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War All The Time
|It's not that I'm afraid of being happy. It's that I just don't really know how to function when things aren't completely catastrophic.|
I haven't done it in years. It's what I'm used to. It's the complete opposite of what other people need. And I know that. But I can't just flip a switch and be okay, I can't wake up one day and be how I'd like. It's complicated, it's so complicated you have no fucking idea. It's fucked up a lot of things before. Good things, really good things.
"What are you looking for in a relationship?"
"Basically somebody who can stand to be with me, I guess."
It's a funny feeling, and it's a sad, sad feeling, when you know all of the answers for how to fix other people, whether you want to fix them or not. But when it comes to yourself, you can't do a god damn thing. Or at least you can't do it on your own.
Nobody should have to do it on their own.
if it's not real
you can't hold it in your hand
you can't feel it with your heart
and I won't believe it
but if it's true
you can see it with your eyes
oh, even in the dark
and that's where I want to be
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, hope
|We Can Try
|I'd be lying if I said things haven't been horrible, because they have, and they are. Some things never seem to change. I'm not sleeping. I'm not eating. Nothing but drugs, doctors, and feeling miserable.|
It is a disappointing feeling. Physically, it feels awful, of course, that's how these things go. Conditions manifest themselves with a variety of different symptoms, each one feeding off the next, eventually spiraling into something terrible. But it's just as bad being disappointed in the inability to make a dramatic change for the better.
These are the fucking doldrums, man, this is not how a person should live. I can try to place the blame anywhere else, but it doesn't really matter. This is my responsibility, and I am the one who has to deal with it. If you want something done, sometimes you really do have to do it yourself.
You have to try at least.
That's all you can really ask of anyone, ever, is that they try.
People change, things change. The reason why you miss somebody is because at one point, somebody just didn't care enough. That's the bottom line. Maybe they said something, or maybe they did or didn't do something, but it happened because they didn't care enough. So things changed. And there's never a promise it can go back to how it was before. People are fragile things. Trust me.
There's been a lot of bad, bad shit happening lately. To a lot of people. Why, I don't really know. I never have, and there's a part of me that fucking hates that I probably never will. Bad things happen to good people. Bad things happen to great people. I'm a fucking wreck and I wouldn't even necessarily consider myself to be that particularly good of a person, so it can be really upsetting when things get rough for people who are. But what you can do? Nothing. You keep going. You just keep going.
I am nowhere near a positive person, but I have to keep believing this is all going to work out.
I've got a lot of problems, and I've got a lot of questions.
But I've got these words, a whole lot of hope, and some songs that I love.
And maybe that's all you really need sometimes.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, hope
|What It Is To Burn
|The Georgia heat sticks to you like a fly to the tape. It gets inside your head, under your skin, and seeps into your blood. I spend my nights more awake than I am during most of the day. For months, if not years, I have been unable to achieve anything remotely resembling a normal sleep pattern. The nights roll into mornings. The sun shines, the birds sing, the motions of modern life begin once again.|
The medication I was put on to supplement my current regime has failed me miserably. I want to vomit. I swear I have the flu. Fuck this. Trash.
I go to the doctor’s office. I am sitting in the car in the parking lot outside listening to music, waiting for my appointment to start. It makes me uneasy sitting in the waiting room, mainly because of the fact that the waiting room consists of a cramped hallway that is filled with other people even more fucked up than myself. I am sitting in the front passenger seat. People begin to walk out of the building. More and more people. More people. They just keep coming. More people. There must be one hundred two hundred a lot of fucking people standing outside. I hear sirens. The people talk in excited voices. A behemoth of a fire truck arrives on the scene. There does not seem to be any panic, no general concern, more so curiosity and aggravation at having their daily patterns altered by whatever situation has arisen. I haven't a clue as to what is prompting this evacuation. I do not care. I watch the people. The nurses. Some are cute. Some are not. Old men. People in wheelchairs. I do not care. I turn the music up louder. The windows shake. I close my eyes. Finch. What it is to burn.
It appears that you have let me down for the last time. She was right, whoever she was. I deserve better. I deserve something real. It is hard for me to think of somebody in my life as unreliable as you. Disappointing, maybe, but I expected other people to fuck up, not you. All of this time invested, me sitting around like some dependent fuck, waiting on what? What do I have to show for any of it? I suppose that is what I get for letting my guard down and trying to put my faith in somebody. You appear briefly, telling me that you were avoiding my calls because you were afraid of what I might say. What the fuck is that? A relationship of any kind is built on solid communication, and I have to say that you fail miserably at it. Maybe you are a liar maybe you are afraid maybe you are simply a bad person who has no problem toying with the emotions of others. You give me excuse after excuse of why you have yet to follow through with your plans to come spend time with me. I offer to come see you, even though I am a walking disaster. You say it is a great idea. You say you will pay for the plane ticket. You say it will all work out.
Then you fucking disappear. You fucking disappear. Goodbye.
There is nothing irreplaceable about another person at twenty-two years of age. I will value some individuals more than others. Some will mean everything to me. Most will mean nothing. They will come and they will go. They are all replaceable. It is a difficult if not nearly impossible task finding these replacements, but I promise you, they are out there. They are out there and I will never stop looking for them and I will find them and I will be fucking happy.
I am not angry, I rarely get angry. I am let down. I am sad. I am sorry, for myself. I had painted some sort of holier than thou image of you on a canvas in the back of my mind. That is why I kept waiting. It was all going to work out and it was all going to be worth it. Wrong.
I will take our list of things to do, and I will do them regardless of you being there or not. I will do them with somebody else. I will do them by myself. I will do them.
You have chosen to be a spectator rather than a participant. Your choice, my dear.
