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.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Alive
This is a song that is very simple but means a great deal to me. It is about my daughter Michaela, who only got to spend a moment with her Daddy before she passed. That moment lasted an instant in time, but an eternity in my eyes.
I'm on the floor with photographs, I can't see past my own collapse.
This box is empty, I am done with souvenirs of depression.
I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.
Jealous rage intoxicates, but consequence reverberates.
Inside each day I'm feeling less, I still can't say I've no regrets.
I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.
This is all hypocrisy and contradicting core beliefs.
I'm just a freak with no control of what I might do since you've gone.
I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.
I'm alive, you're not alive; you're not alive, but I'm alive.
I'm on the floor with photographs, I can't see past my own collapse.
This box is empty, I am done with souvenirs of depression.
I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.
Jealous rage intoxicates, but consequence reverberates.
Inside each day I'm feeling less, I still can't say I've no regrets.
I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.
This is all hypocrisy and contradicting core beliefs.
I'm just a freak with no control of what I might do since you've gone.
I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.
I'm alive, you're not alive; you're not alive, but I'm alive.
Empty
There's no way I can leave here alive; I don't have the strength to survive this alone.
I don't need your empathy, I need a better way.
Damaging myself through your eyes; give of yourself like I bleed for you.
I don't need your innocence, I need a better way.
Make me bleed my anger, give me my disease; carve out my obsessions, leave me empty of me.
Feelings of disenchantment; I gave you most of all your scars.
I don't need forgiveness, I need a better way.
There's no reason to be here; pack up my things and leave here tonight.
I don't need you anymore, I need a better way.
Make me bleed my anger, give me my disease; carve out my obsessions, leave me empty of me.
I don't need your empathy, I need a better way.
Damaging myself through your eyes; give of yourself like I bleed for you.
I don't need your innocence, I need a better way.
Make me bleed my anger, give me my disease; carve out my obsessions, leave me empty of me.
Feelings of disenchantment; I gave you most of all your scars.
I don't need forgiveness, I need a better way.
There's no reason to be here; pack up my things and leave here tonight.
I don't need you anymore, I need a better way.
Make me bleed my anger, give me my disease; carve out my obsessions, leave me empty of me.
The Ride Home
I drive through these streets, pretending that I once owned them, knew them, or at the very least tread on the pavement before. I realize though, through the drops falling aboove me as I stay neatly tucked inside my aluminum shell, I was never here before; I lie to myself constantly, hoping that one day I will wake up and it will all be the truth. I can't fathom this existence the way it actually is, so my imagination must fill in the gaps with something, anything, to give me hope that this isn't all that I am. Self-realization is not new to me; I go through this like a menstrual cycle, constantly understanding what I am, what I've become, then shedding it; purging myself until I come to the next, creating a new day. I think it will be a different realization each time, but I always come to the same conclusion despite all my efforts.
I don't know how to handle people at all, especially not myself. I truly want to be someone who is well-known, respected, admired even. But I really am just a reclusive person who trusts nobody and will probably die alone, unhappy with the outcome but pleased with my ability to unwittingly keep everyone at bay. Sometimes I want to break down and cry, but where? When? Sometimes the pain from my past hurts so much that it blind-sides me as it has at this moment, bringing me to my knees. I want to cry for help yet bury my head at the same time, for I am a contradiction above all else. I struggle with myself almost daily, even though it will only be me in the end; so who am I really fighting? I know that some will read this and be concerned, offer words of encouragement, or simply attempt to give comfort. But I have no need for comfort; no use for encouragement. I am self-driven and self-destructive.
I am getting to that point again where I need to turn around and figure out where I am headed. These streets are so unfamiliar, I need to stop and ask for directions. But I'll keep driving in circles, watching everyone else move forward, and wonder what it's like to be special; to know where I'm going. At least I have a general idea of where I'm headed. However, no matter which direction I'm facing, I still have to ride with the same person. I never really liked him before, and I certainly don't care much for him now, but I'm stuck with him forever.
I don't know how to handle people at all, especially not myself. I truly want to be someone who is well-known, respected, admired even. But I really am just a reclusive person who trusts nobody and will probably die alone, unhappy with the outcome but pleased with my ability to unwittingly keep everyone at bay. Sometimes I want to break down and cry, but where? When? Sometimes the pain from my past hurts so much that it blind-sides me as it has at this moment, bringing me to my knees. I want to cry for help yet bury my head at the same time, for I am a contradiction above all else. I struggle with myself almost daily, even though it will only be me in the end; so who am I really fighting? I know that some will read this and be concerned, offer words of encouragement, or simply attempt to give comfort. But I have no need for comfort; no use for encouragement. I am self-driven and self-destructive.
