sadness

The Devil and God Are Raging Inside of Me.

Ten years doesn’t seem like a long time. When you still refer to everything in the past as 2006. Ten years ago, man. Ten years ago. 2006 was such a pivotal year of growing up for me. I find myself going back to that year in photographs, nostalgia, and through listening to albums that seem like came out yesterday.

Ten years ago, I sat in my parents guest bedroom, staring out the window. I laid in my bed watching the clouds go from grey to slate. Hearing every cloud rupture with anger and sadness, as the rain fell from the sky. In a room I didn’t grow up in. In a room, I felt like I kept coming back too. I was in-between places, still trying to figure out what I wanted. This wasn’t home but Fresno wasn’t home either. Where do I belong? Where do I fit in?

Ten years ago, I didn’t want to go back to school. Even though I knew getting older meant it would be harder for me to do things. My odds were against me. I was finding myself fearful of people and a fear of my peers is what always told me not to go back to school. It takes me 10 minutes to get out of my car to do simple tasks, without feeling like the world was against me. I didn’t realize I was sick. I didn’t realize that this wasn’t normal.

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Ten years ago, I let the wrong people in. I let people hurt me. I let people use me. I let people cloud my judgement of what good really was. Instead I harbored a pain so great that caused me to cut open my outsides, to understand what my insides were feeling. I was burning in this vessel of a body, with this need to please everyone. To be there for everyone, while people have done nothing but watch me fade in the background.

Ten years ago, I thought I was going to marry a variety of different people. A drummer in one band, a bass player in another. Plotting how one day they would look at me differently then they had in the past. That I wouldn’t be self-conscious. I wouldn’t be awkward. They would look straight into me, as I have looked up at them, many times before.

Ten years ago, I feel in love too easily. Always someone different. Always people I shouldn’t have loved. But I wanted to love as I always felt in the deep depths of my heart. How they play out in movies and we see on the big screen. I was hopeless in wanting something I wasn’t prepared to understand. In a way I used people. I just wanted what everyone else had. A hand to hold to keep themselves from falling apart. Because sad was better than lonely. And now I can’t remember the name of the first boy I kissed.

Ten years ago,  I wanted amazing things to happen to me. I wanted to stand in an open place and watch life happen to me. In a big city, miles away from my mediocre small town. Far from the same people I see every day. Maybe if for once instead of running, I would finally allow things to happen. Watch love open doors, see my careers unfold, watch myself change from strange into something beautiful. I waited forever for things to happen. I waited for people to move. I waited for things to happen. I waited too long and feel as if I am running out of time.

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Ten years ago, an album came out that changed my life. I didn’t think it would. Many albums come and go and still I remember this as if it was yesterday. From the weather changing from the warm fall days to the chill of cold of the soon to be winter months. How it felt wrong to buy it from some mass production corporation, how I needed to purchase the album how I had purchased all their albums. Straight from the band, straight from the source. How I ripped open the package and watched my life change in front of my eyes. No one understands how that feels. How something so simple as opening a padded envelope could change your life in so many magical ways. How I needed to get out of my house and play every song loudly. Loud enough to where my insides would wake up. How every cigarette I smoked, I exhaled out the smoke and watched the smoke slowly leave my lungs open to the cold air. The rain kept falling, as this soundtrack continued to play. How perfect this seemed. My favorite band, playing the songs that for that moment I didn’t understand. It didn’t matter how many times the windshield wipers wiped my windshield clear, the rain still managed to leave a mark. Which is how I feel about this album. No matter how many times I try to wipe this away, a small mark still remains. I could write forever about every line in the songs. I could. I have. But today, I want to live in it’s memory.

Ten years ago, I didn’t understand. Ten years later, I finally know. We are not suppose to fit in. We are not suppose to be normal. Sometimes you don’t realize how bad you’re hurting until the years pass and you become someone else. Someone completely different then the person you were ten years ago. Its hard to come out of the darkness and back into the light. It’s hard to understand that even though we feel completely alone, we are never truly alone. Even when you think you can’t start over, life throws you something completely unexpected.

Today, I watch the rain fall from the sky to the tops of each tree and rooftop, from some place far from home. I think back on those memories. I think back to my sentiments and feelings.  Ten years ago, I had no idea where I was going. I stopped believing in love. I stopped believing in myself in the years in took to get here. I stopped wanting to marry the boys that would never love me. I stopped dying for a hand to hold. Ten years ago, seemed like such a long time ago. Now, I sit here wondering what happens next.

