love. No life. Just death…
I want to live in a small town secluded from the rest of the world. The type of town where everyone smiles and waives to each other passing by. A profound place in a pocket of peacefulness. Population 100. The season is always Autumn. Always sweatpants and hoodie weather where everyone is steadily on chill mode. The leaves beautifully dying, drifting as they dim from green to yellow and orange and brown. I guess being a Libra is the reason for my love for the fall weather and the month of October. The calm before the storm. The calm before the winter.
I don’t need a big or fancy house. Just a two bedroom rancher. One room for sleeping the other for writing. The room for writing is to be completely vacant of everything except a chair, a desk, and a typewriter. An infinite amount of ink and paper for my mind is limitless. The only sounds to come from the room will be the constant clicking of the clamoring keys. Echoing throughout my halls. Throughout my mind. Let the clicking be the rhythm and the beat to the story of my imagination. Click, Click, Click! No materialistic distractions. No flat screen TVs, laptops or digital picture frames. Just a naked room with hardwood floors to expand my imagination. A spiderweb or two to accompany a little flare.
I want three to four majestic huskies to mentor and howl at the midnight moon monotonously – man’s best friends. I want bundles of bookshelves in abundance – bolstering my brain yet holstering my insane thoughts that cause pain stiffening the strain as I stubbornly stagger void of swagger through life. Thousands of textbooks and terrifying tales tackling, talking to me whispering to me with each passing glance forming, feeding, furnishing my mind with more and more Sudoku-like stories wandering and weaving into the perfect web of tales to be told.
Tales of psychological thrillers that thoroughly thrash unsuspecting readers who suddenly sense their psyche swiftly descending into madness themselves with each passing chapter. I want people to truly feel what its like to grip on reality. To wake up from a dark and dangerous dream directly into another. The largest lie I’ve listened to my whole life was hearing that you can’t get hurt in your dreams. The sharp shooting shanks feel all too real as I am viciously, violently awakened to a vigilant state of my mind showered and slimy submerged in sweat – drowning, demanding drugs to demolish my ordeals. The agony. The abominable agony more aggravatingly abrasive in my dreams than in reality. Now that scares me.
I want to take you there. To the deepest darkest trench of my imagination filled with frightening terrors. Where unfortunately my unstable personalities furiously fight for their freedom in the aphotic zone of my mind. The dreadful “Derek’s” dearth of divine dedication for life itself as they cover me in black and blues as they bash and bruise my mind body and soul. They have always overrun my world as they cast me away to the blistering colds of Alaska’s winters.
I want to purge my system of those shadowy figures the moment they stealthily sneak into my psyche via poems, short stories and novels. I don’t want to be the next Stephen King. I want to be Derek Ferguson – the greatest writer in the world. For people to truly believe the ghosts of Edgar Allen Poe haunts my dreams filling them with riots, ruins and ravenous ravens wreaking havoc under the dimly lit moon.
I want to properly perform puns about broken pencils appearing pointless listing litanies of alliteration in the process. I want to be a psychological symbol, a sign suffering from Borderline who from time to time creates lines that rhyme and rhyme and rhyme.
I want to be that influential figure that everyone looks to for a sense of hope and peace. That person who tears the heads off of his demons and infamously impales them on spears outside of his castle for the whole world to see. For tourist to snapshot and know that once upon a time these demons were real. Were. That anyone can too be the ruler of the kingdom of their mind. The protagonist in the story of their life.
I want a flock of fans fleeing in my direction in hopes for an autograph that I gladly oblige them with. I want to be that glimmer of hope for those too weak to gather enough courage on their own. Don’t take offense to that as the man upstairs knows I’ve been there far too many times. I want to save as many lives as I can because I have been there on many occasions hysterically hammering on Heaven and Hell’s door to let me in. Anywhere but here… house numero uno on main street in Depressionville, Pennsylvania where the only way out is suicide.
What do we say to the God of suicide? “Not today!” -Game of Thrones reference
*Apologies for any typos. I typed a majority of this on my phone*
Feel free to comment with any feedback positive or negative 🙂
– Derek
Lazy Employees
Every job has a Lawrence. That one lazy employee that always seems to get away with murder. Never helping out with sidework, constantly taking long smoke breaks, and never looking after his section. With many jobs your paychecks are determined by the amount of hours you worked that week. Not in the jungle of the restaurant business where the servers are slaved at a measley rate of $2.83/hour. Where the amount of money you will truly make is determined by not just yourself, but the cooks, the dishwasher, food runners, hosts/hostsesses, bussers, bartenders and baristas . This means more than ever that teamwork is of upmost importance in this industry, especially for servers who’s whole paycheck depends on everyone else doing their job right. Needless to say, one bad apple… one Lawrence employed at any restaurant establishment can have the power to unleash a world of chaos amongst an unsuspecting restaurant in downtown philadelphia. The restaurant I used to work at.
The night before “Hurricane Lawrence” I found myself at the local bar just three blocks from my job. Another employee and I had just finished working a double and were in desperate need of alcoholic beverages. After quickly clocking out of work we rushed to get as far away from the wretched place as possible. We soon found ourselves walking into “The Locust Bar” where the bartender quickly recognized us as we sluggishly strolled in. Paul walked over and said, “The usual?” We gave him a reassurring nod and proceeded to the barstools. After filling a large pitcher of yuengling he grabbed two chilled mugs and slapped our mystical healing devices down in front of us. Our water, our gatorade, our safe haven.