I am getting to that point again where I need to turn around and figure out where I am headed. These streets are so unfamiliar, I need to stop and ask for directions. But I'll keep driving in circles, watching everyone else move forward, and wonder what it's like to be special; to know where I'm going. At least I have a general idea of where I'm headed. However, no matter which direction I'm facing, I still have to ride with the same person. I never really liked him before, and I certainly don't care much for him now, but I'm stuck with him forever.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Reflections From Within
I've been slowly making production notes to begin recording my next CD, and in this process I go through countless pages of notes, lyrics, unfinished songs, and sometimes completed songs. I particularly like to go through my older songs to get some insight into where I was and where I am now, kind of an emotional timeline. The best part of all of this is what I didn't write, or at least what I scribbled out. I look over completely finished songs that were recorded, but all through the pages of lyrics there are minor adjustments, changes to words, that change the mood of the song completely. It is this part of crafting a song I think I enjoy the most; the analytical aspect of having to look at yourself in an objective manner to grasp what you, as the writer, are trying to say. One can learn a lot about themselves using this exercise, and although I've never had any kind of journal, this collection of writings is just that.
The perspective I have from my vantage point so many years in the future is astounding. It turns out I am the same exact person that I was then; only now I have a more efficient way of telling the story, as if I have already explained it to myself so many times that I'm tired of telling it. The experiences I've drawn upon are the same as those that I've always looked to for inspiration, just involving different people. It's quite appealing and disturbing that I know exactly what's going to happen for the rest of my life, yet I never try to alter my course to prevent the inevitable. I suppose that's as close to the definition of insanity as I'm likely to come, but it is noteworthy nonetheless. Either I'm insane, stubborn, or just unbeleivably dumb. Or all three.
The perspective I have from my vantage point so many years in the future is astounding. It turns out I am the same exact person that I was then; only now I have a more efficient way of telling the story, as if I have already explained it to myself so many times that I'm tired of telling it. The experiences I've drawn upon are the same as those that I've always looked to for inspiration, just involving different people. It's quite appealing and disturbing that I know exactly what's going to happen for the rest of my life, yet I never try to alter my course to prevent the inevitable. I suppose that's as close to the definition of insanity as I'm likely to come, but it is noteworthy nonetheless. Either I'm insane, stubborn, or just unbeleivably dumb. Or all three.
Another Day
This is from my my first CD, written almost 10 years ago.
I don't know where I'm going, I've been locked in here too long;
Reflecting on memories not my own, straining to keep my soul.
Stealing my air from this bitter coldness shuts me down inside,
When will I rise to greet the new day? Will I ever die?
Who will be my companion through this, sew yourself to me;
Share my kidneys and my poison, experience the fear.
I don't think you understand me when you hide your eyes,
Soak yourself with gasoline and jump into my fire.
You don't need to hold my hand I'm not the one who's scared;
It's hard to see what lies inside when you have no soul to bare.
Misery loves company but prefers to be alone,
Settle down and close your mouth so I can run back home.
Another day I face the pain - another day.
Another day, it gives me strength - another day.
Another day I'm not the same - another day.
Another day I feel this way - another day.
I don't know where I'm going, I've been locked in here too long;
Reflecting on memories not my own, straining to keep my soul.
Stealing my air from this bitter coldness shuts me down inside,
When will I rise to greet the new day? Will I ever die?
Who will be my companion through this, sew yourself to me;
Share my kidneys and my poison, experience the fear.
I don't think you understand me when you hide your eyes,
Soak yourself with gasoline and jump into my fire.
You don't need to hold my hand I'm not the one who's scared;
It's hard to see what lies inside when you have no soul to bare.
Misery loves company but prefers to be alone,
Settle down and close your mouth so I can run back home.
Another day I face the pain - another day.
Another day, it gives me strength - another day.
Another day I'm not the same - another day.
Another day I feel this way - another day.
