Just testing this out to see if it still works. Reading through my previous posts, I sound like an emotional child stomping about and crying for attention. Which, sadly, is spot on. I had a realization today that given the chance to be a kid again, I would decline. But also given the chance to move forward, I would decline as well. I'm not sure what that means for me, especially since I don't want to be where I am today either. If I thought for a second that my daughter wouldn't be irrevocably fucked up for the rest of her life, I'd likely get mine over with already. I've become a sad, pathetic version of myself that is spiraling down again, and soon my emotions will just sever from the rest of my thoughts, leaving me as a shell. I wish I could float through life with confidence and self-respect, but I never will. I'm just going to self-destruct as I always do and disappear before everything burns.
Sunday, October 14, 2018
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Always Too Late
I'm down to my last shot of whiskey, and it looks like all that's left is the vodka at this point. Talked to my little girl tonight; first time in four days. It's really hard to choke back the tears at this point, and the man in me tells me to just take another drink. I hate living like this every night, skipping meals for the warm comfort of liquor, shunning conversation for the loneliness of my room. My life is taking a direction that is completely unexpected, and I need to purge everyone out of it. I continually hurt everyone I know, and if I haven't hurt you yet, I will. My children think I'm a failure as a father, and the only one who is too young to figure that out yet will come along eventually. I'm so, so tired. So tired. I don't want to sleep, I don't want to eat, I don't want to work. I want to drive away forever and forget all of you exist. Forget I exist. If it weren't for that little girl I'd have probably gone by now. Will she really know the difference, though? My whole existence will be a blink in her eye, and maybe she could hang on to some happy memories. She's only two, so whatever memories she would have would be gone anyway. Something drastic needs to happen. I don't know what that is, and I'm not advocating anything, but my life must change. I can't keep running away from my problems, but I don't know how to solve them. I fucking hate the person in the mirror. HATE THEM. I FUCKING HATE YOU.
You want to walk around pretending everything is fine when you've already died inside. You think you're fooling everyone with your stupid crooked grin and dumb quick wit that everyone finds so arrogant. What do you really think you're doing? You're walking through life with blinders on and hoping for the best. Great plan jackass. I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. EVERY FUCKING THING ABOUT YOU. Better cut your losses while it still looks good from the outside.
You want to walk around pretending everything is fine when you've already died inside. You think you're fooling everyone with your stupid crooked grin and dumb quick wit that everyone finds so arrogant. What do you really think you're doing? You're walking through life with blinders on and hoping for the best. Great plan jackass. I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. EVERY FUCKING THING ABOUT YOU. Better cut your losses while it still looks good from the outside.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
STOP
I'm doing it again. I'm an idiot when it comes to this, and I'm too dumb to figure it out before it's too late. So this post is just for me, to remind myself.
Stop.
Stop.
STOP.
You're only setting yourself up for another big letdown, and what has been recently divulged to you is a fact. A certified FACT. Stop twisting things around to accomodate yourself, because nobody gives a shit about you or whatever stupid idea you had about the whole thing. Just STOP before it happens again. It will hurt much worse this time, believe me. MUCH WORSE. Then where will you be? In the same exact place you were before, with absolutely nothing to show for it. NOTHING.
So just forget about it, get it all out of your head, shake it all out of your system. Post a sign, read this repeatedly, whatever you have to do. But stop it.
STOP IT.
Stop.
Stop.
STOP.
You're only setting yourself up for another big letdown, and what has been recently divulged to you is a fact. A certified FACT. Stop twisting things around to accomodate yourself, because nobody gives a shit about you or whatever stupid idea you had about the whole thing. Just STOP before it happens again. It will hurt much worse this time, believe me. MUCH WORSE. Then where will you be? In the same exact place you were before, with absolutely nothing to show for it. NOTHING.
So just forget about it, get it all out of your head, shake it all out of your system. Post a sign, read this repeatedly, whatever you have to do. But stop it.
STOP IT.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Missing Pieces
I can't shake the feeling that I'm going down a path not meant for me. Too often I find myself wondering what it is I'm actually doing with my life; at times I'm at peace with who I am, despite my intense flaws. Other times I feel completely lost, an unidentified stranger in a sea of normalcy. I contradict myself almost daily, and my idea of what I want changes direction as easily as the wind. Outside influences have indirectly begun to help me realize that I'm not as awesome as I think I am, and that I truly want more than the status quo. It's really difficult to have a high opinion of yourself as you wade through the deep sea of muck that is your own reality. I see mine for what it is; I can't sugar-coat it any longer, for what I need today is not what I wanted yesterday, and it clearly illustrated itself tonight.
