My Biggest Regret

If I could. I wouldn't. It has been about 4 years since that incident. It never bothered me, until September. I got to see the face of a person who has been told the worst thing they can hear, and have never truly recovered. I would say your name, but for protection I won't.

Maybe one day you will read this. Maybe one day you will be directed to it, JW.

Know this, my life has changed. Some of it for the better, some of it for the worst. I battled for my fiancee. I was willing to battle to wits end. Sadly, I went past that and I went below the belt.

That day I told you to kill yourself. I remember all 10 minutes of the event. What we were talking about, who was around, what was played. Where we were. I remember it because I recount the day in my head about 3 times a day as of recently. I wish I played it differently. But, that's perhaps the most bitter things about life. You do not get a redo. You do not get a 1 up or a rewind button.

The words hang from my mouth. then Shotputted out. Without regard for me or you. I told you, a person who suffered mental illness as much as me to kill yourself. You were better than me. You could admit it to yourself. You were treating it and working on becoming a better person. I was working on hurting you in the worst way so you would never talk to me again. It worked.

That day changed my life. I hope it changed your life or motivated you. If it depressed you more it would crush me. I never understood the magnitude of those words. At this moment if those words were uttered to me it would make me question life.

It was sociopathic, masochistic and reprehensible. There is no amount of apologizing I can do.

I deserved the slap I got. The slap was the most deserving and the most significant.

It reached my apex, bliss with the woman I fell in love with, to doubting everyone and everything.
The slap launched 4 years of mania, depression, anxiety, a series of failures and some of my greatest battles in life and battling everything with the perfect woman.

I am going to marry the girl I fought for. I wish my strategy was better. I wish I could what i said back. Everyday this semester was a reminder of the monster I was/am.

I gave up on myself this semester and in a way, it was my just dessert.

I said the most heinous thing a person could say to another person.

I am truly sorry.

Best Regards,

Devon Hunt

I wish I was dumber

Let me preface this with this: Yes, I am smarter than you. No, you shouldn't feel bad. I'm probably more athletic, have a better job. I have a bigger Johnson then you.. And also a bigger dick (badumtsch). I am better than you at every facet.

^^^^

That person is not me (sub the Dick part, I am huge).

... Right?

I look at everyone around me as better. Maybe, it is conditioning. Maybe it is biological. Maybe it is cultural. It probably isn't Maybelline.

I look at everyone around me as better
I look at everyone around me as better.

I go to my old workplace, people I work with who have a slight pay raise. All the sudden better.
I go to school, overhear people talk about grades. A C- is better. The fucking letter grade could be a W. And I'd be like fuck I'm dumb.

This is one of the major things that plague me the most. I think I am smarter than what I am. I think I am dumber than what I am. I am never happy with my knowledge, my abilities or my thoughts. I can't sleep. But... Suddenly I see your asshole toddler having a nap, I feel such emptiness. "That kid can take a mean nap, and a mean dump all at once and I can't even sleep." I eat. I eat unhealthy. I eat healthy. I eat. I judge everything I eat on how I feel after I have eaten... Da fuq is that.

That's me. I wish I was dumber.

I wouldn't psychoanalyze every waking moment of my life. I do. This sinks me lower into my depression. It sinks it's teeth into me like I'm a burger on David Hasslehoff's binge night.

That stark realism that most of the time I don't know what stark means. But, you will understand what I mean. I'll compulsively look that up though. Immediately get angry that I didn't know that. Such anger that a toddler who woke up with a mean dook in his pants would have.

What I'm saying is. I wish I was dumber in most cases, or at least less likely to psychoanalyze myself.


And I want to be able to take a dump in my pants while I sleep without judgment.

Best Regards,

Devon

Diminishing Returns

Also known as life. I am writing about Diminishing Returns as it pertains to me, my studies, and my mental health.

This semester I vowed to be happier, more upbeat and more optimistic about life. I was finally mapping out my life, was taking initiative and became myself (more or less). Some days I believe it. For the past two weeks my demons have gotten the better of me.

I dwell on them, I let them slowly overtake not only my mind, but my energy. Slowly draining the life out of me. Not being able to sleep and being sore for 2 weeks has been a learning process. I blame myself. I wanted to just say "Okay, I can battle through, I can go outside. I can go to class. I can function as a human." People who do not suffer depression have the mindset that it would be as easy as saying "Get over it." That will never be the case. There would be no depressed people in the world if that was the case. Depression is not a weakness. Depression is a sickness. A sickness that you cannot really medicate. You can moderate. You cannot escape it. You cannot dissociate. You become depression.

About 3 weeks ago, I was heading into my first midterm, feeling the best I have felt in a long time. I studied for umpteen hours over a couple days. I went in and wrote what I thought was a damn near perfect exam. I checked my mark the following week and received a 45 percent. Which normally I would take on the chin and keep going. But, the time and effort I put into something I actually enjoyed studying made it a bitter, chalky, John Goodman sweaty pill to swallow.

I turned to comedy. My own or stand up. Finding an escape, trying to stay afloat from the impending depression. I failed myself, along with that exam. I let it beat me.

Beat me down. I cannot go to my profs and tell them that I was not attending class because... "I failed class and I am feeling unbelievably depressed." It is not their problem. I'm not the only student who is depressed, I'm not the only student who failed. I am number 175****. That's how I am identified in the system. That's what I am to most professors. A face in the crowd that disappears in 4 months.
Post-secondary is starting your own future. You will put time, energy, debt, sweat, tears, and every ounce of brainpower into it. Some day you may beat it. Most days it will beat you. It will beat you down.

Best Regards,

A man who is depressed, who can't get out of bed. Who doesn't want to get out of bed. A man who uses a lot of contractions.

Best Regards,

Student No. 175****

Best Regards,

Devon Hunt.