Who You Are
The perjury flows from your tongue like a second language, only eclipsed by the narrowness of your thoughts; one-sided arguments that result in trepidation, the others you hoped to rally become the throng of disenchantment. Make your mark on the world by painting your own future, not by staining my canvas with conjecture and false hope. They only become the vehicle in which to slip away from reality, only to have the truth fill your lungs during a final gasp meant to save face. Don't tell me things I want to hear, they weaken the shell I've layered to prevent feelings of self-belief and break down the walls I've constructed to keep people like you out.
Everyone has a purpose; I suppose you've served yours by touching my life with the delicateness of a shotgun blast. If I could do it all again, I would do it with someone else; someone who has a grasp of what real life outside of protective custody really means. I know you want to nullify what happened, pretend it wasn't real, make yourself the victim, etc. But I stood alone to face the consequences, given all I had, and shown you how to be forgiven for something that was undeserving of forgiveness. Yet you stare blankly at me as though you've no concept of what you've done, how you've changed, and what you've become. Your concerted efforts to come out clean in all of this mess will undoubtedly be short-lived; once you've cleansed yourself in the waters of vindication you will test temptation again, only to realize you can never wash off the stain of this.
Your past defines your future and your resolve to change it; although I wish I could say you'll end up alone, I know you will always have someone to fall back on. It's who you are.
Everyone has a purpose; I suppose you've served yours by touching my life with the delicateness of a shotgun blast. If I could do it all again, I would do it with someone else; someone who has a grasp of what real life outside of protective custody really means. I know you want to nullify what happened, pretend it wasn't real, make yourself the victim, etc. But I stood alone to face the consequences, given all I had, and shown you how to be forgiven for something that was undeserving of forgiveness. Yet you stare blankly at me as though you've no concept of what you've done, how you've changed, and what you've become. Your concerted efforts to come out clean in all of this mess will undoubtedly be short-lived; once you've cleansed yourself in the waters of vindication you will test temptation again, only to realize you can never wash off the stain of this.
Your past defines your future and your resolve to change it; although I wish I could say you'll end up alone, I know you will always have someone to fall back on. It's who you are.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Save Me
Words conspire upon me, sabotaging all my dreams;
draining all my will to breathe.
Fragments of my past, are stuck in me like glass;
severing what's left of me.
Save me - this time - or I won't be the same again.
Take me - in stride - don't believe what I have said.
I'm coming back again, to the place where I began.
Crippled in my head, facing my regrets.
I've stumbled on my own, into a darker soul.
This is not my home, this is not my home...
The echoes of what was, keep me here because;
I won't forgive anything.
I've failed you once again, but we will still pretend;
there's nothing wrong with suffering.
Save me - this time - or I won't be the same again.
Take me - in stride - don't believe what I have said.
You'll be - just fine - think of me when you rest your head.
I'll be - alright - save my place in your heart until then.
I'm coming back again, to the place where I began.
Crippled in my head, facing my regrets.
I've stumbled on my own, into a darker soul.
This is not my home, this is not my home...
draining all my will to breathe.
Fragments of my past, are stuck in me like glass;
severing what's left of me.
Save me - this time - or I won't be the same again.
Take me - in stride - don't believe what I have said.
I'm coming back again, to the place where I began.
Crippled in my head, facing my regrets.
I've stumbled on my own, into a darker soul.
This is not my home, this is not my home...
The echoes of what was, keep me here because;
I won't forgive anything.
I've failed you once again, but we will still pretend;
there's nothing wrong with suffering.
Save me - this time - or I won't be the same again.
Take me - in stride - don't believe what I have said.
You'll be - just fine - think of me when you rest your head.
I'll be - alright - save my place in your heart until then.
I'm coming back again, to the place where I began.
Crippled in my head, facing my regrets.
I've stumbled on my own, into a darker soul.
This is not my home, this is not my home...
Monday, May 10, 2010
Collide
I've decided to put some of my song lyrics here; not that anyone really cares about my self-described lyrical genius. But I do. Plus, it gives me another topic to write about. This is my most recent song I just finished, 'Collide'.
You left me standing there in pools of my self-hate -
My arms left open wide.
You've been so candid with everything in place -
I see our worlds collide.
Collide...
You moved away from this to show me I'm the same -
Through all I've sacrificed.
You're still pretending that I have been erased -
I saw it in your eyes.
Your eyes...
These tears upon my face -
Will never be replaced -
Where did you run to hide?
Why did we have to collide?