We had made a decent amount of money that shift. Over two hundred dollars each. But no, we weren’t happy. We didn’t care much about the money due to the agony, the stress, the frustrations we’ve endured that day. Lawrence steadily complaining about feeling ill, the rest of us servers running all the food and drinks to his tables, then eventually him complaining about wanting to go home. Ofcourse I snapped and told him to get the hell out of he’s going to continue to keep bitching. My manager had a talk with me and simply told me “Derek, I’ll handle it.” That’s the second time I’ve heard that phrase fly out his mouth. Empty promises and empty shot glasses of jameson. We drank pitcher after pitcher as we mocked lazy employees and the incompetent managers at our job. And then we took shots. Shots on shots on shots until will forgot everything.
I don’t remember how I got home that night, but the next morning I surely felt all of the effects from the multiple shots of Jamesons I valiantly consumed. A drink for a hero. Now I awaken with the sun shooting through my thin curtains as I curse my blazing headache. A morning I find that I am far too familiar with as I notice I am still wearing my work clothes from the night before. The clock read 10:30 am, which let me know I had an hour and a half before I had to be back in that hell hole. With the pulsing in my head showing no signs of fatique I am instantly aware that today will be a long day… today will certainly challenge me… today just might defeat me.
I rush getting ready for hope work in hopes of arriving early enough to relax and have the cooks prepare me something nice to eat before my shift. I walked to broad street to catch the subway down to market street. I am still hungover as I fight myself to stay awake on the lonely subway. I couldn’t muster enough energy to iron my work shirt and pants so here I am; alcohol still stuck to my breath after brushing my teeth, in desperate need of a power nap, wrinkled clothing… a mess. Typical subway patron traveling alone on the broad street line.
Of course I would pick the subway cart that would be the new home to the largest, smelliest homeless sack of potatoes in the City of Philadelphia. Just as I was getting comfortable on the vacantly quiet subway cart here comes this guy…
“Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum! I smell the blood of a mentally unstable psychopath struggling to make it to work. Let’s make his day worse. Early.”
As if the subway cart wasn’t empty enough he chooses to pick his throne two seats away from mine. Two broken passangers smack dab in the center of a vacant subway cart suddenly filling with horrible stenches as if a skunk vomited on every single seat. The smell begin making me lightheaded and; therefore, quickly bolted off at the next stop and waited for the next subway to arrive. I felt that only people wearing hazmat suits could’ve survived riding on that subway cart without passing out from the fumes.
The infested air on the subway platform supplied a sense of relief and refreshment in comparison to the wretched odor that filled the subway cart I previously occupied. My time on the platform was brief as the express train towards my job arrived in seconds. Perhaps the only positive of my soon to be long day.
I finally arrived at work around 11:20 am leaving me more than enough time to enjoy a quick brunch and collect myself before the lengthy Saturday lunch rush. A plus to working there was that employees could endulge in as much coffee as they needed for free. I definitely needed every sip I could get my hands on as I walked through the front doors of the restaurant looking like the walking dead. Straight zombie apocalypse mode. All I needed that day was a little peace and quiet for only a moment, just that calm before the inevitable storm that would ravash through the restaurant that day.
But no, not today. Arriving to work forty minutes early turned out to be not early enough as the storm we all refer to as “Hurricane Lawrence” was already underway. Chaos was visible through every square inch of the restaurant. The compacity limit of the restaurant was already matched and broken as there was little to no room to squeeze between employees and guests to make it to the heart of the restaurant, the kitchen. Servers could be seen running all over the floor with trays full of glasses and arms filled with plates as they dived and weeved through the various guests and employees running amuck in this chaotic jungle.
My general manager, Scott, was on the line helping the cooks out when he spotted my corpse like body tredging in through the crowds. His eyes shot open as he quickly made a “B” line towards me and says, “So, I’m guessing you still don’t know how to check your messages…”
“A ‘B’ line refers to the direction in which a bee flies after gathering nectar. Bees use the sun to navigate their way around and when they are ready to return to the hive they fly in a straight line back. This is why when someone is trying to get to their destination quickly they are said to be “making a B line”.” – Urban dictionary
Scott has a habit of always picking the worst things to say at the times I’m feeling like complete and utter shit. I lied and said, “Scott, you know my phone is messed up from when I forgot my umbrella in the rain. I can’t check my messages until I receive a new phone.”
I could sense my socially awkward manager getting flustered as he says, “Well, that’s beside the point. You need to clock in early because Andrew called out and we have an unexpected theatre rush coming in now.”
I need to do what…?! But I’m thirsty. Hungry. Hungover. Tired. Early. Dead…
Up intil that point I debated on what I would have the cooks hook up for me. It came down to either the Turkey and Avocado Tartine or the Curried Chicked Salad Tartine. Two of my favorite open-faced sandwiches on the menu. Yes I worked at a French place called, “Le Pain Quotidien” and the food was amazing. But now, on that there day, I was deprived of my morning long dream of peacefully feasting before my shift while breaking away from being hungover. This day was shaping up to truly test my limits before I can longer hold the anger building up inside of me. I could have argued and debated with Scott, but I knew my employees truly did need me at that moment, as well as the guests, and my wallet…
I quickly clocked in and started greeting tables all over the floor. We were down a server with a full restaraunt so I knew every server was in need of help. Lawrence was the first one to come frantically running towards me, “Derek I just got double sat. Is there anyway you can grab the two of those tables. I’m stressed the fuck out! I can’t deal anymore!” Typical Lawrence plea.
“Don’t worry about it”, I said. “I’ll take care of them.”
“Oh thank you, thank you Derek! You’re a life saver!” Lawrence replied.