Ten years ago, man.

10 years.

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Tonight.

He was easy to talk too. Someone, I could come home too. Come home from a long day and talk about everything. He carried a charm about him, that I found myself enamored by things he would say. Every minute became easier to be around him.

Could he really be this charming? Or is it all the drinks I am consuming?

I didn’t love him. Maybe, if anything, I had tiny feelings for him. At this point, who don’t I have feelings for. I would have feelings for a lamp post, because it gave me light. But thats just who I am. I love people only to disappoint them in the end. If anything he just made me feel safe. Like I could be honest about everything without judgement. Some part of him would be familiar, as if I had felt these sentiments before. I just couldn’t pinpoint where.

“Stop looking at your phone. Everything you need is right here”

He didn’t mean it condescendingly. Some parts of it is a corny drunken slur. And yet, I believed him.

I don’t want to go home. As dark as it was at the Bar, I could have stayed here for hours. Maybe I did, I can’t remember. I found myself drinking this ache in my chest away. With every sip, I will cut you out of my heart.

Maybe not tonight.
Tonight, let’s just think of something else. Anything else.

With every sip of his beer, his words would slur into something more meaningful then the next.

I didn’t buy it at the time. At the time, I couldn’t think of anyone else but someone else. Someone I should have left in the dust of my memories. Someone I should never have brought with me in my new life here. The same person that made me check my phone dozens of times, instead of realizing “everything you need is right here”.

“That’s not what you’re looking for”
“What am I looking for then?”
“Me”

I could have kissed him right there. In my drunken haze, in this dimly lit bar. I could have.

But I didn’t.

No amount of drinks will rid the person that hurt you out of your heart. No matter how many boys you kiss, its not going to take the taste of his lips away. No matter how many times I cut myself, its never going to get him out from under my skin.

I feel stupid drowning out my sadness with someone else, thinking about someone else.

Everything I need is right here.

And I know better now.

Burbank, CA 2009

 

Duele.

It doesn’t hurt, I am okay.
No duele.

Jump to your feet.
Dust yourself off.
Pretend it doesn’t hurt.  While the tears are forming at the corners of my eyes.

No duele. No pasa nada.
It doesn’t hurt, everything will be okay.

Be strong. Fuerte. I am bigger than my cuts and my scrapes. Bigger then my falls and failures. Bigger then the embarrassment of the hurt I feel inside.

It doesn’t hurt, no duele.

It hurts. Straight to the core. In the deeper depths of my soul. I could paint the wound any color, but it never stops hurting. How strong am I suppose to be? How strong am I suppose to allow the world to see?

Levantate. No pasa nada. Pero todo duele.

Everything hurts. From my skin to my bones to the very depths of my soul. I have been programmed to make every scrape disappear. Every broken blood vessel nonexistent. But it hurts. It hurts every inch of my skin and I am too afraid to say so. I was brought up to believe that if you can’t see pain, the pain doesn’t exist. Cover up every cut, bandage every bruise and broken bone. If it’s not there, it doesn’t exist.

I will lie through my teeth. Clinching my fists to stop the tears from forming.

It doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt anymore.

No duele tanto. Pero, duele suficiente.

 

10/31/2015 – Day Thirty – Three.

I am just going to straight up say this, I don’t care about my birthday. I don’t. Past experiences have caused me to have such a bitterness about my birthday, that I wish I could skip the day completely. This isn’t some cry for help, not some sort of dramatic situation. Some time between childhood and early adulthood, I just stopped caring. I’ve tried doing elaborate birthday parties, tried doing fancy dinners, but everything didn’t seem right with me. I get really bad anxiety, which caused me to think of every bad scenario that could happen. I’ve had selfish friendships that have caused me to change my plans multiple times to the extent that I cancel everything.

If I had it my way, I would sit in a museum all day staring at art and people watching. I would sit at my favorite restaurant and eat everything I am afraid to eat. Take a solo trip somewhere and not answer to anyone, until the next day.  Whatever the reason, I usually keep my birthday extremely low key. In the past couple of months, I’ve seen my emotions come from the lowest of the low to an extreme high. Its my insecurities on overdrive, its my anxiety, depression, and everything in-between. I don’t know how to explain it to anyone. Birthdays are an excuse for people to pick me apart, when I should really feel they are celebrating the greatness that is me. I can’t help but think what could you celebrate me for? I haven’t done anything right in years. I haven’t been able to keep myself together in months. Why would you? Those are all my insecurities, paranoias, etc. I don’t know where I got the idea to do anything for my birthday, but after years I wanted to do something.