You came across sincere but I know what you are -
Feigning forgiveness.
Your lack of clarity in matters of my heart -
Leaves me innocent.
Tonight...
These tears upon my face -
Will never be replaced -
Where did you run to hide?
Why did we have to collide?
My soul has been betrayed -
Our lives so rearranged -
Where did you run to hide?
Why did we have to collide?
Collide...
You left me standing there in pools of my self-hate -
My arms left open wide.
You've been so candid with everything in place -
I see our worlds collide.
Collide...
You moved away from this to show me I'm the same -
Through all I've sacrificed.
You're still pretending that I have been erased -
I saw it in your eyes.
Your eyes...
These tears upon my face -
Will never be replaced -
Where did you run to hide?
Why did we have to collide?
You came across sincere but I know what you are -
Feigning forgiveness.
Your lack of clarity in matters of my heart -
Leaves me innocent.
Tonight...
These tears upon my face -
Will never be replaced -
Where did you run to hide?
Why did we have to collide?
My soul has been betrayed -
Our lives so rearranged -
Where did you run to hide?
Why did we have to collide?
Collide...
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Forgotten Again
I've discovered through the beauty of the Internet that you've chosen your destiny; I've already pleaded with you, begged you, loved you enough to make it not so. However, despite my efforts, you've deliberately hurled yourself down the path of empty anger and hatred of others for the sake of non-conformity; I only wish I could have saved you.
Now in my absence, you are no doubt having your head filled with untruths and hurtful accusations about me. These will burn the light in your eyes completely out, until you have become as soulless as the people you surround yourself with, passing judgement upon others as if you were the high court of morality and dignity.
I will fade into the distance. I am slowly getting used to this feeling, as I am typically the one person that nobody can forget until I am gone forever. Then I become not even a footnote, despite how important I was at the time. I am a chapter in so many books that all read the same, that I may as well be a nameless character in all books going forward so as not to incite the accusations of plagiarism.
I wish I wouldn't be forgotten so easily, but it seems to be my destiny. One day, I'm sure someone will remember me for something different than what everyone else does. When that day arrives, I may be long removed from the stories that currently surround me, but I will remember. Call it vengeance, call it bitterness, but I will remember.
I'll always remember you fondly, no matter how much I know about who you truly are. You are not a footnote, but a turning point; and regardless of what I hear and what I discover on my own, I'll know that you were once a loving, loyal person. And that you loved me with all that you had. You can't fake that, and I was glad to have known you. I hope you find happiness.
Although I have been forgotten and tossed aside like a remnant, I will remember you forever, love. Goodbye.
Now in my absence, you are no doubt having your head filled with untruths and hurtful accusations about me. These will burn the light in your eyes completely out, until you have become as soulless as the people you surround yourself with, passing judgement upon others as if you were the high court of morality and dignity.
I will fade into the distance. I am slowly getting used to this feeling, as I am typically the one person that nobody can forget until I am gone forever. Then I become not even a footnote, despite how important I was at the time. I am a chapter in so many books that all read the same, that I may as well be a nameless character in all books going forward so as not to incite the accusations of plagiarism.
I wish I wouldn't be forgotten so easily, but it seems to be my destiny. One day, I'm sure someone will remember me for something different than what everyone else does. When that day arrives, I may be long removed from the stories that currently surround me, but I will remember. Call it vengeance, call it bitterness, but I will remember.
I'll always remember you fondly, no matter how much I know about who you truly are. You are not a footnote, but a turning point; and regardless of what I hear and what I discover on my own, I'll know that you were once a loving, loyal person. And that you loved me with all that you had. You can't fake that, and I was glad to have known you. I hope you find happiness.
Although I have been forgotten and tossed aside like a remnant, I will remember you forever, love. Goodbye.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Unanswered Questions
Take me from the turbulence of my situation, make me a pawn in your silly game. I have grown bored with the boredom of my four empty walls, nothing in between but hollow memories and broken shadows. I fill the void in my life with things of no consequence, of nurturing playthings which hold no hope of sustaining my feelings of happiness. I walk through the same door every night, shame upon my brow, hatred in my veins, exasperation in my step.
I have begun to hate this place for what it is, what it was, what it has made out of me.
