Most poetry fucking sucks.
Period.
Full stop.

Most poetry fucking sucks,
There’s nothing you can say
To convince me
Otherwise – 

Pretentious
Bull shit
Mostly
And yet - 
Dreams deferred and
Live Oaks growing and
Sardines and Oranges and
Slick Rick The Ruler - 

Most poetry fucking sucks
Impenetrable
Haughty
Did I mention
Pretentious Bull Shit?

So pretentious that
I’m sure
Most poets would tell you this isn’t
Even 
A
Poem 

I dream of coming out,
Finally fully revealing my true self
In all my naked pride and glory,
Accepting myself for who I've always known myself to be,
And forcing the same from everybody else.

I dream of no longer being an outsider - 
By totally inhabiting myself
I find my people
Who smile and nod and extend friendly arms
Until I'm enfolded in the comfort and safety of
Where I've always belonged.

I dream of extending both middle fingers
To everybody who held me back,
Pushed me down,
Rejected my true nature either
Overtly or unknowingly,
Enemies nearly on par with Time.

I dream of finally coming out, 
Finally feeling how I always knew I should - 
Some day I will,
Some day I will be fully me,
Some day I will figure out just who it is I am meant to really be.

Sometimes I just need to fuck -
Dirty, sweaty, nasty
Taboo fucking.

Maybe we're in love,
Maybe not,
Regardless,
This is not love,
This is fucking,
Plain and simple.

My brain buzzes,
My body shakes,
My thoughts jump like a coked-up swing dancer,
Nothing will calm down my body or mind but
Straight fucking.

Sometimes I just need to fuck,
Until the sweat drips, my hips hurt,
My breath catches, maybe
Tears fall, turning into
Delirious laughter,
Until life stops swirling,
All sound stops,
And I go back to being 
The real me.

Life will hit like a ton of fucking bricks –

Life HAS hit like a ton of fucking bricks,

But I’m still here,

Still fucking fighting –

Sure, I’ve taken my licks,

I’ve spent days on a couch,

I’ve procrastinated,

I’ve even shed a tear or two,

But fuck that,

I’m winning because I’m still here.

Life will hit like a ton of fucking bricks,

But life ain’t even so tough –

Think about it:

People with zero grasp on reality still live,

Which helped me realize,

Reality is a choice.

This life

Is a choice.

I choose to live,

I choose my focus,

I choose to like what I like,

To be who I need to be.

Sure,

Life has hit like a ton of fucking bricks,

But my counter punch

Is a Goddamn, motherfucking

Mike Tyson uppercut.

Fuck you, Depression,
Fucking motherfuck you - 
If you won't leave me alone, if you're going to stick by me, if you'll forever be my companion,
I'm going to talk to you the way you convince me to talk to myself - 
I'll emasculate you,
Dehumanize you, too,
Reduce you from Depression to depression,
Make you doubt yourself, doubt you have any reason to be here at all,
Make you feel just like me, you fucking piece of shit:

You fucking suck!
You're fucking selfish, you don't care about me,
You don't care about anybody but yourself -
Nobody likes you,
Shit, you don't even like you - 
Look at yourself, you look like shit,
Look in that mirror, look at you,
I mean seriously, how could anybody like you?

You're a loser,
And I mean that in the literal sense,
You lose every single time -
All my life you've been there, 
Always hiding in the shadows,
Trying to undermine me,
Trying to sabotage me,
Trying to defeat me -
But I'm still here,
I've survived,
Which means I've won,
I'm the winner,
And you're nothing but a loser.

This is my stand,
My stand not just against you,
But against apathy,
Against listlessness,
Against disinterestedness - 
I won't let you distract me from life anymore -
I'm taking a stand against putting off the living of this one life even one second longer.

You fucking piece of shit,
Fuck you, Depression - 
Motherfuck you!

This is a blog about sex and depression. So, guess what? I’ve been depressed and sex has an impact. Or, maybe, “sex.”

That’s not what this is really about, though. It’s about my phone. For the past week or so I’ve been on my phone constantly, on Tinder, on Snapchat, looking for ways to satisfy my libido. All this time on my phone has lead to two negatives, I think. My pinkies are raw from the bottom of my cell phone case rubbing against my fingers, and my anxiety and inability to focus have been through the roof.

Two days ago, I matched with two women on Tinder who felt like kindred souls. Women who are highly sexual, willing to share their experiences, desires, fantasies, openly. Women who, like me, don’t mind talking openly about their masturbation habits. They both had incredible breasts. One of them began a game of Truth or Dare right away. And it was fun. I was hooked. At one point I asked her, “Out of curiosity, how long could you keep this game up? Because normally I lose interest and these games fizzle out, but I feel like I could do this indefinitely.”

Her response: “Oh, forever.”

Then, just like Keyser Soze, poof, she was gone.