The same old scene played out again as it always does, but this time I played along as not a willing participant, but merely as entertainment. It was interesting to see how dismissive I was of the entire affair. But I can't continue this charade, because I've been exposed to something different; a prescence that excites me as well as infuriates me, but one that I can't hold on to. I can't have it, don't deserve it, but it really is something. Perhaps someday I will find something like it, something very similar, but I don't see that day coming any time soon. I will never be anyone's prized possession, the one you can take home to your mother, the person who is revered above all else. I am so deeply scarred from life and soiled with the tears of others that I may never have any meaningful moments with anyone, other than fleeting ones.
It is not enough to be loved a little by many people; I'm starting to believe that I may need one person to love me for who I am, not for what they believe they see on the surface. I may never find that person, but I suppose that's alright. My life is scattered about like a jigsaw puzzle, and it's nobody's job but my own to put it back together. Although, I would like some help finding the missing pieces.
The same old scene played out again as it always does, but this time I played along as not a willing participant, but merely as entertainment. It was interesting to see how dismissive I was of the entire affair. But I can't continue this charade, because I've been exposed to something different; a prescence that excites me as well as infuriates me, but one that I can't hold on to. I can't have it, don't deserve it, but it really is something. Perhaps someday I will find something like it, something very similar, but I don't see that day coming any time soon. I will never be anyone's prized possession, the one you can take home to your mother, the person who is revered above all else. I am so deeply scarred from life and soiled with the tears of others that I may never have any meaningful moments with anyone, other than fleeting ones.
It is not enough to be loved a little by many people; I'm starting to believe that I may need one person to love me for who I am, not for what they believe they see on the surface. I may never find that person, but I suppose that's alright. My life is scattered about like a jigsaw puzzle, and it's nobody's job but my own to put it back together. Although, I would like some help finding the missing pieces.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Triggered Thinking
I'm not exactly sure what triggers these moments, but lately I've succumbed to sitting alone in complete silence. Thinking.
About the past, about the future, but getting nowhere. The boundaries placed around me are real and imagined, yet I no longer really know the difference. Hatred for myself consumes me like a fire burning within my own mind, and the fleeting moments of satisfaction only serve to raise me up higher for an inevitable fall back to reality. My problems are no different than most; we all struggle, I know that. But mine are mine, so how dare anyone mute their importance when it's all I have? I continually draw in others as dressing for my wounds, but if they fall off too easily I am upset at my exposure; if they stick too long it becomes painful to tear them away.
The ever-present words of encouragement are easy to come by; I may not have many friends, but the ones I do have are invaluable to me because they still attempt to keep my head above water, even when I want to breathe underneath the surface and face the consequences. This ebb and flow of overwhelming hopelessness is nothing new, but it is getting old. I like to pretend everything is ok, even when it isn't, and that will never change. It is not the responsibility of others to keep my spirits lifted just to have them beaten back down to where they belong when they're gone. Why should anyone have to babysit my ego when it's my responsibility to keep it checked in the first place?
I guess in some way we all feel like this; but when I'm sitting here all alone, with nothing else except a way to jot down these thoughts, there's no use in denying how I feel. Don't you sit there and pity me through your screen, I don't have any use for that. Nothing makes the pain go away. Not even thinking.
About the past, about the future, but getting nowhere. The boundaries placed around me are real and imagined, yet I no longer really know the difference. Hatred for myself consumes me like a fire burning within my own mind, and the fleeting moments of satisfaction only serve to raise me up higher for an inevitable fall back to reality. My problems are no different than most; we all struggle, I know that. But mine are mine, so how dare anyone mute their importance when it's all I have? I continually draw in others as dressing for my wounds, but if they fall off too easily I am upset at my exposure; if they stick too long it becomes painful to tear them away.
The ever-present words of encouragement are easy to come by; I may not have many friends, but the ones I do have are invaluable to me because they still attempt to keep my head above water, even when I want to breathe underneath the surface and face the consequences. This ebb and flow of overwhelming hopelessness is nothing new, but it is getting old. I like to pretend everything is ok, even when it isn't, and that will never change. It is not the responsibility of others to keep my spirits lifted just to have them beaten back down to where they belong when they're gone. Why should anyone have to babysit my ego when it's my responsibility to keep it checked in the first place?
I guess in some way we all feel like this; but when I'm sitting here all alone, with nothing else except a way to jot down these thoughts, there's no use in denying how I feel. Don't you sit there and pity me through your screen, I don't have any use for that. Nothing makes the pain go away. Not even thinking.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
It's been 271 days since I last posted; the few people that read this probably have forgotten it even exists, which isn't all bad I guess. This little spot is a safe haven where I can suspend my thoughts indefinitely, knowing that the masses of people either don't see it or simply view it as the ramblings of a self-absorbed idiot.