I no longer wish to satisfy myself with the company of others, as they pity me; or worse yet, they misunderstand the reasons behind my personality. I am flawed beyond what is normal, unwilling to make the proper adjustments that may help me heal. Words are becoming less brilliant, with sighs and groans my preferred method of communication; but to whom will I communicate when I have cut all from my existence?
Of all the people in this world, is it myself who understands me the least? Why can't I be happy for at least a fleeting moment without having to reap the windfall of sadness that always accompanies its denial? Where have I gone wrong in all of this? Must I forever pretend to be happy, to settle for less than what I feel I deserve, in order to make sense of my own life?
Is anyone even listening anymore?
I have begun to hate this place for what it is, what it was, what it has made out of me.
I no longer wish to satisfy myself with the company of others, as they pity me; or worse yet, they misunderstand the reasons behind my personality. I am flawed beyond what is normal, unwilling to make the proper adjustments that may help me heal. Words are becoming less brilliant, with sighs and groans my preferred method of communication; but to whom will I communicate when I have cut all from my existence?
Of all the people in this world, is it myself who understands me the least? Why can't I be happy for at least a fleeting moment without having to reap the windfall of sadness that always accompanies its denial? Where have I gone wrong in all of this? Must I forever pretend to be happy, to settle for less than what I feel I deserve, in order to make sense of my own life?
Is anyone even listening anymore?
Post Script
I don't belong here. I feel as if I'm drifting in a sea which is not mine; like a false sense of well-being immediately followed by the enormous pressure of who I really am. I can't be happy and nobody can help me. I've sought solace with my thoughts and have even relied on others, professionals, but I keep dancing around the truth. I just don't know what makes me so unhappy with myself, but it's a cycle I can't control. I simultaneously want a pity party and to be left alone. I want to be able to scream what I feel at the top of my lungs without embarassment or repercussions for what I say. I do not want to spend my life in therapy, as it has only helped in areas where I didn't need help. I would have come upon those realizations myself, given time to reflect.
I choose to remain this way out of fear of what people may think if they knew the truth, and how ridiculous that truth is. I hide everything about me, even the good; I find myself now pushing away what I need most: an ear to listen, a voice to soothe. But I only hear empty compliments for a sensitive personality. I am a cold, cruel person who shouldn't be revered for anything, let alone loved. It would be a waste of time to spend any energy trying to love any part of me. I wish not to burden anyone any longer, I just want out. I'm getting closer to letting it all out, laying all of my feelings on the line; but to what end? It will only serve to reshape people's perceptions of me as someone who isn't responsible enough to be trusted alone.
I AM alone.
I am alone inside myself every day despite the others around me who truly care, even though I don't want them to. I am constantly tormented with the agony of knowing the one thing that could help me will kill my creative instincts, and I can't live with that. I find comfort in being this way because it's all I've been, but I am also uncomfortable with that comfort. It's not natural for a person to be this way, to constantly hate themselves while faking a happy existence. Whatever happens, I don't want to be judged for what I am; I'm already performing that task perfectly.
I choose to remain this way out of fear of what people may think if they knew the truth, and how ridiculous that truth is. I hide everything about me, even the good; I find myself now pushing away what I need most: an ear to listen, a voice to soothe. But I only hear empty compliments for a sensitive personality. I am a cold, cruel person who shouldn't be revered for anything, let alone loved. It would be a waste of time to spend any energy trying to love any part of me. I wish not to burden anyone any longer, I just want out. I'm getting closer to letting it all out, laying all of my feelings on the line; but to what end? It will only serve to reshape people's perceptions of me as someone who isn't responsible enough to be trusted alone.
I AM alone.
I am alone inside myself every day despite the others around me who truly care, even though I don't want them to. I am constantly tormented with the agony of knowing the one thing that could help me will kill my creative instincts, and I can't live with that. I find comfort in being this way because it's all I've been, but I am also uncomfortable with that comfort. It's not natural for a person to be this way, to constantly hate themselves while faking a happy existence. Whatever happens, I don't want to be judged for what I am; I'm already performing that task perfectly.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Emotionally Numb
I can't seem to get a control over my emotions. I just wish I was stable enough mentally to handle heartbreak, but I am not. I continue down this path of self destruction, the cycle never ends. I'm a failure at everything in my personal life, and I wish I would disappear because it hurts so much.
I shed tears for missed opportunities, for my own selfishness which breeds distrust among my own cells; if I can't stop being like this I'll be alone forever. But maybe forever won't last that long.