On 10/31/2015, I turned 33. Something inside of me considered it an accomplishment. I wanted to do something. Not something big, just something simple surrounded by people I cared the most about. I didn’t want to go on some extravagant trip. I didn’t want to get all fussed about in some stuffy restaurant. I didn’t want to go to a bar and get completely shit faced (which I have done countless times). I wanted to feel comfortable in a place I sometimes don’t feel comfortable in. I guess to an average person doing a dinner at home, isn’t some big deal. But when you don’t do anything for your birthday, it means the world to someone. Even if that someone happens to be me. I didn’t expect much, just a few of my close friends, in a small intimate setting, eating, drinking and having a good time. I just wanted to celebrate life surrounded by the people I cared about the most. I wanted to do everything myself. I wanted to decorate, plan, have a menu, have drinks, everything. I wanted to prove to myself that my emotions will not get the best of me and that I can do things. I realized that cooking has a very soothing effect on me. That having myself following a task that I set myself, challenges all my insecurities. Of course I wanted people to have fun, to enjoy themselves, but I wanted to make sure I could do things. That I could host a magnitude of people and still feel okay.

I keep myself guarded after years of being let down by prior friendships. I have a hard time admitting to close friends when I am upset or hurt or sad. I don’t let people in, when I should be trusting with people. Most of my friends have never been to my home. I don’t like inviting people over because this doesn’t feel like my house. Because it isn’t, I didn’t earn this home. Something always caught my attention that at a certain age we are suppose to leave and make our own ways. Which has been a huge insecurity of mine. I realized now that, I needed to be home. I needed to heal and grow, and get stronger. I needed to realize my past mistakes were all growing experiences. People may consider it weird that a person my age still lives at home, but I realized I can’t let people dictate how I feel. I came home to get better because living every where was making me sick. I had been sick for a long time and never told anyone. Then life happened. My mom got sick and I choose to stay. Its hard for me to admit its been hard, because it has. Now I am just piecing everything together and can finally start doing things on my own. I am okay, my mom is okay, and soon I will go on my own way. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed by my experiences but sometimes when the wind gets knocked out of you, you can’t help but feel that way.

It has nothing to do with my birthday but then it has everything. We are expected to be a brand new person every year that hits our birthday. Feel grown from the birthday prior. The past few years, I’ve just grown more sick in a downward spiral. 33, is important to me that, I wasn’t going to put up with my own bullshit. I wasn’t going to let my sickness dictate my life, I wasn’t going to let the past come back and haunt me. For me to be honest about this, makes me realize that I know I am going to be okay. Its taken me a long time to realize that I am not just passing through this home, this place is home. Having people I cared about over to my home, meant the world to me. Its silly to say that it meant the absolute world to me. I didn’t expect much, I drove myself crazy days prior to my birthday. Then I realized that the people I see before me are the people that have helped me in more ways then they can imagine. They have loved me unconditionally when I haven’t been the best person to them or myself. I have had people cut me out of their life, I have cut people out of my life, and still standing before me are the people that stayed no matter what. I knew it would take years to work up the courage to ever do this again, but for 6 hours, I truly felt love, light, and every mushy positivity vibe shine through. I realized that I may not be everyone’s favorite person. On average, I could be the worst person. I say things without thinking of the consequences. I haven’t been kind to people who only deserve my kindness. But I am not the same person I was a year ago. I am not the same person I was 3 months ago. Sometimes it takes something to scare you, to help you grow into who you need to be. I am still growing up, whether I want to or not.

Sometimes it’s the things that scare you the most, are the things you have to do for yourself.

Vindictive.

vin·dic·tive: having or showing a strong or unreasoning desire for revenge.