Really? A live saver? A few days ago he needed a quarter to run across the street to the Seven Eleven to get a coke. The French restaurant specialized in all organic products and therefore had no soft drinks to sell. After purchasing his coke and running back to the restaurant that day he says, “Thank you so much for the quarter. I could have died without this coke. You are a true life saver Derek!” I’m getting really tired of that line. I wonder if my kind gesture of giving him that quarter really did save his life. Damn it…
Needless to say the lunch shift was one of the worst shifts I had ever worked at the establishment. The cooks were in shambles. Typical orders that would normally run only 10-15 minutes were now taking 30-40 minutes to be properly prepared. The guests were verbally expressing their opinions with words not suitable for children mixed into their dialog, and the theatre show that has brought the restaurant so much attention that day was “Elf” meaning our restaurant had an abundance of children.
A surplus of cheerios, chocolate milk and loud crying littered the floor during that extremely long shift. We practically got used to the mess knwoing there was nothing any of us could do about it at that moment. The managers were hustling in the kitchen to get the food out. The servers, minus Lawrence, were scrambling around the floor like chickens with their heads cut off. Having to deal with our larger sections during the busiest lunch of the season being down a man while balancing time with tending to the tables in Lawrence’s section when he was M.I.A. proved to be one of the most difficult tasks thrust upon humanity.
“Hey! You! Waiter! I need more water, my soup is too cold, this isn’t what I ordered…” And the question of the day, “Where is our server, Lawrence?!”
Eventually Lawrence managed to sneak his way back onto floor. He is extremely pale skinned with black hair. He stands at about 5’11, but weighs less than 140. A skeleton covered in tattoos and piercings who now, as usual, wreaked of cigarettes. I smoked cigarettes during the shifts just like every other employee. This is one of the only places I have worked that actually allows smoke breaks. The only rule was that you could not go out between the hours of Eleven and Two for obvious reasons. Our lunch rushes, especially on the weekends, required all hands on deck. WIth a man down Lawrence felt the need to step out back for not a three, four, or five but ten minute long smoke break during the forbidden hours of the day. I fought long and hard with myself to refrain from snapping on him right then and there.
“Did you really just take a ten minute break in the middle of the rush?” I asked.
As he responded I turned my head to the left a little to lessen the contact of his foul smelling breath and rotting teeth,”Dude, you have no idea how the morning was. Andrew called out and I was by myself until…”
I cut him off. Every word out of his mouth angers me.
“Whatever yo. Listen. You just got sat at table 28 and table 40. I rung both of their drinks in under your name. You should make those drinks first before doing anything else.”
Lawrence looked at me with a dumbfounded expression on his face, “Ugh… why didn’t you make them?”
BIIIIIIIITTTCCCCHHHHHHH
I could not believe the message sent from my ears to my brain. While us servers are losing money on the tips we would have gotten on our tables because we were helping to make him money on his tables and keep the flow of the restaurant moving he dares to question my actions. Red began to fill my vision as I was fulfledged on ripping him a new one right in the middle of the dining area. The assistant manager saw the dark look plastered on my face and immediately rushed over. “Lawrence you know better than to sneak out during the lunch rush. Scott already knows and will have a talk with you about it later. Now tend to your tables.”
The three of us then broke apart and got back to our duties on the floor. I went over to the espesso machine to make my table their two cappuccinos, when I was approached by Scott as he says, “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Really? I believe the only words I can use to describe this man are ‘socially awkward’. His actions and personality completely mirror the character Michael Scott from the show “The Office.” I actually made the mistake of calling him Michael one day. Luckily he was too preoccupied with inventory to hear me. Every word that comes out of this Michael Scott impersonator fills me with more and more rage.
I wanted to tell him that he was in fact right and I did indeed awaken on the wrong side of the bed and today was not the day to test my limits. That I am extremely hungover still and that my hatred for Lawrence was reaching an all time high. The angels above found themselves now fearing for Larence’s health and well-being fore they knew the lid to my stress level was ready to spontaneously combust.
After coming to scott twice in the past about the laziness of said employee and no actions taken I have been angrily voicing my opinions about the matter. I felt that I should bring it up one more time to Scott to see if he’ll actually take actions and repremand Lawrence once and for all.
“Scott! You seriously need to send him home. This restaurant is literally going under because you don’t have the balls to fire an employee! You tell me you’re going to handle the situation, but have shown no results thus far!”
I was heated. I knew the next sentence out of my mouth would be littered with curse words, so I grabbed my cappuccinos and proceded back into the chaotic jungle of our restaurant. It took every ounce of strength I had to fight off the demon ready to be unleashed inside of me. Working your ass off each and every single shift and being criticized more often than the Lawrence as he slyly sneaks around the restaurant like fox in full stealth mode. We often call him “The Cat” referencing the nine lives he has when it comes to getting fired. He has about seven ‘Write-Ups’ when normally employees get fired after about three. Scott remained by the espresso machines for a few more seconds before drifting back into the kitchen.
As the lunch rush nears it’s end the pace of the restaurant has surely slowed down. There’s still work to be done as the restaurant looks as if a “Thomas the Tank Engine” parade had just came crashing through the dining area. Remnants from the battle could be seen all over the floor as paper airplanes littered the floor, random action figures left behind hid under vacant tables, wet floor signs scattered throughout and a single pack of forgotten pull-up diapers resting in the middle of the communal table. I don’t believe there were enough diapers in the world that day to maintain the sudden shit storm that shattered our morale.
