12-17-04

fuck.

Rage once again washes over me and I, unable to express it, find solace in the distraction of long words and complex sentences.  My actions frighten me.  My thoughts ever more so.  I can’t do this.  I can’t.  Not any more.  Nothing brings relief from the stress, the anxiety, the anger, the fear, the lonliness, the nothingness.  It’s so easy to forget that this is MY life, my shitty-ass life…I forget so often.  I keep wishing I’ll wake up from this drawn out and fucked up nightmare.  That I’ll wake up in a time and place where I was happy and carefree. As if such a time and place ever existed.

When I say, “I can’t do this anymore” I am referring to my little act, the “I’m perfect” dance.  I’m not perfect.  My life isn’t perfect.  My life is so fucking imperfect that any other person would have given up by now.  I’m tired of trying to find happiness in a world that never fucking wanted me.  A world where despair and hopelessness are the only rations and the soul withers and dies.  Why the fuck am I here? 

I want out.  This “life” is like a videogame that I’m losing, but can’t reset or turn it off.  I’m tired of being cut down again and again.  I’m so fucking tired.

It’s not going to get better.  I’m being evicted in the middle of January, and I don’t know where we’ll live.  My dad is going to jail this spring.  My parents have no money, our house has no heat, we can’t afford the bills…I’m supposed to go to college next fail.  I don’t even know if I want to, it’s just what’s expected of me.  If I don’t go away to college, I have to stay here at “home” and keep working at a job that I hate with a passion for my pittance.  Except I don’t have a home any more, do I?  I never really did.  Home is where the heart is, my heart was never here.  I don’t think it was ever anywhere.

I’m still angry.  Nothing a walk won’t fix.  In the snow.  Maybe without my coat.  Or shoes.