The other day a good friend of mine called me “Vindictive”, over a situation that was beyond my control. To sound vague, I am just going to state the situation is not that important. Truth is I never truly stated what really happened. Nor, am I going to start. Some battles are just easier to let go and others were just not a battle to begin with. It’s human nature to crave the drama, to love the dramatics of people’s actions. If we are being truly honest with ourselves, sometimes people are not meant to be friends. Instead of finding myself and putting myself in a position of being immature, I just refused to say anything. I could have just let the word go. Brush it out of my mind, but being who I am I haven’t. I find myself repeating the word and asking myself if I really am being vindictive.

I am not trying to draw attention to any particular situation. Life is crazy sometimes and people will always make their own assumption of things. There are some moments in my life I wish I could be vindictive. I wish I could be really mean and say everything I feel inside. I could spew out the same hate and mistreatment that others have thrown on me. None of which would make me feel any better. I could be really mean if I wanted to be. I could act out every dramatic scenario known to mankind, but I wouldn’t. I could be upset about various things that go on in my life or I can just take everything with a grain of salt. Even by saying nothing, I still come out like a villain. Childish, immature, and of course vindictive.

In the course of a few months, my life has changed. With life changes come friendship changes. I don’t blame anyone. As much as I would like to be angry, no one is to blame. Life happens and no matter how much you want to escape it, its coming toward you full speed ahead. No one tells you that when you’re growing up, your friendships change. In the process of being grown up, you lose people that meant the absolutely world to you. Nothing malicious, nothing mean, just life continues to go on. The truth is sometimes people are meant to be in your life for a limited time and as much as everyone loves a great juicy story, there isn’t one to tell. It hurts to have to come to that realization. Sometimes you grow out of your friendships and sometimes you see friendships for what they truly were. A great time in your life that you needed and sadly have to move on from.

You can’t stop people from believing what they want to believe. As much as you want to you can’t stop people from leaving. Reality is there is nothing left to say. All the dramatics I want to throw out are  just my emotions seeping through. It’s just my sadness trying to make sense of growing out of friendships. People grow up eventually and sometimes you out grow your friendships. Sometimes I want to say everything I feel in my heart, but there really is nothing left to say. I am allowing people to believe what they want to believe.

Maybe I am vindictive. Maybe I am a little hurt and angry. That’s growing up. If you’re not losing friendships, you’re not growing up.

I guess this is growing up.

 

What’s wrong baby?

Why are you single?
Why haven’t you dated anyone?
Why aren’t you dating?

So on and so forth.

If I had a nickel for every time I have been asked the above questions. People make it sound so easy. Falling down, dusting yourself off and then trying again. I know everyone means well. At the risk of sounding crazy, I just let people assume what they want to believe. Its easier for people to believe what they want about me, then having to tell them how I really feel. Because how I feel people seldom understand. I feel scared, I feel crazy, and most times I feel completely broken.

Broken in the sense that my past has broken me into a different person. Instead of shaping me into a better version of myself. I find it harder to trust people, because the past has a funny way of coming back to haunt me. When people have hurt you, it takes a while to come back from. I watch how easy it is for my peers to jump from relationship to relationship. Meanwhile, I watch myself still haunted by the past, with it’s broken words and promises. Hurt does that to you. It breaks and bleeds everything you touch. It claws at your insides, until the raw emotion eats at your soul. I was never like this before. I loved this illusion that love gave you. I loved the sappy love songs, the cliche films that remind you what love should look and feel like. I loved this idea of love and the beautiful orchestrated soundtrack it came with. Now I feel like a completely different person. This illusion of love has broken up my insides and rebuilt itself a different person.

How do you tell a stranger you feel broken? How do you describe it in a way that doesn’t scare off the other person? That pieces of you are slowly going back together again, but the pieces have left you shattered and cynical about love. When people ask you the same questions, how do answer truthfully without sounding tragic?

I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to tell a complete stranger that someone broke me down completely. With words that are still tattooed on the inside of my heart and creep out onto my skin. The past is the past, but how can you be honest with someone, when you can’t be honest with yourself. Some days it hurts like hell and I want to claw every piece of flesh on my body. I want to scream out every obscenity until it doesn’t hurt anymore. Because thats what hurt feels like. Even after six years, the words don’t feel so vividly anymore, but they still haunt me. They’re faint insignificant words that still linger after the smoke has cleared. I know that not every one is like that. I know people won’t hurt me as bad as my past was. Still, it hurts and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t.