Me, being the closing server, makes me responsible for handing out side-work to the other servers to be completed before leaving. The restaurant was in shambles so we all continued to keep up the pace as the flow slowed down. Everyone could be seen scrubbing tables and sweeping the dining area. That is everyone except Lawrence, who saw the first signs of slowing down as his chance to escape out the back door for another smoke. I did my best to hold my breath and continued to work through the end of the lunch rush. Sweat was now clearly visible seeping through the cloth of our uniform shirts. Even the lady servers were beginning to become drenched in their own sweat as they hustled to make the floor look presentable for the dinner rush. The madness was finally coming to an end… or so I thought…
Lawrence came back onto the floor as he was sat with with a group of three attractive college girls outside on the patio. He immediately begins to huff and puff, “AH! Can I just be cut already! I really don’t want to take anymore tables.” As angry as I was with his statement I knew that him being cut and sent home would be best considering the state I was in. The vicious thoughts never seized ping ponging themselves throughout my head as I angrily stated, “You know what Lawrence? You’re cut. I’ll take the table outside. Just start your damn sidework and cash the fuck out!” I stormed off to greet the table outside without waiting for a response from him. I sensed that my anger was drastically rising with every second spent near him. Argghhh!!!!
Lawrence proceeded to lazily sweep up the floor and haphazardly polished the silverware. His final task was to make sure that all empty tables had been wiped down. There are three sanitizer buckets in our establishment filled with rags for cleaning the tables off with. Two were located inside at opposite of the dining area and the third was outside on the patio strategically located right next to the table with the three college girls I picked up from Lawrence. They were halfway through their meals when I began making small talk with them. I notice a bunch of designer shopping bags unders their table and asked,”So what did you ladies get me for my birthday?” They all laughed as one girl reached in her purse and pulled out a ring pop,”For you, my lord” she says as she places the ring pop in my hand. “Why thank you, my lady” I reply. We all share another well needed laugh on this tense. “Finally”, I say to myself, the light at the end of the tunnel… That’s when the unthinkable happened.
Lawrence had finished wiping all of the tables down inside the restaurant and is now to tackle the outside tables. He strolls outside and attempts to toss the rag inside the sanitizer bucket, which sits on a four foot tall stand. I guess he was hoping to moisten the rag, but little did he know the rag was fully weighted with wetness as it hurled into the side of the bucket completely knocking it over with the stand falling close behind. Brown colored sanitizer water seemed to rain from the heavens as the three girls and I were showered. The bulk of the water poured out on the cement underneath the table as the shopping bags, purses, and heels on these girls were now completely soaked. ‘Hurricane Lawrence’ claims three more victims.
As the sanitized water leaked out from the bucket so did the demon inside of me. My eyes completely filled with red as my ears quickly shut out the angry shrieks from the college girls. Lawrence immediately takes a step my direction and says,” Derek! Oh mh gosh!. I am so sor…” Icut him off before he could finish and shouted, “What the fuck Lawrence!” I gave him the look of the devil. The death stare. If it were possible to kill someone with just a glance he would definitely be six feet under by now. Had we both been clocked out at that moment he would be eating food through a straw for the rest of his life. The sun quickly hid behind the thick clouds in the sky as darkness flooded my eyesight.
After taking a deep breath I found myself swiftly moving through the restaurant searching for Scott. Many tables were trying their best to flag me down for help as I cruised right on past them. Their refills can wait. I knew that if Lawrence had walked back into my line of sight at that moment it would mean lights out for him and no job for me. I needed a cigarette. I needed 10 cigarettes. I needed to punch something… someone. Bad thoughts littered my mind as in that moment I could honestly say I feared for his life.
My eyes narrowed in on Scott upon noticing him in the kitchen as I quickly walked over to him. The other employees could easily see the fire burning in my eyes and knew this was a confrontation to hear. I certainly was in the worst state of mind to try to confront Scott about this issue, but I didn’t care. Action needed to be taken. Nothing could stop the fiery words ready to be shot out of my mouth at him.
Once I reached Scott I made sure not to give him a chance to talk. I opened my mouth and loudly showered Niagara Falls onto his world. I was heated. The red I was seeing instantly turned to black. All I have in memory of this outburst is the testimony of the few employees who decided to eavesdrop knowing this would be an epic encounter in Le Pain Quotidien’s history. After listening to their stories I know now that this is what went down at that moment.
“Scott! This is complete bullshit how you come at all of us Servers over the littlest shit and let Lawrence do as he pleases. He losing this company more and more money with every shift he works and now you have to go comp a whole $80.00 check because Lawrence decideds to dump a fucking bucket of sanitizer water on them! You allow him to get away with murder on a day-to-day basis while the rest of us work our asses off to make up for his slack. Either Lawrence goes or I go!”
The employees there joke and say my words still echo around the restaurant at night. I came to smoking a cigarette in the parking lot of the restaurant. I wasn’t quite sure what I had said to Scott, but I was definitely glad I said it. I needed that release. Taking shots, snorting coke and driving my fists through a brick wall were out of the question while at work. Lashing out at Scott on the other hand had rapidly lowered my stress level.
After smoking a second cigarette I finally felt sane enough to re-enter the restaurant. I sprayed myself with Axe bodyspray to rid myself of the scent of cigarettes. I walked out onto the floor to notice the table on the patio was vacant and the three college girls gone. Scott ended up comping their whole bill off as the girls left unhappily. No tip. A table that I picked up from Lawrence ends up biting me in the ass. I guess this would be a good time to tell you his other nickname, Murphy, as in Murphy’s Law because when working with Lawrence it it is important to know one thing: anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Lawrence quickly cashed out and left, but not before being written up. I didn’t see it for myself though rumor has it he left crying that day. I don’t feel the least bit sad about it. Is that bad? Believe it or not I went on working there for another two months until my depression caught up with me again. Lawrence got fired a couple weeks after “Hurricane Lawrence” due to a disturbing table complaint. He felt the need to wear a thick, wooden nose ring during his shifts. His table asked for the manager on duty, Scott, and told him that while Lawrence was taking their order he took out his nose ring, played with it, then put it back in his nose. One of the most disgusting things a server could do in front of their guest. Especially when that server looks like Lawrence.
