As I lie here awake under my insomnia, I try to recall when my depression started. I think it began in the August of 2008 during the economic recession after I had just graduated from film school and moved back to Sacramento. Oh, San Francisco, that dreary and always gloomy place, well at least where I lived. I fucking hated, so that's why I left for sunny Sacramento.
Well, it didn't turn out so sunny after all. All the film people that I knew were gone either to graduate schools or back home to wherever they came from. As I got back to Sacramento, I was expecting to get a job in the film industry. Turned out that wasn't the case or the place. I had to get back on the daily grind of a regular fucking retail or sales job of whatever the hell I was doing before graduation that I really hated. Just couldn't see myself being a corporate slave. God, the thought of that is so depressing. Imagine yourself sitting in a cubicle flipping through papers all day and building a gut waist. That's why I went to film school in the first place to follow my passion. I got a couple of interviews at some news stations but the idea of slaving under some taking heads wasn't appealing and wasn't going to pay for the $12,000 loans I accumulated from my educational institution. So I opted out from the world of 9-5 and settled in on the world of virtual reality and online social media (Hint: When you are depressed you do these things or take drugs to numb the feeling, but over time, they will just make things worst. Good thing I never did drugs). I escaped into the word of Elder Scrolls and Fallout 3, and at that time we still had MySpace (Hey, whatever happened to Tom? Damn time flew and that Tila Tequila chick that every MySpace fanboy wanted to bang). I was feeding my brain with dopamine, you know the chemical that makes you feel good. But once it wears off, you fall right into depression again. Well, that wasn't all I did. I also did some freelance gigs of being a Final Cut Pro editor for a couple of indie producers which earned some Benjamins in my not so fat pocket. At the time, I was still dating a part-time girlfriend from San Francisco and went back occasionally to see her and hang out with some of my film friends. One of them was going to graduate in the following year, and we were planning to go down to LA together with all the excitement and hope of our future film careers.
Then came 2009 and the economic recession was still not getting any better. But my friend graduated, and I went down to SF to celebrate his graduation and he was like, "Dude, my older brother got this dope place that we can crash. Now, we can really move down to Hollywood!" And I was like, "So your brother is a Hollywood big shot huh?" So I got home and packed my clothes and got the fuck out of Suckramen-fucking-tal, and it was all bright and sunny and a big smile on my face as I drove down Highway 5 with in music from my old 1986 Toyota Corolla. Anyway, I got down to So Cal and met up with my buddy, who was originally from there. I had no fucking idea why he chose Northern California over all of the more prestigious films schools from he was. Well, maybe he just wanted to explore a different vibe, the northern California vibe. So we went to the apartment and settled in. My friend then, being the So Cal dude he was, said "Dude, let's go party." And I asked, "Where's your brother." "He can't leave the house. The wife won't let him." He replied. And I was like, "Dude, that's just wrong man! He got a wife. The man can't be doing that to the Missy and her poor tots -- leaving the house to go hump some young chicks with bachelors." My perception of his older brother suddenly changed. I thought he was this typical movie producer who sees himself hang around young studs and loves to have extramarital status on the side. So my buddy and I went to the bank and got some Benjamins and went around town and absorb all that Southern California vibe. Then I was like, "Dude, we need some a way to get Benjamins in our pocket while we play." So we went to some nearby casinos to try to be some busboys or waiters or blackjack dealer or whatever the hell they have at a gambling joint, but for the latter my math couldn't cut it being Asian and all.
As months went by, we just hung out at the beach, drank and party with beach chicks. All my buddy wanted to do was hang out at the beach like some hunks and surfer dudes and party with southern California chicks. To my distaste I was like "Fuck this shit! I'm ain't gonna waste my life hanging out at the beaches and chasing girls all day. I wanna write, work in movies, make so some money and maybe do some travels. Get ahead of the other motherfuckers who graduated in the same year as us." We got into an bitter argument and I said, "I'm through with wasting time at the beaches and chasing bitches." And he said, "Why the rush? Ain't you here just checking it out, exploring."
He then called his older brother and told him that I was leaving. His older brother came over to the apartment and brought some coke. You know the white powder that you sniff through your nose. His brother then asked us to take those coke to a buyer - this other dude somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. But then we refused and told the old dude we want out of the apartment lease, and he got mad and the steam went off his ears and he pulled out a kitchen knife and said, "Fuck you both. I'll gut you and your Chink-Chong Asian homie here." And then my buddy and his brother started fighting and then I packed my bags and said to them, "No offense, but this ain't cool, bro. I ain't staying in this." Then suddenly they stop fighting and I got the fuck out of there as fast as I could from that apartment that we co-leased with a criminal-psycho path. And my buddy was "Yo, dude, could you drop me off at my friend's place." Then I was like, "Nah, bro, you lied to me. I'm outta here." " Yo, dude. My bad. My brother's a felon," he pleaded. "Shoulda been straight with ya. Do me this favorite once."
So I gave him a ride to Orange County and while we stopped at the pump station to feed my car gasoline, my buddy offered me 40 bucks for gas. To my decline I said, "It's cool, I ain't gonna take ya money. The last thing I'd do is take my buddy's money who tried to hook me with a place in LA." Then I gave him a hug and drove him to this girl's house where we said our last good byes. And that was the last time I saw one of my film buddies as he stayed in So Cal, and I went back to Sucka-mental.