I feel as if these fingers continue to point at me, and I haven’t a clue what to say when people ask me why I don’t put myself out there. You might as well just state “What’s wrong with you?“. I don’t know how to answer those questions without being honest. Then at the same time, I have this need to keep guarded about my feelings. Trusting people is hard. Especially when your heart has been through a lot. I don’t know how to start a conversation with a stranger and not feel completely broken. People want the truth. People want you to be open and honest.  I know that. Deep down, I know that. I want to be open. I want to say everything I have in my heart. I want a level of trust to return, where I can feel open to be honest. It’s hard for me to be open. It’s hard for me to say how I feel, and instead I change the subject completely.

I am not asking for anyone to pick up my pieces. I just want people to understand that its not easy. It just takes some time to feel like myself again. If it takes me a day, a month, or a year, I know I will feel like myself again. Some days are easier than others. I am not sure if this answers anyones questions or judgments about me, but here it is. These are my cards on the table. Take it or leave it.

12/7/2015

10/17/2015 – Day Thirty – Two

I cried when I made french toast today. Cried like the damn world was conspiring against me. Feeling like I had nothing left to give. Buckets upon buckets of stupid tears that meant absolutely nothing. I wish I could fully explain how things like this happen. How a wave of uncertainty can just paralyze your insides and make you feel a variety of different emotions. I have made french toast multiple times in my youth and adult life. Its the one thing I can make that becomes like I am conducting a symphony. Today, I just couldn’t fucking get it together.

I felt off today. Something wasn’t right in my head. I went to bed with anger, woke up feeling hurt and distraught. I hate those days. Days were you can’t seem to pinpoint where the anger comes from anymore. Lately, I just wake up with this feeling of being the worst person in the world. I know I am not a terrible person but some days I wake up thinking I am the absolute worst. This is not me coming in here to ask for sympathy of any sort. Some days I feel like I can’t get it together and other days I can do just about anything I want to. This is where I feel like I am driving myself crazy. Who honestly thinks this about themselves? Who feels like they are the worst person in the world? Because, that’s how I feel all the time. At this point, I am not sure if this is my anxiety or my depression, getting the best of me. When you wake up in a weird funk it clouds over you the whole day. Simple tasks seem harder than usual. I found my hands shaking more and my stomach more upset than normal. I cracked an egg too hard and watched how the fragile tiny pieces of the shell, sat in the egg whites. Later, I put too much cinnamon, too much vanilla, and so on. I didn’t have enough batter on one side of the bread. I burnt the other side of the bread. Simple tasks that made me more anxious than anything. My hands continued to shake, which made my heart beat faster. Before I knew it, the tears started forming and I just started to cry. What I hate the most is when you’re in your own personal bubble everything is a trigger. From the tiny fragments of egg shells in the egg whites, to burning the bread on one side. I felt like the worst person on the planet and I could feel everyone watching me. I hate when people notice and exclaim “If you can’t or don’t want to do the task, I will do it”.

No.

I don’t need someone to clean up my mess. I don’t need anyone to finish my tasks. I don’t need anyone to make me feel worse than I already feel. So I cried. I cried in the batter, I cried in the butter, I cried in the french toast that burnt on one side. All I can manage to think was this probably tastes like garbage but its my garbage that I made. I just want to cry in silence and finish what I started.

10/6/2015 – Day Thirty – One.

I keep thinking I am writing things down, when I am really just thinking things through. I have so many things to say and find myself just keeping everything inside. Even when I am thinking I am saying everything I feel inside, I find myself keeping everything inside. I don’t know why. I am not afraid of what people think of me, and yet I find myself afraid of everything. I am in a position in my life where I find myself trusting again. Finding myself falling in love with a variety of different people. However, I still find myself keeping things inside. Today, I lost it getting into my car.

You know how we have those days where maybe we shouldn’t have gone outside. We should have stayed home with the covers completely over every inch of our bodies. Thats how I felt today. That anything could break my heart into a million pieces. Even a slight change in the weather would drive a chill down my spine and break me into pieces. It could have been the wind that touched my skin, that would make me crazy. It could have been someone looking at a person beside me, that would have driven me insane. Here I was walking toward my car, already breaking my own heart. For no good fucking reason.

