Life, death, and everything inbetween.

I appreciate the notes from my favorite bookmarks on the last entry.

Fuck…

I’m not sure about life in general lately.

Seems like everything is fucked up, all around the world…and I can’t even manage to keep my small little corner of it under control.

I have some pretty fucked up trust issues, and it’s hurting my relationship.

I need to not drink so much.

I need to wake up earlier.

I need to man up.

It’s hard trying to be a man when you don’t really know how.

When I was supposed to be growing up I was just doing drugs instead.

Then, when I realised what a waste of time that was…I wasted too much time trying to kick them.

But seeing as how I thought I was an adult, I just started the entire cycle over again with booze.

I have now wasted over a year of my life on grappling with booze…I do other things, sure, but that seems to be the biggest drain of time.

Sometimes I wish I would have grown up as a religious and obediant boy.

I wish I would have done better in school.

Finished college.

 

Other times I look at the experiences I have had the opportunity to enjoy, and I feel lucky, because if there is an after-life I can take those experiences with me, and they make me who I am.

Then I start to think about how I don’t really like who I am very much…

Then I start to think about the very realy possibility that there is no after-life.

Then I start to think about the reality that I’m really just kind of a joke.

 

Every job I have ever had…I have done well at, but because I joke around so much, I am never taken seriously.

A lot of people in my life don’t even take me seriously.

They probably shouldn’t though, I havent given them a reason to really.

 

Sometimes I think that if I was stone cold sober I could be such a better person to the people I care about.

But then I start to think about how when I’m sober…I can’t stand people, or myself, or society, or the world…

 

I have this reputation for being a "social butterfly" because I talk to people so much, I make great connections.

Yeah…

I wasn’t like that until the drugs started, and the alcohol carries it.

I was so introverted.

So silent.

Shy.

I was insecure of myself…never good enough, so why bother?

The drugs started, the drinking started, then it was "I’m not good enough? Well fuck you then! I don’t like you either!"

I’m not drinking enough to kill myself anymore, but I still wouldn’t have the nerve to say "I’ve got it under control."

It’s evident in everything I do…

Even tonight at work, I was talking to the bar tender about drinking, and she considers herself a pretty heavy drinker…when I told her what I’ve done and been through, I saw pitty in her eyes…and she actually told me I just made her feel better about the guilt she has been feeling for how much she drinks.

I’m not proud of this shit.

It’s not fucking cool.

I need to learn how to cope with the real world, even if I do think that it’s full of a bunch of crazy fucking assholes.

I don’t even feel like I belong…fine, but that’s not reason to let other people down.

 

and then I think…what if I can’t pretend well enough?

What if I actually just really don’t belong?

 

…then what?

 

I’ve never felt like I have.

Anywhere really.

I love Rachael and Echo…but what if I’m even fucking that up?

I kind of feel like I am lately.

 

…

and between you and me, it makes me think way too much about ending it.

Being sad? I can deal with that. That’s fucking child’s play.

This whole feeling is something else.

It’s a loss of control.

It’s the full collapse.

It’s the experience of total chaos…and it’s really scary, and it feels futile.

I laugh at supposed "Anarchists".

If they had any idea what complete chaos really felt like they would go running to their mothers skirt tails.

 

I don’t even know if I’m really sad right now…I’m not bummed out or depressed even.

I’m not drunk.

I’m not high.

I guess, whether anyone reads this or not, I needed to really sit and reflect.

Writing is easier for me…my mind is like this fucked up spaghetti-bowl-freeway-system. All my thoughts are blurs.

Writing actually lets me stop them all for a minute.

At least slow them down to make a bit of sense out of them.

"Oh…that’s a car? No shit. I would have never guessed."

 

…

Or then again maybe this is all a bunch of self indulgent bullshit and I need to just snap out of it.

Who fucking knows.