Haha just kidding I KNOW that nobody visits this website YOU DID

How am I gonna herald my triumphant return to this blog? GOOD QUESTION

Let’s talk about how people thinking they want to die is bad


We treat them with empathy cause we don’t want em opening their wrists up all over us, I get it, I get it


But you CAN just “get over” depression


Everyone’s gonna tell you “oh no you can’t just think your way out of depression that’s bullshit”


You can’t like just THINK and BAM all of a sudden your depression is gone



You can use your noggin to develop techniques to help you FUCK DEPRESSION UP MY MAN

ok look quick disclamer

there’s 2 kindsa depression, fukn fake depression which is what most people have and actual clinical “Major Depression” which u’ll need a good amount of pills for


Use your noggin to say “if i get depressed i will fuck up my depression”

That’s a good thought, instead what people think is

“I can’t get over my depression it is an unassailable force guess i”ll just ride it out and eat FUKN ICE CREAM ALL DAY” SHIT THAT SOUNDS PRETTY GOOD LET ME DEPRESSED PLEASE

that is a joke i am please help me


So look.


Look, it’s 3 am, look.

When someone tells a depressed person “snap out of it” our societal instinct is to LAUGH AT THE STUPID MOFO SAYN “SNAP OUT OF IT”

Because we think you cant’ snap out of depression

I don’t fucking know if you can or not actually stop reading this blog post. I just tagged it as every category on my website, including Uncategorized, what are you gonna do about it? Huh? That’s what I thought.

I’m 5/8ths peppercorn chip and banana DNA. What about you, huh? Did you think this would be coherent? You want me to make an argument? Fuck you I don’t owe you anything.

I want to be a rock. You know, rocks dont really feel much do they? They can get trampled on all day and fuck shit this is depressing again

My swearing probably isn’t endearing. In the futuer I’m going to asterisks out all my f*cking swearing okay? I’m sorry.

*Fuckign10/10* listen

I saw a thing. It was fucki*g dumb.

It was “this is what depression feels like” and it was like a

Like, it was a woman sitting in a bathtub she pulled the plug and all the water drained around her or something and it was like “this is depression”



but nobody really knows how to describe depression, all i’m saying is you know take a dead fish and rub it against your face, THAT’S depression

the point is you shouldn’t call yourself depressed because then your brain latches onto the feeling and instead you get sad and tired and depressed more easily instead deny your feelings and repress them

That’s a great lead-up into my next piece called “Suck It Up”

Do You Have A Story?

The Spirit turned to Drum. “Do you have any stories?”

“My people,” said Drum, “are not the story sort.”

“Come now, Drum!” said The Skeleton Lady. “You must know some story!”

Drum looked into the air and flashes his fangs in a smile. “There is one. I’m not sure you’ll like it. It does not carry well between our cultures.”

“Ooh, now I’m interested,” said The Psychic Girl, popping another snail into her mouth. “Let’s hear it.”

Drum looked into the fire. “Two walked in the woods. Death followed them. Thirst and hunger consumed them. Each was the only pack the other had left. Yet they marched on.”

Drum drew a symbol in the dirt. “Eventually, they stumbled upon a man impaled on a jagged piece of metal. Fresh blood ran down it. There was enough for one of them to live. The first said the second should take it; he was older and had less life to live. The second said the first should take it; he was younger and less likely to make it home.”

Drum looked at the Spirit. “The man saw these creatures arguing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of acid. He held it above his head and smashed it. The acid dissolved his flesh and most of his blood. Both of them would starve to death because of this.”

Drum stopped talking.

“And?” said the Spirit.

“That’s it,” said Drum. “That’s the end of the story.”

“That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard,” said the Spirit.

“You were warned,” said Drum.


Do You Want To Hear A Story

 The Skeleton Lady smiled at The Psychic Girl one night and said, “Do you want to hear a story?”

The Psychic Girl stared at her bony grin with apprehension, unaware that this clearly inhuman abomination was able to tell stories.

The Skeleton Lady simply stared at The Psychic Girl. She wanted to tell a story.

“What sort of story,” said The Psychic Girl.

“I remembered a story,” said The Skeleton Lady. “My favourite story. My mother used to tell it to me when I was young. I remember things easier when I’m around you.”

The voice of the Psychic Ghost resounded in her head. Don’t trust Teysla. She shook her head.

“No?” said The Skeleton Lady, frowning. “You don’t want to hear my story?”

“No, no, that’s not why I’m shaking my head,” said The Psychic Girl, rubbing her temples.

“So you do want to hear my story!” said The Skeleton Lady happily.

The Psychic Girl rolled her eyes and sighed. “Why not.”

“Did you know,” said The Skeleton Lady enthusiastically, “that there was a world before ours?”

“What,” said The Psychic Girl, “like another planet?”

“No,” said The Skeleton Lady, “but almost. This world didn’t have psychics in it. Or lizardmen. Or vampires.”

“No?” said The Psychic Girl. She sat down. “Then what did it have?”

“Humans. People, they called themselves,” said The Skeleton Lady.

“People,” repeated The Psychic Girl. “They built all the ruined stuff, then?”

“That’s right,” said The Skeleton Lady, “only when they lived, it wasn’t ruined.”

“I could have guess that,” said The Psychic Girl. She bit her lip. “Go on, though.”

“When they lived, there were so many people. Millions and millions of people, all in one kingdom. They had food, as much as they wanted. They all had homes. And friends. They had technology, too, the kind of things we’re lucky to get running again. They had clothes and they could go where they wanted and do what they wanted. They were free.”

The Psychic Girl frowned. “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true,” said The Skeleton Lady.

“But what did they do?” said The Psychic Girl. Her stomach rumbled. “If they had food all the time they wouldn’t have problems!”

“Maybe they didn’t,” said The Skeleton Lady.

“Then why are they all dead?!” said The Psychic Girl.

The Skeleton Lady looked around at the rubble. “Maybe they made their own problems.”

The Psychic Girl got up. She pointed a finger at the rubble and shot it with lightning. “Why’d they ruin a world where nobody had to be different? Where nobody had to be a psychic.”

“Sweetie,” said The Skeleton Lady, “are you… sad?”

The Psychic Girl’s mouth jumped into a frown and then a scowl. “No,” she whispered and then fired another blast at the rubble. It exploded in half. “I’m mad. I want that. And I can never have it. They wasted it.”