I was parked in a private parking lot, I knew very well that I was. Walking up to my car, I noticed something on my windshield. Thinking I had a ticket and then realizing it was a note stating I was parking on private property. My blood started boiling and all I really wanted to do was scream at the person who wrote the note. Scream at them like a fucking crazy person. I clutched the note in my hands, until my hands became a fist. I couldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t stop this feeling. I wanted to lose it on someone else, knowing very well that it was my fault. I wanted to blame someone for something I did. Because I was upset about my own stupidity. Embarrassed by my own actions. I wanted someone to feel my hurt and my pain.  Someone, anyone, someone that doesn’t even exist.

Instead I ripped the paper into tiny shreds and threw it on the street. That would show them. Those tiny shreds of paper represented everything I was feeling. It would mean I am screaming back at them, when I am not even sure who “them” is. I keep thinking I am saying things out loud when I am really keepings to myself. I think of all these elaborate posts. How the words flow so freely in my mind and I can’t seem to get a grasp of them on paper. Then I feel like such an idiot, a complete fool of a person. Who reads this? Who is listening and do they even fucking care? My heart beats so fast when all I want to do is scream out every obscenity I can think of and I don’t know why.

I can’t explain all this aggression. Some days I want to blame a variety of different things. I want to blame my depression, I want to blame my anxiety, I want to blame it on everything and everyone. Blame it on the past. Blame it on my present surroundings. Blame it on myself and my inability to keep it together. Some days it’s just easier to break my own heart. Easier to be the villain because thats how everyone treats me. Because even when you say nothing, everyone believes you’re hiding everything. I get those moments where I want to hurt people as they have done to me. Maybe my heart will stop breaking for once, maybe it won’t hurt as bad to be so honest. Maybe I will be able to rid myself of these feelings once and for all.

But at the end of the day, I am the one crying in my car in empty parking lots on private property. I am the crazy one. I am the one that can’t keep it together. I am the absolute worst and everyone knows it.

50 Bucks.

Money means nothing when you have it. When you’re struggling, even the tiniest mishaps cause you to break. I have never been one to never have money. Even when I don’t have it, it still doesn’t affect me. However, I am no stranger to human emotions and human errors. If I had it my way, I just wouldn’t complain about anything. I wouldn’t put my heart out there to get broken and all that other nonsense. Of course everything all started when I lost a 50 dollar bill, somewhere between my room and my car. The more I searched for it, the further away it went from me.

Its not that I lost money, not that I shouldn’t be losing money. Its that moment when everything in life feels like it’s hanging on by a thread. One more thing to add to the list of unlucky messes. This never ending cycle of bad luck that continues to follow me. 50 bucks is nothing, but at that moment it was everything. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Before I knew it, it opened up my heart and brain to all sorts of heartbreaking things. Because this would happen to me. Of course it would happen to me. Why wouldn’t this happen to me? Of course when I need something it’s not there. Then the water works form and I am back where I started from. It’s so easy for people to believe because I never say anything I don’t feel my emotions. I am only human, if only they knew how I really felt. I find myself getting upset when people tell me I don’t understand or I haven’t been in their situation. Then I find myself feeling rather selfish.

Really? Because you lived my life right?

The more things happen in my life I think about these cards I was dealt. I think about the number of times I have to fall to get right back up again. I wonder how much longer until the scabs on my knees heal, til it’s back where I started from. I am upset. I am upset that I feel like no matter what I do, I am stuck thinking that I have to deal with all this bullshit. Like clockwork people need me when it’s convenient for them. People spew out all their bullshit and I take it. But I’m the bad guy? I am always the bad guy.

When you’re hurting you think of every fucked up thing that has happened to you. The people that used you, the people that want something from you, the people that have such a miserable life that they make you feel just as they are. I am fucking tired of it. Everyone else plays this victim card very well and I am always the villain. I allowed these people to take advantage of the good in my life to be left with nothing. I know everything is one big test, but these same people continue to find me. Then come the mountain of apologizes. How can you say sorry to something that’s already been said? Something that’s already formed such a huge scar in my heart. But I am the bad guy? These same people just get this huge “get out of jail” card, and I am left with all the bullshit ashes of old life. Why do I have to clean up the pieces, and everyone else starts fresh and new?

I am just tired of being this second or third choice to people. I am tired of always having to be the punching bag. I am tired of the same thing happening over and over again. Sometimes I wonder what’s even worth it anymore. Everything I do just gets fucked up in the end. I am not saying that everyone else has it easier, its just sometimes I think people forget that everyone has feelings too. With everything that’s happened this past year it’s hard not to look at the bigger picture. Shit sucks right now but maybe in a year from now it will all change. I guess even if I have to cry my eyes out in a parking garage, it shows I still have feelings. I fell hard today but I am the one that gets back up again. That’s life. Life is one huge mix up of emotions but in the end it does get better.