As fast as Lawrence knocked over that bucket of sanitized water filling me with fire, he in turn was fired by none other than Scott. I guess Michael Scott from “The Office” can pull through for his employees at times.
“Sometimes I’ll start a sentence and not know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way.” Wise words from none other than Michael Scott himself.
Thank you all for reading. I am sure you all have had a “Lawrence” employed at your job at one point or another. My thoughts and prayers go out for those still currently employed with these monsters.
– Derek
My Scars
This post is for everyone who has been anxiously emailing me with millions of questions regarding “My First Post” and other posts I have made. I enjoy personally writing back and forth with you all as we share and learn about the hardships and struggles we have been through and are currently suffering through.
Your words of wisdom have enlightened me as I am now trying my best expanding my mind and seeing the world differently. I have been trying to “Fake it until you make it”, but this fake smile can no longer hide the sins of my past, the current state of depression, and the future inevitable doom that awaits me.
Like with most people I guess I am better at giving helpful advice to others than to myself.
“Stay positive” “Hang in there” “Don’t give up” “You got this” :Smiley Face:
Have you ever felt so comfortable – so at ease in your state of depression that it no longer felt depressing anymore? So used to the darkness in your life that the light outside seems to almost burn your skin as if you were a vampire? As this very long and cold winter is coming to an abrupt stop I fear for my own safety as I race towards the shadows to hide from the sun.
It seems no matter what attempts I make to trick my thought process it always ends the same. My duration of happiness may have lasted about a week… one hasty week until the withdrawal systems suddenly sneaked their way back into my subconscious.
It’s as if happiness is a drug to me. Yes indeed I’ll be higher than a kite as I gallop and dance through life, however that high can only last so long before I ultimately hit rock bottom again.
Feel free to judge me however which way that suits your fancy. Anyone can simply Google depression and cutting and find tons of information that many believe to be true. Only those who truly suffer know the real truth. The truth that some PhD grad from Harvard will never be able to truly understand. The millions of reasons they believe we are depressed, why some of us so bravely or cowardly choose self-injurious behaviors. Psychiatrist believe they know it all and diagnose us with this and that shoving pills after pills down our throats to cure us.
“Oh, the pills aren’t working… how about we up your dose.”
“Wait, that still isn’t working… how about we give you completely different pills that do the exact opposite of the previous ones. Trust me… I’m a psychiatrist.”
No, no, no, no and no!
I am not ashamed nor embarrassed of my scars no my past.
My feelings after cutting are not replaced by shame nor guilt.
For attention? bahahahahahahahahaha
I do not hide my behaviors from my peers, parents, or teachers. (Only from employers for obvious reasons. As some of you know I mentioned I got the scars from contracting accidents.)
In today’s society citizens are so swift to slap labels on people and their actions. This person is good or bad. Their actions are good or bad. Because of their actions this person is now good or bad. Oh, you cut yourself? Cutting is bad and therefore makes you a bad person. Label me how you like. I am person and a person nonetheless.
With all of the emotional pain I have suffered through life I have found there is no possible way for me to control it all. It comes quick and with menacing force. I’m reminded of this each night I fall asleep and have the same dream. I’m fishing in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea when suddenly holes begin to form at the bottom my rickety boat causing waves of salted water to rush in. With every hole I cover up another one opens. Drifting, sinking now in the middle of the sea I am helpless. I hear nothing, see nothing, but miles and miles of deep blue sea as far as the eyes can see.
Yes, only a dream… but what happens when you can’t differentiate your dreams from reality? Call me a liar, but there has been several dreams where I have felt pain. True pain. Physical. Emotional. Psychological. But I have never bled. When the shadows ambush and drag me down to the darkest trenches of the core; when the Sun hides behind the other end of the Earth for days, weeks, months; when the only logical explanation for the inconsistencies with life itself is to believe its all a dream… I cut.
The only pain that I can control. The only way I can feel something truly real. The only way to see the life spill out from me staining my carpet red. The only way to counteract the treacherous emotional pain flooding into my life… is to flood it right back out. To be wiped away in thrown into the garbage… Until I fill up again.
Ridding myself of poisons so I can finally live with a sense of relief and happiness… for only… a moment…
– Derek Ferguson
P.S. Apologies for not replying sooner to you all as I’ve been confined to the comfort of my beloved bed as of late. I guess it’s taking me a while to adapt to the Spring weather springing upon us. Also for those that asked I am a Libra born October 7th, 1990. Autumn is my favorite season and then Winter… and then Autumn again. Please continue to write me, whether it be comments on my posts or direct emails. Besides work it is something that gets me out of the bed and I truly appreciate it. Take care and best wishes to you all.
Do Not Revive
A post for another day
Abortion (Touchy Topics)
I’m curious to know what some of your opinions are when it comes to abortion. I know abortion is an especially touchy topic in today’s society, but a friend of mine and I got into a long conversation about this topic this last night that never really ended.
He is for abortion. 😦 Just so you all know I am against abortion, thus the cute little babies in the picture above 🙂
I am not one to show animosity towards anyone for what they believe in. I am mainly just curious to understand the reasoning one would have considering abortion; and he likewise the opposite.