The only way to forget someone is to find somebody new.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, fire truck, drugs, goodbyes, hope
|Testing The Strong Ones
|Addiction is like sleeping with an ex girlfriend. You know what you're doing. You are fully aware that nothing good will come from this. There is not a doubt in your mind that this is a bad fucking idea.|
But you cannot help yourself. You cannot resist. You give in to her allure, her charms, her curves, and the feeling you have felt a thousand times before. This is poison, but for the moment it is bliss.
I take between eight to ten pills a day. I wake in mid panic. I stare blankly in class. My mind struggles to absorb what is being said. My interests have all but faded. I have no social life. I have no friends. I am swimming through a sea of apathy. I hate this.
Maybe you are right. Maybe this is happening for a reason. I do not know what that reason is, and as a person who has searched for answers my entire life, this troubles me. There are countless other people out there like us. What is this for? What is the purpose? What am I supposed to do?
Your faith is astounding, and it far surpasses mine. The hope that you feel is something that I often lack. I thought I was strong, I thought I believed, I thought I was finally becoming an optimist. Recently, I feel those sentiments subsiding, and I start to wonder if I am losing this fight. Regardless, I admire you. I thank you.
I've gotta bust you outta here somehow
I've never seen your heart this tired
I've never seen your spirit held down
This is my test.
|Tags: journal, copeland, addiction, lyrics, pills, fate, reason, faith, hope
|Watch The Sky
|It is amazing, the bond shared between people who have struggled with anxiety and depression. There is a sense of understanding that cannot be felt unless you have experienced these feelings personally. I have talked for hours to people, attempting to explain the things I feel, the thoughts in my mind, the reasons for why I am how I am. Sometimes I end up talking in circles, and I feel I have accomplished nothing but confuse the person even more. However, I do truly appreciate the people who have taken the time to listen to what I have to say. I apologize for annoying, confusing, and worrying them. If I could have things any other way, I would. Trust me, I would.|
To know that there are other people who can relate to your pain and your sadness is both comforting, humbling, and intriguing. It may be typical to say, but we are not alone. We do not have to do this by ourselves. Many of us choose to. I did for way too long, and now I am dealing with the consequences. You don't have to. There are others out there who can help in ways you never imagined. Finding them is the hardest part.
I want to know their stories. To hear them describe what they have felt, what they have gone through. To tell me every sordid detail and leave nothing to imagination. I want to examine their lives and put the pieces to their puzzle back in place. Maybe doing so will lead me to a greater understanding of myself, my brain, and my life, and perhaps I will find the missing pieces to my own puzzle. My picture remains incomplete. My pieces have yet to be recovered.
I will take my time. I will find my people. I will find my purpose. Where this will lead me, I do not know. I have no map or guide, and the only supplies I carry are a bottle of pills and a book of poetry. My team consists of doctors who are being paid ungodly amounts of money, and a few friends who have decided to see me through to the end. The doctors are a necessary evil, and the friends, well, they are everything. I owe them my life. I owe them everything.
Eventually, a discovery will be made. The headline will scream off the page, and I will run through the city proclaiming the news. Everyone will know. This day could not have come any sooner. I will have been found. I will have been found.
The greatest gift you can give to another person is hope.
|Tags: journal, anxiety, depression, pills, doctors, friends, hope
|New Year's Project
|The rain outside is peaceful. In Georgia, there has been a severe shortage of rain in the past few months. In myself, there has been a severe shortage of several things. Happiness, laughter, sleep, comfort, safety, calmness, inspiration, concentration. There is a greater need for all of these things. Christmas lights glisten against the concrete. They are welcoming, and they are attractive. They portray a false sense of optimism, joy, and cheer. There is a sickness inside of me that is preventing me from experiencing any of this. |
People look at the lights and they have no thought whatsoever of the people who have placed them there. There are people behind those lights. There are souls, there are emotions, there are interactions, and there are feelings.
Behind these lights, I am enveloped in a blanket of sickness, sadness, and fear. There is a sneaking suspicion that my Christmas emotions will be lackluster. As a child, I wish somebody had forced pen and paper upon me, demanding that I write down the things that made me laugh and smile. There should have been somebody there to help me document that happiness. I have so few recollections of things in my childhood that bring a warmth to my body when I think of them. Being hard to please is one thing. Being unable to feel the regular, expected emotions that others are feeling is a completely different demon.
The absence of pleasure or the ability to experience it.
Perhaps it is not that severe, but I am unsure if I am the one who should be passing judgment on my own emotional shortcomings. This doesn't go without saying I have had moments of beauty. There are some events I have experienced so spectacular that it brings tears to my eyes describing them. These moments are few and far between, and maybe that's the way they are supposed to stay.
I appreciate things more now than I ever have, but there is still so much in my life I am trying to fix, and there is so much more that I want to experience and enjoy. Once I can get past the obstacles I am currently dealing with, I feel as if there is an entirely new "me" to experience. So much love to give. So much laughter to share. An endless amount of memories to make. Countless faces and places to be a part of. I am over being a small town nothing. I am done with that. I am ready. I will be rescued.
I am brainstorming the pages for a very exciting and promising portion of my life. I hope that I can turn my current situation around sooner, rather than later, and then my pen can touch the paper, and those pages can start to be written. I will write them fast and fierce, with the passion that has been building inside of me, screaming to be put to use.
It is going to be a beautiful story. You won't want to miss it.
It might even make me smile.
On a side note, once again I sincerely want to thank the people who write me comments, or send me a message. Some of you have said such wonderful things to me that it brought tears to my eyes, and that is amazing, because until recently I had cried maybe once in two years. Your words help, truly, they do. If you ever want to hear more or know more, just message or IM me, I'll get to you. You mean more than you know.
|Tags: journal, hopeful, love, life, optimism, i'm going to be fucking happy one day