All this because I lost 50 bucks. It’s funny how emotions work.

6/7/2013

I wrote this after a very bad terrible day of losing 50 bucks (which I later found underneath my drivers seat of my car). After I posted this, I was sent home from work for being a terrible mess. I spent the whole weekend then week, in a huge shade of sadness. I am happy to report that things did change after that. Anything can be a trigger to open up a mountain of sadness and emotion. I am no stranger to that but people always find it rather surprising. I can hide emotions just like the next person, but I am not immune to them. It’s all just a process of understand what makes us who we are. Things in life do get better, only if we want them too. I can’t help if I have a bad day, it just makes a good day even better. 

Suffocate on eternal bliss.

I am done.

Exhausted, drained and every exasperated feeling. My emotions are on over drive and I can’t think straight. I have no energy for the same repetitive things and gentle formalities. Living in a world full of “Yes” people, with people so afraid of hearing “No”. When did we become frightened with the truth, and become discouraged with unfamiliarity? We’ve been lied too. We’ve been told to follow our dreams, because they always come true. No one ever tells us to work hard and then watch our dreams unfold.

No. Instead we all bite the hands that feed us and expect more from the next person. We are all in for the using and taking of everyone’s resources. We stop asking for help and instead ask for people to do for us. Do this, because I can’t. Do this, because I don’t know how.  Do this, because I fucking desire it and for the rest of the world to follow. All these materialistic needs with superficial tendencies. Generations of “likes” and who can make things easier for us. A thousand moonlight superficial “yes”  are prettier and better for our complexion. Let me love you more, until I have used you. Until I have sucked all your resources dry to fall in love with the next big thing. That is all that truly matters, what you see through a filtered photograph that claims to be truth. At the risk of running my mouth, I can’t lie. People expect so much and yet want to do so little. The bare minimal of life instead of setting out to live their own adventures. Learning and experiencing, doing everything for yourself. I don’t mind helping but when does helping become doing everything? We say “yes” so often, everyone is afraid of doing things themselves. We say “yes” so often, that hearing “No” can be discouraging. If people only knew we are entitled to nothing and the world owes us just the same. The world should never be handed to us. We all have to work hard to get what we desire. People make it look easy but only they know the true struggle of maintaining a dream.

Dreams are only easy when we are asleep. Easy when everything is within our reach, when we lay our head  down at night. If only it were that easy. If only everything I truly wanted was right within my grasp. Instead I watch my dreams go further from reach and completely out of my grasp. The sweet is never truly sweet until we experience the sour. The sour has overtaken my sense of taste, that everything has remain a bitter embrace. Still I solider on, still I keep going. Because one day dreams won’t seem like dreams anymore. The blood on my fingertips will be worth it in the end. At the end of the day I will be grateful for the thousands of “No” words I’ve heard, instead of the deceitful “Yes”. In that moment I will feel I truly earned it. I can’t lie to you. Some days I wish everything was handed to me. That everyone would do everything I asked of them and that I wouldn’t lift a single finger. That being so bold would get me everything I wanted, without doing a single damn thing. I want to use people as they have done to me. Use them until they have nothing left inside. Until they are dried out and drained, left unresponsive. I want to hear a thousand “Yes”, instead of the “No” I always receive. I want to believe that all these lies I’ve been fed can be some aspect of reality. Only in dreams do these things exist. Only in dreams can I be showered in riches and my talents praised from every rooftop. Sometimes doing things for yourself hurts. The hardest thing is life is doing things for yourself, even if it hurts, even if kills you in the end.

I am not afraid to do things myself, neither should you. Do things yourself and the rest will follow. There is no harm in asking for help just don’t expect everyone to do things for you. For every “yes” you hear, next time you’ll hear a thousand “no’s”. When you use people enough, they will stop helping you. It’s time to do things for yourself, even if it hurts, even if it kills you. Because when you least expect it, something beautiful will come from all this pain. For once in your life, the sincerity of accomplishment will mean more than anything in this world.

I guarantee it will be worth it in the end, trust me.