When I was younger I have always held these same views for the most part. I was always against abortion, but due to lack of knowledge at the time I thought it was okay to undergo the operation as long the female’s belly wasn’t big. Huh? What does that even mean? Again I was young. As I grew older and gained knowledge from various classes and life situations I started thinking,”Okay as long as the female has an abortion before a month or so it’s okay because the baby couldn’t possibly be a baby at that point, right?”
Some may say it comes down to a play on words.
The word fetus refers to an unborn offspring between 9 weeks of conception until birth. Generally people who are ‘for abortion’ refer to the unborn offspring as a fetus and always have the need to mention that a ‘baby’ by definition refers to a recently born child. “The fetus has not been recently born and therefore is not a baby and therefore is not alive and therefore it is not murder and therefore…”
On the other hand, people who are ‘against abortion’ will refer to the unborn offspring as a child. A child, ‘a young human being below the age of puberty’, ‘the descendants of a family or people’, ‘a person or thing influenced by a specified environment’, etc. Sounds like a child to me. The death of a child can apply when the unborn offspring growing inside of their mother dies(by definition.) By this logic abortion is clearly considered as murder and therefore should be illegal.
There a millions of different facts and statistics on both sides of this argument just like with many other touchy topics such as racism, gay marriage, illegal citizens, etc. Normally I wouldn’t post about any of these topics – if people want to be racist well let them be racist (even though I believe in equality for all), if gay men and lesbian women want to get married…welll…. why not???? (I support gay marriage), and if illegal citizens or aliens blah blah blah
However, for this topic I wouldn’t feel right saying, “If people want to have abortions then go ahead and kill your babies!” No no no. I guess that is why I’m writing.
DID YOU KNOW!:
– Just after 3 weeks of fertilization the eyes and spinal cord of the offspring are visible!!
– Just after 4 weeks of fertilization the heart of the offspring actually begins to beat!!!
– and just after……..
….wait a minute….
4 weeks pregnant… and the heart of the offspring is already beginning to beat… and there are people out there who believe that that elegant sound of the offspring’s heart rhythmically beating is not enough evidence of life…and that murder has nothing to do with abortion… hmmmm
Apologies for all of the “Pro-Abortion” people reading this post. I know this has been extremely biased. I will say my bipolar disorder comes out a little when I start thinking about the women who are raped and impregnated. Rape, from what I have heard, is one of the worst life experiences for a female to go through. And then finding out that the cowardly attacker has gotten you pregnant is a feeling I don’t believe us men will ever be truly able to comprehend.
That being said, I have always basically turned a blind eye and neglected those conversations. I want to say it is okay for the female to get an abortion in those scenarios only if she gets it done expediently. No more than a month. But I still feel bad just saying that. It is never okay. But maybe in that situation… what about other situations… You see… damn touchy topics… playing with my head again.
Let’s end this depressing, stressful, emotions builder upper of a post with something funny. (Probably not funny, I am just making this up now.)
Boy: Hey girl, I hear you against abortion… so let’s have sex!
Girl: Why would I have sex with you?
Boy: Well you are against abortion… so that means at any stage it is still considered murder.
Girl: And your point is?
Boy: Well you see if we don’t have sex I am going to masturbate killing millions of sperm cells… aka millions of babies. Sex with you could possibly save one of them. I thought you were against the killing of babies!!!
Girl: Well… I guess you are right… :drops pants:
What if that actually worked?
Thanks for reading everyone. Please feel free to respond with your own opinions and insight on the issue.
– Derek
P.S. I encourage everyone to watch the music video posted below. It’s a father’s song to his aborted child. Sad song with powerful lyrics.
Purging my System of Stress
This may not be the healthiest way for a cathartic release of my emotions and feelings, but it conquers the hell out of wickedly wailing on walls, slicing my arms, popping pills and blacking out from bottomless alcoholic beverages.
In just one week I went from contemplating suicide to starting a new life, obtaining a new job with possible positive future implications, and waking up each morning with a smile on my face. I am not quite sure what is going on with me, but hell… I’m loving it.
Every now and then those stressful moments and situations still eat on my mind – desperately trying to bring me back down into that treacherous trench of depression. The shadows carefully endeavor to sneak over to the light switch in attempts to shut down my now shimmering future.
Each second of my life now is an unconscious struggle to maintain my peace of mind. Instead of causing physical and bodily harm to my already badly bruised body I will purge all of the dark emotions out right here and now.
Where do I begin…
Last night I decided to be productive and finally wash all of my clothes and bed sheets. The carpet on my floor was barely visible as every inch was covered in dirty socks, underwear, pants shirts, wife-beaters, sweats, coats and jackets. Everywhere. I played my favorite tunes as I meticulously sorted whites, lights, colors and blacks. The weight of my laundry hampers were overbearing as I battled balancing everything down into the laundry room only to find out we were FRESH OUT OF DETERGENT! WTF!!!!!!! How the hell am I supposed to wash my work clothes for tomorrow morning!!! AAAAHHHH DAMN IT!!!!!
What else…
Oh this morning as I was getting ready, doing my normal morning rituals, my gums starting to bleed as I was brushing my teeth. WTF is that all about. My gums never bleed. It looked as if I had just finished devouring young toddlers looking like Hannibal Lecter. I guess it’s time to quit smoking… fuck.
Oh and as I was putting on my deodorant… yeah… “It” happened. It completely broke with the first stroke on my pits crumbling all over my floor. Not only must I leave the house with body odor I now have to clean that SHIT up. WTF!!!!!
