Sand in the Vaseline
Why do I feel so out of place? So tortured by my own self? Angry to the point of exploding bouts of rage? Upset that I can’t find love?…
It’s a constant struggle. Same shit, different day. Half of it is bullshit, and the other half is just shit.
I never thought I’d be here, like this, in this place. I thought by now, I’d be a success, with lots of money, women, and all the happiness I could ever want. But its not to be. I sit in my apartment, alone, isolated, and unchanged. Sure, I’m going to school, and I have friends, but I don’t let anyone get close enough to really make them see what lies beneath. I put on a superficial front of happiness, while I rip myself to shreds on the inside. I can’t even talk to women all that well, as friends yes, but as something more, never. I’m an unbalanced, awkward fool that hates himself, but only wants to be himself. A walking contradiction. A callous abscess. A beast of burden, but only to myself.
I wish it weren’t this way. I wish I didn’t hide myself away from it all, living in fear. I change with the world, but that change never gives me the closure I seek. All the medication, therapy, and talking can’t change the fact that, though I’m not alone, I FEEL alone. My struggles are my own, and no one gives a fuck. I know that’s the truth, and I’m okay with that, but it still hurts. The pain is just too much, and I’m getting tired of it. It’s an old habit, a routine, one that will destroy me if I let it.
I’m falling once again into darkness, a pit that I’ve crawled out of more times than I can count on my hands, but I don’t know if I can make it out alone this time.
I just want to feel some kind of satisfaction for once, to know that I mean something to myself, not just to other people. I know a lot of people care about me, but the lack of caring for myself is what makes it a problem. But the other issue is that I’m being told to do so many different things, sending me off in different directions… I can’t follow them all, but I get the overwhelming feeling that they won’t help me, nor cure my mental ailment. I genuinely appreciate all the help, but it does nothing to ease my pain. It masks it.
And that’s what I’m always doing. Wearing different masks. Just like my fuck up of a father before me. I’m trying to break the pattern, but the pattern is creeping up on me. I hurt on the inside. External pain is nothing.
At this point, I feel that this will pass, as everything does, but what if it doesn’t? What if I keep complaining about the same things? Never finding a solution? What if I am stuck in a tormented haze for the rest of my life, unwilling to find a proper way to cope?
I’ve been sober over a month. I thought it would help, and it has, but its also made things worse in the process. It’s made me look at myself more deeply than I wished, and just recognize my flaws that much more. How much time I’ve wasted, how I’m not so young as I once was, and that my life means nothing to my family.
I’ve tried to be a good man, but even with all that good karma, my life has been filled with sadness, loss, hatred, betrayal, and darkness. I just wish it could all be over, not at the end of a noose, but at the end of a sentence.
Crown of Thorns
I am fucking depressed.
It’s not because I have too much going on right now, or too little. I’m just in a (legitimately) sick, and lethargic state.
My mind is a blur of sadness…
Let’s start at the beginning;
I’ve been sick since Saturday, but the cold has only gotten worse since then, with the peak being today. My dreams were of my Father, and his side of the family. A nightmarish group of individuals who only seem to care about themselves.
I remember lying in a room not dissimilar to my living room with my old dogs, and looking out at the night through the window near me. The cityscape was strange, ethereal, with lights cutting through the streets in the darkness. I heard my grandmother calling out to me, trying to find me, and my fear creeping up on me. I kept completely quiet and still as I heard the group travel up and down a set of concrete stairs outside the door. It began to open on it’s own, and no matter how hard I pushed, it continued to open. I laid back down on the couch, trying to hide from them, but alas, the door swung open, and I was cornered.
My Grandmother called out to me, asked me why I had not called, why I had not kept in contact with her, feeding me lies and guilt that overwhelmed my very being as my extended family looked on with cold, unrelenting eyes. I tried to respond, but I could not come up with the right words to explain my position. The guilt was too great, and my mind too shattered.
I woke up with blood in my mucus, my nose stuffed up, and a general ill feeling. I cleared out my pipes, then walked into my kitchen to make some medicine. I turn on the light, and BAM! It shorts out. Aggravating to say the least.