I can't rely on others to keep me upbeat, to keep me afloat in this sea of despair. I need to learn to swim, but I can't swim without assistance. The only problem that arises is that I bring everyone down with me.
I am not worthy of love from others. I deserve only the loneliness that accompanies bad decisions, the solitude that pairs itself with uncertainty.
I forgive no one, not even myself. I will continue this never-ending cycle of pain until I am numb. When that happens, nobody will notice when I am gone. Not even me.
I shed tears for missed opportunities, for my own selfishness which breeds distrust among my own cells; if I can't stop being like this I'll be alone forever. But maybe forever won't last that long.
I can't rely on others to keep me upbeat, to keep me afloat in this sea of despair. I need to learn to swim, but I can't swim without assistance. The only problem that arises is that I bring everyone down with me.
I am not worthy of love from others. I deserve only the loneliness that accompanies bad decisions, the solitude that pairs itself with uncertainty.
I forgive no one, not even myself. I will continue this never-ending cycle of pain until I am numb. When that happens, nobody will notice when I am gone. Not even me.
Beautiful Suicide
I am afraid there is little joy left in me; I have lost the ability to convey compassion for others appropriately, and I feel that I have no choice but to distance myself from everyone around me. To fade into nothingness without anyone ever noticing would be the best scenario, though unlikely due to the hopes I have unwittingly thrust upon those who know me. I don't know how I arrived here, but I know for sure I have felt this way for as long as I can remember. Few events have brought me to the brink of true happiness, but reality has steadfastly remained attached to me like an anchor. I can't swim; therefore I am destined to drown. I probably need help to pull me from this submersing paranoia, but I am too smart, too clever, and too independent to accept these things. It's either listen to some therapist drivel on about the good things I have and tell me to hang in there, even though he/she doesn't have the slightest indication of what it's like to walk in my shoes for a day; or listen to someone who has supposedly been through what I've been through drone on and whine about how bad it was, and how they're better for it. Cynicism is odd like that.
Or, the third option is to tell a friend or family member about it, except I despise people who constantly bitch about their problems; so much so that I won't become one. My family is just a group of disjointed misfits anyway, unable to relate to anyone's problems but their own, casting away anybody else's feelings as insignificant. Aside from that, I don't need to burden people with my problems when everyone has their own. Watching these words form before my eyes helps a little, but I can't help myself with this exercise so there's really no point. Nobody would agree with me out of respect, but the world as I know it to be would be better if I weren't here; sure, there would be some hurt feelings for a while, but overall it would be best in the long run. Maybe I'm just trying to justify it in my own mind, but either way, I can't deal with the pain any longer. I refuse to numb it and risk becoming an addict of some sort, as that would only add to my shame. Reading this back to myself, I sound ridiculous and it only reinforces my belief that I will never do anything except suffer, as the situations in my life all seem beyond my control. I am a coward and won't ever do what should be done, which is eliminate myself from the equation.
I am tired of being me.
My self-imposed responsibilities have done nothing but given me a false sense of worth while exposing my shortcomings as a person. I wrestle with determination and exasperation with every breath I take, and exhale the same dissatisfaction regardless of the outcome. I am exhausted with chasing my potential as I wallow in inadequacy. I do not wish nor expect to live to be old, I only hope something happens to me soon so we all have a solution and someone/something else to blame. I don't have the patience to wait around either, so I'll have to come up with a solution; I'll at least have the satisfaction of following through on something for once. But you never know, maybe someone will look deeper into me for once and figure this out; as I've written before, "save me this time or I won't be the same again"....I feel as though nobody, not even the ones closest to me, truly know who I am. I may not either; maybe I write these things to see if I'll actually be surprised by them, to make myself seem so different, to feign my own troubles or exaggerate them to give myself comfort; or maybe I'm just being dramatic because it's in my DNA.
I just want to own something for once, to say that I controlled at least one aspect of my life, even if it is how it ends. That in itself would be the start of a new beginning, in a way, and then I would die rather triumphantly because I had taken control of my own destiny, as short as it may be, and aimed it in the direction of my choice. These thoughts come too easily, and I worry that those around me will never understand why; perhaps I just want the closure that I will never see with my own eyes, to finally show everyone that I fooled them with my performance of normalcy. Revenge maybe, but not for what anyone did to me. This is my life, shaped by regret and uncapitalized opportunities, solidified by self-hatred and piety at once. I just keep going, waiting but not really wanting someone to notice, because then it becomes real. Or worse, it becomes a joke, a passing feeling until it all builds into this monster again, only next time I will destroy myself. Or not. I have failed at everything else.
