Not quite a hard situation...

Its a wonderful day today, the sky is blue, the sun is hot and people are smiling (before they start their shifts). Today is symbolic for me as well, as I feel that I'm pretty much out of my most recent depression. This comes not only as good news to me, but also to fuckdoll.

One of the main problems that happen due to a depressive state, is a total lack of sex drive. While that frustrating to both people, it becomes worse as I start to come out of the low and stabilise again - I start to feel incredibly horny but, due to the depression, nothing works.. And, quite frankly, that fucking sucks.

I just hope that it sorts its shit out soon, because I'm gagging to slap fuckdoll around and hear her screams again as I force my cock into her body..

I'll keep you updated ;)

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"War is Peace," "Freedom is Slavery," "Ignorance is Strength." (Welcome to 1984)

It hit me when I arrived at the main set of lights where I make the turn into the business park area in which the campus is location - I didn't want to make the turn. I wanted to carry on riding. Throw away the troubles of this job and just sign up to finish my training for another career path and start working as that as soon as I physically can.

But that's not what's expected or needed of me right now. What's needed and expected of me is to keep my head down, put on my headset and endure the contempt and disgust I have towards the people that work for this company. If you can call what they do work.

Just across from me as I sit and write this, outside one of the multiple on-campus cafes, 5 suited people (2 women and 3 gay guys) are making toasts with their cups of coffee and discussing the usual gossip type things. Just beyond that group is another, doing pretty much the same thing.

Where as, I am the invisible one. The "CFU", or Customer Facing Unit.

A "unit". A device or small increment of measurement. That's me. I allow these wankers to do nothing all day but drink coffee and drive lamborghinis (there was one in the carpark yesterday, and I saw a ferrari as I entered this afternoon).

My job, quite simply, is to cover up the company's bad network and procedures. I tell customers that, no, there's no-one else with that problem in the area. Even though there are about 60+ others. I'm the one that has to smile and say how great it is that an entire department is now responsible for making the workplace fun.

There's even a man with the title "Culture Executive" for fuck's sake.

Upon enquiring what his job was, I was told he was responsible for making the company happy. I then asked what happens if someone isn't happy, (like me, for example), and that person had become disillusioned with the company's focus and direction. Well, I was told, that's because you are "negative", and therefore can't be helped. It also means that if I'm happy, its all down to him. If I'm sad, its my fault and he can't be blamed.

But, I digress. Back to my point.. I hate my job. I feel dirty and grimy as I flex my bullshit gland on a daily basis. Smiling when I have to, and pretending to be excited when they tell me that Marketing are pulling on board 150,000 more customers onto a network that can't even handle its current workload. When I point this out, I'm met with the usual "don't say anything" or "don't be negative" responses. But I've had enough.

These people don't need to deal with the barrage of abuse I get dealt to me on an hourly basis from frustrated customers. They aren't told how many seconds I need to spend on calls on average. They don't have to have the same customers that shout at them then rate their interactions 24 hours later. And aren't then punished when the customers aren't happy. I hate being told that I can improve the "customer experience" by, basically, bullshitting our "valued customers" better and cracking jokes with them (how I'm meant to do this between them threatening my life over a crappy internet connection, I don't know).

I feel like I'm working in the Ministry Of Truth in George Orwell's 1984.

Remember the Party Truths:
"War is Peace"
"Freedom is Slavery"
"Ignorance is Strength."

God I need to go for a ride.

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I'm currently unavailable, please leave a message after the long tone...

Its been a weird few days.

I've been admitted and then discharged from hospital, realised I really can't stand my job for a minute longer without feeling repulsed at dealing with grown adults carrying on like children (both customers and co-workers), and house "mates" being anything but friendly.

And now I've just admitted to fuckdoll that I'm in a depressive period. I'm not sure if she's ever been regularly at the level that I'm at, she says she understands what I'm going through, but I'm just not sure. I know that she loves and cares for me, but I find it hard sometimes to find myself worthy of life. I've told her of this but sometimes its really hard to say, out loud, your thoughts as they sound so sad and withering that they make you feel even worse.

Right now, at this point in time, I know that I have so much going for me. Yet I find myself having to think of a reason not to die every few seconds just to fend off the suicidal thoughts for that moment, even though its as futile as attempting to bat away the onset of old age - its not going away.

In the hospital the other day, when I had the lumbar puncture, I was warned of possible spinal damage or even death. The odd thing (I suppose) is that the thought of having a disability was horrifying to me, yet the thought of death was (almost) welcome. "At least the pain will stop". That was the first thought that entered my mind.

Now, I'm suddenly in two-minds about posting this update, simply because I find it hard to know that fuckdoll will read it at her earliest convenience. And, without a doubt, she will be upset by what she reads. But this is my dilemma that I face almost daily. Having to fight off the suicidal thought attacks my depression throws at me and yet, at the same time, fighting back any externally visable show of that fight to those around me.

There's also the other part of the equation: those around me will feel hurt and lied to. This will be because I've hidden the thoughts from them. Again this is mainly due to the standard response people have when faced with a fellow human who feels that, when faced with the choices they must face in life, find the solution of their own death to be the most preferable option to choose. That standard response is to point out all the "good" things that the person should live for.

Here's my (somewhat jaded) advice for the moment - a suicidal person doesn't want to hear the things to live for, not as such. Reeling out a list like that will only result in them feeling like they are so bad that they should, most probably, just take their life and have done with the whole saga.

Interesting that I used the word saga there. As it, so smoothly, leads me to my next point, its only Monday evening. I have, so far this week, expended that much energy trying to smile at the right points, joking when jokes are expected and generally cheating myself into surviving another hour that it should at least be Thursday.

This week is going to take a couple of months to see through to it's end..

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.


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Illness, spinal taps and these go to 11.

Its been sometime again since I last posted, and I can only hope that you have been reading the updates on fuckdoll's blog in the meantime to see that I have not been on a complete mania.

I have, however, been reducing my medications over the past few weeks with the advice of my doctor, simply becase I really don't want to be on them forever. I want to take the control back within my own hands now, and I feel that I am in a stable enough role in my life to start that first step.

In other news, unrelated to my medication situation, I was admitted to hospital early on wednesday morning (just gone) with a very high fever, low blood pressure and migraine, all mixed with the sheer panic of my throat starting to close up. Fuckdoll did a great job of taking care of me, but I could see the panic in her eyes too.

A number of tests were carried out on me with no results. The worst test by far was the "lumbar puncture". Which is, let it be said, far from as civil as it's name suggests. It, quite simply, involves the doctors forcing a large-gauge needle between the vertebra of your spine and into the sack of fluid and goo around your spinal cord. They then suck out some of this fluid. And yes, it really does hurt as much as it sounds like it would.

So, I apologise for a lack of the usual "good" content for this update: but I'm completely knackered just functioning!

A really big thank you to my fuckdoll though, for caring for my during my time of need, and for putting aside the frustrations I cause her at times.

Take care,
Master.



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Red mist.

Stressed.

Angry.

I feel like I want to write about it all, but the only thing in my mind that surfaces from the murky gloom is a desire to beat someone, anyone, to death.

I was to feel a life expire in my hands to relax me.

Perhaps my aggression isn't quite under control yet.

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