What else… ANNNNDDDD what’s the deal with that airline food… I mean come on…
I guess it’s a good sign that all my stresses in life recently have been microscopic compared to the past five years of my life. I think this means I’m finally on my way to fully being cured of this disastrous illness they call depression.
So I’ve been unemployed for the past couple months (up until yesterday) and dealing with mental illnesses and depression while broke and unemployed was needless to say unpleasant. A possible future I had in mind was managing a hotel – branch manager to district manager to maybe even regional manager… So of course I went on craigslist and applied to every hotel job they had to offer. I have tons of excellent experience working in the restaurant industry starting off as a host and food runner and working my way up as a waiter/server. I applied to be a front desk agent, a position of which I have no experience with, at this hotel downtown Philadelphia in hopes of working my way up. The manager reluctantly reviewed my resume’ and called me in for an interview (last week on Thursday.)
Now for the real rant
I was wearing navy dress plants, white collared button down shirt with purple pin stripes intersecting all over, metallic purple tie, and a brown belt to match my brown shoes. Yes… I was looking fresh. There’s no need to drive when living, working and attending school in the inner city so like most people I took the subway down to my interview. I planned my trip out to the hair so that I would arrive at my interview twenty minutes early. Unfortunately I still showed up 3 minutes late to my interview. AHHHHHHHHH. LET ME TELL YOU!!!!!
So, while I was on the subway, nervous and anxious for my interview, I over heard and argument between rival high school gangs.
“Fuck you and your corny ass school bul!”
“Y’all ain’t shit!”
blah blah blah
I tried my best to ignore the situation and anticipated the types of questions I would be asked during the interview. With one blink of my eyes the argument transformed into an all-out Battle Royale. Fucking Animals. An eight on eight fight broke out at a stop halfway between my house and the interview. The subway cart immediately stopped and the door flung open as flashes and alarms were going off in every direction. I could literally feel the pulsing in head pound against my skull with every beat of my heart. Normally I would have been fearing I would somehow end up being an innocent victim to the brawl, but the only thing that was going through my mind was hoping the cops would expediently arrive to break up and arrest the perpetrators.
LOCK THEM ALL AWAY FOREVER FOR ALL I CARE. CAN’T YOU SEE I’M TRYING TO IMPROVE MY LIFE!!!!
Long story short the brawl lasted a few minutes until the cops finally showed up and everyone broke into several different directions.The officers took at least ten minutes interviewing several people including the driver of the train (for some odd reason…) until the train was finally back in motion… or lack there of… the lackadaisical movement of the train caused the stress and anxiety in my head to rapidly rise as the train couldn’t have been going any faster than 10 mph for the remainder of the stops.
Upon getting off of the train I instantly realized I had about 15 seconds to run rough five blocks to my interview. In a crowded downtown city this task was literally impossible. When I finally showed up to my interview with visible sweat flying off of my forehead I apologized for my lateness. I thought about blaming my lateness on those vicious beasts from the subway, but that certainly wasn’t how I wanted to kick start this new life – so I left it at that. Sorry.
Apparently the interview went… rather well… unfortunately I didn’t get the job as a front desk agent; however the manager called me back yesterday and asked if I would be interested in starting today working as a server in their cafe’.
“If things go well we can talk about you moving up to the front desk.”
SAY WHAT!?!?!?!?!?!?! Is this a dream!?!?!?!
So no I didn’t get my desired job, but I was given an unlikely opportunity at perhaps the most critical time in my life. Had I dealt with my recent stresses and angers with my old habits i could have been drunk or hungover for my interview. Drugged out on pills with a bunch of explaining to do about recent scars and bruises. Hell… I might not have even showed up.
I am writing this post for myself. So I can see that staying positive and finding decent coping methods to deal with stress, anger and depression will always pay off compared to the alternative. Best of luck to myself on my new job. Lets hope I can actually keep this one.
And to the assholes who like to fight and get trains shut down… FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🙂
– Derek
(Writing helps me release the stress, anger, and dark emotions I tend to often bottle up inside. I think I’ll ask for a typewriter for my birthday.)
Objects in the mirror
Through trial and error I have come to the conclusion that objects in the mirror are indeed closer than they appear. It is extremely difficult to accumulate enough strength to power through and move on from difficult life situations. Suffering through depression, to me, is like driving with a flat tire in the prehistoric ages. Everyone around you appears to be gracefully galloping through life in the fast lane while you’re stuck riding the shoulder scraping metal as sparks fly every which way. You’re smooth sailing weightless hybrid that would steadily burn rubber on highways has now turned into a Flintstone car being powered by blood, sweat and literal tears.
Many people find that struggling to get through depression is one of the most challenging tasks that life can lob at a person. I have vigorously tried time and time again and I believe I have finally come up with a solution for myself; leaving objects in the rear-view mirror. I found that I was constantly thinking about everything that I should have done, things I could have done differently, what if’s and why did I’s.
If only I had focused more on my studies than the girls on campus…
If only I looked forward to waking up early and arriving to class and work on time instead of the next taste of alcohol and drugs
IF ONLY I DIDN’T DROP OUT OF COLLEGE AND COMPLETELY RUIN MY FUTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Constantly thinking about these situations on the regular clouded my mind and the current future I was working on. With every job that I obtain I know I could be making double. With every time I apply for classes I know I should have completed them semesters ago. With every time I look at my depressingly dry bank account I know I could be sitting on six figures easily. If only if only if only.