I looked at the box of Theraflu and realized that it would not be enough to circumvent my symptoms, which were worse than before. “Fuck!” I shouted as I threw the box back onto the counter.
I called my mother to inform her of my plight, but the conversation became about how I didn’t have insurance, and how it wasn’t her responsibility to help me with finding insurance due to my age(though I had asked her many, MANY times to help me prior). It soon degraded to nagging until I just exploded on her. The foul feelings within appearing only briefly, then subsiding as the exchange came to a close.
I got dressed, and jumped in my car. I felt like I couldn’t hear anything as I traveled to the pharmacy down the street.
The past few hours have been quiet once again, but all too quiet for my taste. The medicine helps, but it does not help my psychological state. I feel mindraped, lost, uncomposed… Like a living illusion. A ghost. An apparition.
I suppose that watching Ancient Discoveries about Torture Devices cannot have helped, but I do not think it hurt either. I feel… alone. Like I don’t exist.
I have dealt with this many times before, but recently this emotion has come into play more in this new year than ever. Some of my friends, though very nice, seem to forget I’m around. I guess I can’t blame them, since I hardly make contact on my own terms. I don’t know why I just don’t talk to people because, if anything, all I want to do is talk. I talk to myself all the time. I live within my own mind, having conversations with myself to determine which course of action would better suit me, and which would make me appear to be something I’m not. The only thing I’m trying to be is me, but sometimes, even that backfires.
I can’t say I blame anyone for feeling weird about me, for not feeling trusting, or understanding. It’s hard to understand someone who is completely aware of themselves. It’s frightening. Also, due to my extensive life experience in such a short time, it is intimidating. People are worried I’ll go from 0 to 60 in 10 seconds or less, and yes, I do have my moments, but I’m trying to get better. I’m always trying to get better.
I suppose that this is just a phase, a passing glance of something that may or may not be. I have no ideas, I just have the constant of moving forward.
Stop looking at me funny!
Oh hectic, strange beast of life. How you torment, how you love, and how you show us things we must see…
This week was a fucking madhouse of crazy bullshit, but I made it through. The last 2 days I spent sleeping in until 2 o’clock in the afternoon, which was totally deserved, and totally fucking worth it.
My tweets, status updates, etc. were erratic beyond all measure. I tend to become a bi-polar cartoon character when I’m having trouble handling shit. I go through a lot of it, I’ve GOTTEN through a lot of it, so I guess the occasional stress isn’t so bad. It was pissing me off more than anything.
Anger. Now that’s a subject I’m familiar with. I was REALLY pissed this week, I mean Ghost Chili steamed. My Mom was the catalyst, but she wasn’t the main cause. It really began after I saw how fucked up my car really was. I was letting it go, but she just said something that set me off, and for the next 3 days, I was a powder keg. I had to apologize to my therapist because my aggression was so obvious.
I think that lately, it’s because I’ve been feeling like the world has handed me what I wanted, but with a bag of shit on top of it, and I have to dig through the shit to get to the thing I want. But on top of that, when I find the thing I want, I realize it’s Fool’s Gold! A fabrication! So I dug through all that shit for nothing. It’s fuckin’ aggravating.
I can’t complain too much since I now have a little over 4 weeks to recoup before the next semester. I hate the holidays usually, but considering I’m not really going to have any holiday bullshit this year, I can’t complain. My finals went reasonably well too. I don’t expect I got my finest grades yet, but I tried very hard to accomplish my goals, and got lucky a few times.
Pushing myself to the limit seems to be a normal thing for me, and something I should learn to forget. I found myself in a lot of tight spots that I busted out of, but with more damage than I had anticipated, yet I still cannot let my guard down. It’s tough for me because I’ve been through so much, and yet still no one really knows. I don’t really want them to though because all they have to do is ask and after 5 minutes, they don’t want to hear the rest.
I’m a weird guy, but I’m really genuine, and that’s what sets me apart. If people only saw that, maybe I wouldn’t feel so shitty about myself sometimes. If they just told me they liked me for who I was, not try to change me as so often the case. People can’t handle me, but I think it goes both ways.
I thought I would share these thoughts with you on this solemn, lonely eve. Rest easy, internet.