I was bummed the fuck out. I woke up yesterday still hoping I’d hear from her, but nothing. I put my phone away for the morning and began to feel better. I read a while with some coffee nearby; I ate breakfast; I put some laundry away; I jacked off before hopping in the shower and getting on my way.

But, once I got on my way, my phone was back. I checked it constantly, hoping she’d be back. I texted with the other highly sexual woman. I was convinced by another snap friend to walk around with my fly down.

My anxiety skyrocketed. My depression returned.

I’ve thought about using my phone less many times before, and I’ve left it in another room from time to time. I decided to go this route again last night. I’d find myself reaching for it in down time, and I’d want to look something up. But I felt okay. Today, at work, I put my phone in my locker and thought I’d leave it there for a couple hours. Now, six hours into my shift, it’s still there. I’ve checked it a few times, responded to some texts. But that’s it.

I feel okay.

I wonder if most people with anxiety and depression are like me and often try to come up with new approaches, new ways to deal with the shitty feelings. Judging by the number of “self-help” books being written and sold I’m guessing most. So most are probably familiar with the little boost of hope and optimism that come from one of these new approaches. I’ve had millions over the years. So, yes, I have a little boost from the idea that putting my phone away might help.

But, for now, I feel okay.

As I told a (wise, kind, wonderful) Tinder friend recently, making it a point to do what you need to do to not feel pain is not enough. It’s not a positive. It’s just neutral. And anybody who has an addiction will tell you that neutral is not positive. Neutral is a negative that needs to be escaped at any cost. It’s neutral that makes me look for sexting partners on Tinder and Snapchat despite being married to someone who, while she wouldn’t necessarily mind, and definitely wouldn’t leave me, probably doesn’t WANT me to act out in this way. Avoiding pain is not a positive – it’s actually a negative.

Something needs to be the positive. Putting the phone away is just an attempt to get back to neutral. What happens next?

For now, my hope is to focus on the physical experience of being alive. If I’m in pain or ill or dissatisfied, I need to attack that, work on it. After that, if I’m tired, I need to sleep. (If you haven’t read Matthew Walker’s Why We Sleep, I highly recommend it) Then there are all the wonderful and necessary experiences of being alive. I can eat and pay attention to the physical response. I can find physical contact in the form of hugs, kisses, back rubs, massages, sex. I can masturbate, use toys, self stimulate. I can play in the form of games, competitions, challenges. I can exercise, get endorphins going. I can make it a point to pay attention to my physical comfort or discomfort – pay attention to whether I feel hot, cold or comfortable; whether I’m slouching or lively; whether I’m tapping anxiously or relaxed.

I know that being away from my phone brings its own different kind of anxiety. I’m still going to get bored. I’m still going to get antsy and look for something to distract me. I just hope that this boredom, this anxiousness, is a good thing, and I will use it as a way to look for the right things to do, to find something different from whatever is making me feel bored or disconnected. I just hope that I can remind myself that that something different is not anything on my phone, because my phone has not been working.

Here’s why I think that is: the phone is other people. And other people are never a reliable source of peace and contentment. The phone as a form of happiness requires a text or call from someone else. Entertainment from my phone is not from creative juices I’ve poured out, it’s from other people. A phone should be a tool I use to accomplish some task, but much of the time it’s just me as the one being used.

I don’t know how long this experiment will last. I don’t know if this will all fall apart tomorrow when I’m depressed all day and can’t help myself from looking for something, ANYTHING to distract me from the pain and discomfort. But my gut tells me this is an approach worth trying.

“Am I stupid,” I ask myself? The answer would appear to be, “Yes!”

I love baseball. LOVE baseball. I am a firm believer in the idea that opening day should be a national holiday. I remember the days when Cincinnati always played the first game of the season. I would watch Barry Larkin and Eric Davis run out onto the field for the start of another six months of baseball. I’ve stayed home from school to watch opening day.

So I was excited to stay home and watch baseball all day. I would order food, stay on the couch, and just enjoy the games. All. Day. Long.

Sounds like a great idea, right?

Right. Except, here I am, 10:30pm, bottom of the ninth in the Giants game, and I haven’t moved all day. Theoretically I’ve learned that depression is a lack of vitality, a lack of liveliness, a lack of emotion (and, as I’ve said before, “motion creates emotion.”) But, no, I haven’t learned. I looked forward to being immobile all day like I had forgotten that I don’t actually feel good when I do this. It’s not a nice change of pace. It doesn’t enhance my life. I’m so stupid I had forgotten that being sedentary all day not only depresses me but actually makes me feel anxious from lack of movement and makes it hard to even concentrate on the games I’m trying to enjoy.

Don’t even get me started on how the shitty food I ate today makes me feel.

I guess the good news is I have six months of baseball to figure out how to find the proper balance. And hopefully I’m smart enough to make an effort to get some movement in throughout the day, to sweat out the anxiety, to raise the floor of my depression at least enough to enjoy a ballgame without wanting to crawl out of my own skin.

Happy opening day, everyone.