I found that having these recurring thoughts darkened my lifestyle forming a black hole of liposuction stealing every ounce of motivation and determination in my life. In turn I have lost many jobs and wasted many years of college stuck in the darkness – blinded from all light dragging my wheels on the side of the road.
With every year I waste thinking back at what I could have done differently I waste a year at starting new and working my way back up.
No longer will I waste the days away in my dimly lit room searching for an answer in my past. No longer will I blow paycheck after paycheck at the casino in hopes striking gold. No longer will I continue to struggle through life on this rickety Flintstone car. The soles on my shoes are all worn out.
It is finally time for me to throw that old car away. Before I can drive I again I must first walk, jog, run, sprint, bike and then I will be back on my feet. I know I can’t expect to get a high paying job, but I will put every ounce of strength in me to work until I get there. And then I will work some more. Farewell to the past.
Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, but if you keep on driving they will never catch you.
(Writing is my own therapeutic way of getting better. Seeing, in writing, the ridiculous things I have done in the past and the time I have wasted on useless nonsense alone motivates me even more to try harder each day to live healthy and successful life. Also, reading the feedback you all have been giving me is one the few things that put a smile on my face these days. I really appreciate and look forward to hearing from you all.)
Thank you all for reading,
– Derek
When I grow up
That infamous question I’ve heard over and over again when I was younger, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
When I was in Elementary school the possibilities were endless. Anything and everything interested me. My answer changed each day:
I wanted to be a lawyer so I could atrociously argue case after case pleading my clients’ innocence; reeling in bank rolls of money in the process. Now I worry about failure. What if I don’t gather enough evidence and my clients get wrongfully accused and convicted. Sent away and doomed to serve life confined behind bars for a crime they didn’t commit all because I didn’t find that once piece of evidence.
I wanted to be a doctor so I could skillfully save lives; rebuilding, rehabbing and regenerating those suffering back to their proper health and well-being. Now all I can think about is the years and years of excruciating medical school. The all-nighters I would have to spend scrupulously studying to ensure I have all the proper knowledge needed for school, residency, and of course to perform miracles saving lives. What if I accidentally make a mistake. What if I have the hiccups during surgery and accidentally pierce a main artery causing the unconscious patient to hastily bleed out on the table.
Oh and of course I went through the phase of wanting to be a firefighter. The occupation where you can be a “hero” without being an “asshole” (referencing police officers). The fact that I became addicted to smoking cigarettes a few years ago might give me a leg up in the fire fighting busy. I have recently relished viewing television shows such as “Rescue Me” and “Chicago Fire”. I vividly imagine rushing into burning buildings with explosions going off in every direction severely struggling to pick up the sounds of screams of the victims needing help. What if I don’t make it in time…
I am just realizing that each of the “random” occupations I have recently talked about all have to do with me saving someone’s life. Maybe in my past life I was a hero of some sort: Julius Caesar, Napoleon Bonaparte, Martin Luther King Jr., the guy who made the poison for Adolf Hitler. I highly doubt that those occupations would be suitable for someone who has contemplated suicide multiple times. Or… what if they are the perfect jobs? Who better to run into a burning building, with no regard of there own life, than someone who has nothing to lose? Food for thought. “Hey! Wait! Don’t kill yourself yet! That building is on fire and there’s people that need to be saved. If you don’t make it out well… you were going to die anyway right?” No no no that is wrong. Moving on now.
I am twenty three years old now and still haven’t the slightest idea on my uncertain future. Along with my long list of jobs I’ve had over the past five years is a long list of majors I have attempted to study. Starting with the first: Mechanical Engineering, Accounting, Finance, Business Management, Hospitality Management and finally Actuarial Science. All of these majors (besides Accounting) were very interesting. I have learned a lot in each field, but enough to know that none of these majors are the right fit for me. I’m great with people and customer service, I can sell almost anything, my favorite subject is Mathematics, I strive on eating healthy and working out (even though I smoke) and I love to write. I am kind of all over the place.
So what now… maybe I’ll never know what I want to be… maybe I’ll be stuck flipping burgers at McDonald’s… maybe I’ll get wrongly accused of a crime and spend the rest of my life in prison… or maybe I’ll get into a car accident and die due to the doctor having hiccups during surgery… AHHHHHH there it is!!!!! I FOUND IT!!!
I remember when I was younger watching the movie “Jack” played by Robin Williams. Jack was an extraordinary person having a rare disorder causing him to age five times faster than the regular person. When he was merely ten years old he looked as if he were 50 (or something like that). Jack was asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” He thought about this for a while when it finally hit him. Jack said, “What do I want to be when I grow up? Alive…”
When I grow up I want to be alive. Alive and well. I know that sooner or later my life will fall into place. I just have to stay determined and put the aggravatingly hard work in now. Maybe one day I’ll be a writer… Hell, if I’m stuck flipping burgers at McDonald’s just know they will be the best tasting burgers you’ve ever eaten in your lifetime. That is all. Thank you for reading my posts. Feel free to like and comment on my wackiness. I love all feedback.
– Derek Ferguson
Depression Poem (My First)
Depression is like a recession within your head.
Brain cells rummaging, wandering, restlessly until their dead.
Sleepless nights, full of freight, staying up til dawn
They say the grass is always greener, well not on this lawn
Demonically dark nightmares from alcohol and marijuana
Waking up with sweats as if my room were a sauna
Lacking confidence, desires, determination, motivation
No will to wake up, steady stuck in hibernation
Slashes on my arms as I hide from the rain
Lacerations, irritations, anything to feel some pain
Living in the dark watching life fade away
Oh how I wish I wasn’t depressed today
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