I've reached a point lately that has required me to look upon myself from an outside perspective to get an understanding of who I really am. The simple fact that I am writing these words here only confirms that I don't like what I see. As much as I try to think positively about the decisions I've made in my life, I am mostly a failure at everything I do. I've been labeled a devoted father, but what kind of father abandons every child he has? I've been called an exceptional man, but how many exceptional men subconsciously self-destruct every relationship they're involved in?
I don't see the point anymore of chasing down this stupid dream of being loved by people. I'm becoming more of a misfit by the day, shirking social engagements for the privacy of my small apartment. I am so honest to others about myself, yet I can't seem to be honest with myself about the truth. I pretend that I don't care what people think of me, when in actuality it consumes me until I want to mold my image into something pleasant. I'm not getting any younger, and I know I will certainly be alone for many years to come. What saddens me is that there are so many people who genuinely would like to know me, the real me, but I won't let them.
Every once in a while, I think of the one person who I really opened up to, the person I really shared my feelings with, and how that person is gone from my life. Forever. If she came back today, she wouldn't fit neatly into the life I've created anyway, for it is an existence of preferred loneliness; even though secretly, sometimes I wish she was still here. But the intense love that I created for her in my heart was carved out with her bare hands when she left, leaving an ulcer that bleeds contempt for her absence.
So why go on forming new relationships that serve no purpose? I don't know the answer to that question at this point, nor do I ever expect to know. I do know that eventually people get bored and frustrated with my inability to interact, and only then do they realize that something is definitely wrong with me. Which doesn't matter, as they've begun to erase my existence from their memory banks, and I become as completely irrelevant as before we spoke. It's a position in life I've grown accustomed to, and it's likely to continue until my death.
I certainly hope all of this failure and suffering amounts to something someday. Maybe I only do this because I'm too scared of taking chances, but every time I take one it strips me of my dignity, of which I have very little to begin with. It has been suggested that I may be the product of my upbringing, but that holds little weight when I've created my own problems and am dealing with those consequences alone. I prefer the weight of the world on my shoulders rather than yours. Mine are stronger, I can almost guarantee that.
I've reached a point lately that has required me to look upon myself from an outside perspective to get an understanding of who I really am. The simple fact that I am writing these words here only confirms that I don't like what I see. As much as I try to think positively about the decisions I've made in my life, I am mostly a failure at everything I do. I've been labeled a devoted father, but what kind of father abandons every child he has? I've been called an exceptional man, but how many exceptional men subconsciously self-destruct every relationship they're involved in?
I don't see the point anymore of chasing down this stupid dream of being loved by people. I'm becoming more of a misfit by the day, shirking social engagements for the privacy of my small apartment. I am so honest to others about myself, yet I can't seem to be honest with myself about the truth. I pretend that I don't care what people think of me, when in actuality it consumes me until I want to mold my image into something pleasant. I'm not getting any younger, and I know I will certainly be alone for many years to come. What saddens me is that there are so many people who genuinely would like to know me, the real me, but I won't let them.
Every once in a while, I think of the one person who I really opened up to, the person I really shared my feelings with, and how that person is gone from my life. Forever. If she came back today, she wouldn't fit neatly into the life I've created anyway, for it is an existence of preferred loneliness; even though secretly, sometimes I wish she was still here. But the intense love that I created for her in my heart was carved out with her bare hands when she left, leaving an ulcer that bleeds contempt for her absence.
So why go on forming new relationships that serve no purpose? I don't know the answer to that question at this point, nor do I ever expect to know. I do know that eventually people get bored and frustrated with my inability to interact, and only then do they realize that something is definitely wrong with me. Which doesn't matter, as they've begun to erase my existence from their memory banks, and I become as completely irrelevant as before we spoke. It's a position in life I've grown accustomed to, and it's likely to continue until my death.
I certainly hope all of this failure and suffering amounts to something someday. Maybe I only do this because I'm too scared of taking chances, but every time I take one it strips me of my dignity, of which I have very little to begin with. It has been suggested that I may be the product of my upbringing, but that holds little weight when I've created my own problems and am dealing with those consequences alone. I prefer the weight of the world on my shoulders rather than yours. Mine are stronger, I can almost guarantee that.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Almost Famous
Seeing as though there are only a few people who actually read this, and only one who subscribes, these mostly fall on deaf ears and only serve to justify my constantly fluctuating ego.