Well, it didn't turn out so sunny after all. All the film people that I knew were gone either to graduate schools or back home to wherever they came from. As I got back to Sacramento, I was expecting to get a job in the film industry. Turned out that wasn't the case or the place. I had to get back on the daily grind of a regular fucking retail or sales job of whatever the hell I was doing before graduation that I really hated. Just couldn't see myself being a corporate slave. God, the thought of that is so depressing. Imagine yourself sitting in a cubicle flipping through papers all day and building a gut waist. That's why I went to film school in the first place to follow my passion. I got a couple of interviews at some news stations but the idea of slaving under some taking heads wasn't appealing and wasn't going to pay for the $12,000 loans I accumulated from my educational institution. So I opted out from the world of 9-5 and settled in on the world of virtual reality and online social media (Hint: When you are depressed you do these things or take drugs to numb the feeling, but over time, they will just make things worst. Good thing I never did drugs). I escaped into the word of Elder Scrolls and Fallout 3, and at that time we still had MySpace (Hey, whatever happened to Tom? Damn time flew and that Tila Tequila chick that every MySpace fanboy wanted to bang). I was feeding my brain with dopamine, you know the chemical that makes you feel good. But once it wears off, you fall right into depression again. Well, that wasn't all I did. I also did some freelance gigs of being a Final Cut Pro editor for a couple of indie producers which earned some Benjamins in my not so fat pocket. At the time, I was still dating a part-time girlfriend from San Francisco and went back occasionally to see her and hang out with some of my film friends. One of them was going to graduate in the following year, and we were planning to go down to LA together with all the excitement and hope of our future film careers.
Then came 2009 and the economic recession was still not getting any better. But my friend graduated, and I went down to SF to celebrate his graduation and he was like, "Dude, my older brother got this dope place that we can crash. Now, we can really move down to Hollywood!" And I was like, "So your brother is a Hollywood big shot huh?" So I got home and packed my clothes and got the fuck out of Suckramen-fucking-tal, and it was all bright and sunny and a big smile on my face as I drove down Highway 5 with in music from my old 1986 Toyota Corolla. Anyway, I got down to So Cal and met up with my buddy, who was originally from there. I had no fucking idea why he chose Northern California over all of the more prestigious films schools from he was. Well, maybe he just wanted to explore a different vibe, the northern California vibe. So we went to the apartment and settled in. My friend then, being the So Cal dude he was, said "Dude, let's go party." And I asked, "Where's your brother." "He can't leave the house. The wife won't let him." He replied. And I was like, "Dude, that's just wrong man! He got a wife. The man can't be doing that to the Missy and her poor tots -- leaving the house to go hump some young chicks with bachelors." My perception of his older brother suddenly changed. I thought he was this typical movie producer who sees himself hang around young studs and loves to have extramarital status on the side. So my buddy and I went to the bank and got some Benjamins and went around town and absorb all that Southern California vibe. Then I was like, "Dude, we need some a way to get Benjamins in our pocket while we play." So we went to some nearby casinos to try to be some busboys or waiters or blackjack dealer or whatever the hell they have at a gambling joint, but for the latter my math couldn't cut it being Asian and all.
As months went by, we just hung out at the beach, drank and party with beach chicks. All my buddy wanted to do was hang out at the beach like some hunks and surfer dudes and party with southern California chicks. To my distaste I was like "Fuck this shit! I'm ain't gonna waste my life hanging out at the beaches and chasing girls all day. I wanna write, work in movies, make so some money and maybe do some travels. Get ahead of the other motherfuckers who graduated in the same year as us." We got into an bitter argument and I said, "I'm through with wasting time at the beaches and chasing bitches." And he said, "Why the rush? Ain't you here just checking it out, exploring."
He then called his older brother and told him that I was leaving. His older brother came over to the apartment and brought some coke. You know the white powder that you sniff through your nose. His brother then asked us to take those coke to a buyer - this other dude somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. But then we refused and told the old dude we want out of the apartment lease, and he got mad and the steam went off his ears and he pulled out a kitchen knife and said, "Fuck you both. I'll gut you and your Chink-Chong Asian homie here." And then my buddy and his brother started fighting and then I packed my bags and said to them, "No offense, but this ain't cool, bro. I ain't staying in this." Then suddenly they stop fighting and I got the fuck out of there as fast as I could from that apartment that we co-leased with a criminal-psycho path. And my buddy was "Yo, dude, could you drop me off at my friend's place." Then I was like, "Nah, bro, you lied to me. I'm outta here." " Yo, dude. My bad. My brother's a felon," he pleaded. "Shoulda been straight with ya. Do me this favorite once."
So I gave him a ride to Orange County and while we stopped at the pump station to feed my car gasoline, my buddy offered me 40 bucks for gas. To my decline I said, "It's cool, I ain't gonna take ya money. The last thing I'd do is take my buddy's money who tried to hook me with a place in LA." Then I gave him a hug and drove him to this girl's house where we said our last good byes. And that was the last time I saw one of my film buddies as he stayed in So Cal, and I went back to Sucka-mental.