Or, the third option is to tell a friend or family member about it, except I despise people who constantly bitch about their problems; so much so that I won't become one. My family is just a group of disjointed misfits anyway, unable to relate to anyone's problems but their own, casting away anybody else's feelings as insignificant. Aside from that, I don't need to burden people with my problems when everyone has their own. Watching these words form before my eyes helps a little, but I can't help myself with this exercise so there's really no point. Nobody would agree with me out of respect, but the world as I know it to be would be better if I weren't here; sure, there would be some hurt feelings for a while, but overall it would be best in the long run. Maybe I'm just trying to justify it in my own mind, but either way, I can't deal with the pain any longer. I refuse to numb it and risk becoming an addict of some sort, as that would only add to my shame. Reading this back to myself, I sound ridiculous and it only reinforces my belief that I will never do anything except suffer, as the situations in my life all seem beyond my control. I am a coward and won't ever do what should be done, which is eliminate myself from the equation.
I am tired of being me.
My self-imposed responsibilities have done nothing but given me a false sense of worth while exposing my shortcomings as a person. I wrestle with determination and exasperation with every breath I take, and exhale the same dissatisfaction regardless of the outcome. I am exhausted with chasing my potential as I wallow in inadequacy. I do not wish nor expect to live to be old, I only hope something happens to me soon so we all have a solution and someone/something else to blame. I don't have the patience to wait around either, so I'll have to come up with a solution; I'll at least have the satisfaction of following through on something for once. But you never know, maybe someone will look deeper into me for once and figure this out; as I've written before, "save me this time or I won't be the same again"....I feel as though nobody, not even the ones closest to me, truly know who I am. I may not either; maybe I write these things to see if I'll actually be surprised by them, to make myself seem so different, to feign my own troubles or exaggerate them to give myself comfort; or maybe I'm just being dramatic because it's in my DNA.
I just want to own something for once, to say that I controlled at least one aspect of my life, even if it is how it ends. That in itself would be the start of a new beginning, in a way, and then I would die rather triumphantly because I had taken control of my own destiny, as short as it may be, and aimed it in the direction of my choice. These thoughts come too easily, and I worry that those around me will never understand why; perhaps I just want the closure that I will never see with my own eyes, to finally show everyone that I fooled them with my performance of normalcy. Revenge maybe, but not for what anyone did to me. This is my life, shaped by regret and uncapitalized opportunities, solidified by self-hatred and piety at once. I just keep going, waiting but not really wanting someone to notice, because then it becomes real. Or worse, it becomes a joke, a passing feeling until it all builds into this monster again, only next time I will destroy myself. Or not. I have failed at everything else.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Selfish Realization
I've just figured it out. All of you who have clamored to show me affection, to tell me I'm the one, I get it now. Charming, attractive, funny, blah, blah, blah, etc.
Cancer.
That's what I really am, and you all know it. That's why the idea of being with me is so grand, but the actuality of it is too complicated to trespass into those waters. I wish things were different, but nobody will ever take me seriously.
Even you.
So keep pulling me in your different directions, keep showing me that love exists somewhere for me, but don't ever let me have it. Apparently I don't deserve it.
I'm far too intelligent to let this happen so often; but it does, regardless of my insistence to the contrary. I don't want to go through life so heartbroken all the time, but maybe it is my destiny. Maybe I only get happiness in bits and pieces; it is up to me to patch it all together like a quilt so I can view it later for reflection.
If that's the case, keep it.
Cancer.
That's what I really am, and you all know it. That's why the idea of being with me is so grand, but the actuality of it is too complicated to trespass into those waters. I wish things were different, but nobody will ever take me seriously.
Even you.
So keep pulling me in your different directions, keep showing me that love exists somewhere for me, but don't ever let me have it. Apparently I don't deserve it.
I'm far too intelligent to let this happen so often; but it does, regardless of my insistence to the contrary. I don't want to go through life so heartbroken all the time, but maybe it is my destiny. Maybe I only get happiness in bits and pieces; it is up to me to patch it all together like a quilt so I can view it later for reflection.
If that's the case, keep it.
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