During the past several months I have been throwing myself full-steam into my work, hoping to drown out the possibilities of new friendships. I have come to realize that although I value my friends, I don't have time for very many of them. I want to be that guy; you know, the one go-to person for everyone, the person everyone can count on for a helping hand or an ear to listen. I must say that I feel this mission has helped pull me out of the deep depression I encountered earlier this year. But I miss my private time. I miss going home to an empty, drab apartment that I hated and laying down all my frustrations into a microphone, telling my story to the neighbors through the music bleeding through my paper walls. I miss hating myself, my situation, the me-against-the-world attitude of before. It's gone, and sometimes I feel like I intentionally try to self-destruct when things are going well, in order to keep the peace inside my head.
People from my past, people I just met, people in general and in particular, are collectively stealing the unhappiness that resides within me; these feelings are rightfully mine and do not belong to anyone else, yet it is becoming increasingly harder for me to shut my mouth and let it continue. I haven't been able to write a meaningful verse in quite some time, mainly due to the fact that I don't have a second to rest my eyes, let alone find my 'unhappy place'. Yes, I know it sounds weird and abnormal, but I feel as though Kurt Cobain said it best: 'I miss the comfort in being sad'. Those words ring true in my head now as they did before, only now I miss those days more than ever. I know I'm not normal; I don't want to be though. Nobody even has the slightest idea of what that is anyway.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting older, and I no longer have the strength to battle it out with the depression anymore. Actually, it's probably more like I don't have the time. How sad is that, that I have to schedule my depression? Too many people are coming to my aid, telling me how great I am, forgiving me too easily for injustices that have happened. I want it that way, but at the same time I don't; I want to be loved and hated at the same time, bothered but left alone to myself. I feel like I'm starting to hit the proverbial mid-life crisis, where I can't decide whether to stay this course or shake it all up again.
I'm almost famous; I'd like to think my talents as a musician are going to get me somewhere, but I know full well I'm a hack at best, and I'm not sure whether to believe people or scoff at them when they think I'm talented. I often flirt with the idea of working hard at music, but I think I'd rather tell people I'm not good enough, rather than fail and prove it. I've had the taste of failure on my tongue before and it's as bitter as rejection; probably because they're so closely related. At this point I'm just floating along; for how long I don't know. But I hope some of you will be drifting along when I finally decide to either come ashore or drown; I'll need someone to help pull me in. Or witness my demise.
During the past several months I have been throwing myself full-steam into my work, hoping to drown out the possibilities of new friendships. I have come to realize that although I value my friends, I don't have time for very many of them. I want to be that guy; you know, the one go-to person for everyone, the person everyone can count on for a helping hand or an ear to listen. I must say that I feel this mission has helped pull me out of the deep depression I encountered earlier this year. But I miss my private time. I miss going home to an empty, drab apartment that I hated and laying down all my frustrations into a microphone, telling my story to the neighbors through the music bleeding through my paper walls. I miss hating myself, my situation, the me-against-the-world attitude of before. It's gone, and sometimes I feel like I intentionally try to self-destruct when things are going well, in order to keep the peace inside my head.
People from my past, people I just met, people in general and in particular, are collectively stealing the unhappiness that resides within me; these feelings are rightfully mine and do not belong to anyone else, yet it is becoming increasingly harder for me to shut my mouth and let it continue. I haven't been able to write a meaningful verse in quite some time, mainly due to the fact that I don't have a second to rest my eyes, let alone find my 'unhappy place'. Yes, I know it sounds weird and abnormal, but I feel as though Kurt Cobain said it best: 'I miss the comfort in being sad'. Those words ring true in my head now as they did before, only now I miss those days more than ever. I know I'm not normal; I don't want to be though. Nobody even has the slightest idea of what that is anyway.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting older, and I no longer have the strength to battle it out with the depression anymore. Actually, it's probably more like I don't have the time. How sad is that, that I have to schedule my depression? Too many people are coming to my aid, telling me how great I am, forgiving me too easily for injustices that have happened. I want it that way, but at the same time I don't; I want to be loved and hated at the same time, bothered but left alone to myself. I feel like I'm starting to hit the proverbial mid-life crisis, where I can't decide whether to stay this course or shake it all up again.
I'm almost famous; I'd like to think my talents as a musician are going to get me somewhere, but I know full well I'm a hack at best, and I'm not sure whether to believe people or scoff at them when they think I'm talented. I often flirt with the idea of working hard at music, but I think I'd rather tell people I'm not good enough, rather than fail and prove it. I've had the taste of failure on my tongue before and it's as bitter as rejection; probably because they're so closely related. At this point I'm just floating along; for how long I don't know. But I hope some of you will be drifting along when I finally decide to either come ashore or drown; I'll need someone to help pull me in. Or witness my demise.
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