I can't blog, I have way too much anger right now...
I do not know where it manifested from, but it is there.
So, in lieu of bombarding you with a ton of BS I will say the following,
FUCK YOU smelly pig fucker.
FUCK YOU hypocrite self righteous troll.
FUCK YOU mr delusions of grandure.
FUCK YOU wishy washy cunts.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Shame...
There are things that can make a person behave in a way that complicates their current emotional state. Knowing that, and knowing what can cause it, why is the events seem to just be random happenings? Preventable yet inevitable.
There are points when I am writing this and really do not know who the fuck reads it, or who the fuck cares. I expect no one to care, honestly... But who is reading it and how personal can I get. How much should I censor myself? Since I am a single parent how much info would damage my parental reputation. (Fuck you if you judge me anyway, my kid is well fed, well dressed, loved, and is my world.) My problems are mine, and YEA, whose parents issues didn't affect them in some fucking way. Albeit if your parent was an addict, drunk, whore, or financially irresponsible. As long as you grew up loved, fed, and not abused... Your O-Fucking-K in my book.
SO some things happened that I thought I had left in my past. NO it is not drugs, or abuse, or anything that would have ever harmed anyone else. In this instance I am the victim, of my own hand. Cutting, the trend that swept emo kids for years. The method of showing that your a fucked up person seeking attention. I assure you that NEVER have I cut my wrist, ankles, legs, etc... To get the attention of someone else. I hid it, and I hid it real fucking well. Sometimes made up "Stunt related injury" stories, or drunken excuses of falling. Everyone knew better. So I started carving up my legs. Who sees those after all right?
That motion of a blade slicing across your skin, the blood, the pain... THE SHAME.
I do NOT fucking understand it and I am disgusted with it. My existence feels futile and irrelevant to the rest of society. My life is not, nor has it ever fucking been NORMAL! If I wasn't being told I was going to die at 4 yrs old, I was having heart surgery, then in the hospital times over 13 times by the time I was 12 fucking years old! If I wasn't being beaten up, bullied, shunned, FUCK YOU SOCIETY!
I want to be a musician, but I can barely pick up the guitar without being disgusted with what comes out. Assholes call me a mediocre guitar player, people close to me have such a lack of appreciation for the fucking ART of music I am told "Maybe singing isn't your thing" or "Maybe take some lessons". Did VanGough take fucking lessons to improve his technique?
Anyway, I am pissed, ashamed of myself, and complacent in misery. I am going to go for now.
There are points when I am writing this and really do not know who the fuck reads it, or who the fuck cares. I expect no one to care, honestly... But who is reading it and how personal can I get. How much should I censor myself? Since I am a single parent how much info would damage my parental reputation. (Fuck you if you judge me anyway, my kid is well fed, well dressed, loved, and is my world.) My problems are mine, and YEA, whose parents issues didn't affect them in some fucking way. Albeit if your parent was an addict, drunk, whore, or financially irresponsible. As long as you grew up loved, fed, and not abused... Your O-Fucking-K in my book.
SO some things happened that I thought I had left in my past. NO it is not drugs, or abuse, or anything that would have ever harmed anyone else. In this instance I am the victim, of my own hand. Cutting, the trend that swept emo kids for years. The method of showing that your a fucked up person seeking attention. I assure you that NEVER have I cut my wrist, ankles, legs, etc... To get the attention of someone else. I hid it, and I hid it real fucking well. Sometimes made up "Stunt related injury" stories, or drunken excuses of falling. Everyone knew better. So I started carving up my legs. Who sees those after all right?
That motion of a blade slicing across your skin, the blood, the pain... THE SHAME.
I do NOT fucking understand it and I am disgusted with it. My existence feels futile and irrelevant to the rest of society. My life is not, nor has it ever fucking been NORMAL! If I wasn't being told I was going to die at 4 yrs old, I was having heart surgery, then in the hospital times over 13 times by the time I was 12 fucking years old! If I wasn't being beaten up, bullied, shunned, FUCK YOU SOCIETY!
I want to be a musician, but I can barely pick up the guitar without being disgusted with what comes out. Assholes call me a mediocre guitar player, people close to me have such a lack of appreciation for the fucking ART of music I am told "Maybe singing isn't your thing" or "Maybe take some lessons". Did VanGough take fucking lessons to improve his technique?
Anyway, I am pissed, ashamed of myself, and complacent in misery. I am going to go for now.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
BPD - Living
Well, the avg day is generally spent going through the motions that anyone would go through on the avg day. Introduce triggers of unknown and known origin, imagined situations, anxiety, fear, and nausea.
There is not an option for me to LAY DOWN and take a break. I can break down, but even that is limited to moments. Sometimes hours, more times minutes. I am moody allot, certain sounds, touch, or stimuli can make me become very agitated, and "riveted". While at other times those same things have no effect on me at all.
There are times that any time I react or feel an emotion I feel guilty for it. Either my actions (which are never out of line), or my own thoughts and feelings. Kind of beating myself up for having them has become a ritual in dark times. Add to that any situation when someone who knows this about you, uses it against you, your self worth cease to exist.
The truth of it all is that WE are our own worst enemy. Well, I am MY own worst enemy.
The reality in which I feel is my responsibility... But how do you control a freight train, with no brakes, with just your bare hands?
There is not an option for me to LAY DOWN and take a break. I can break down, but even that is limited to moments. Sometimes hours, more times minutes. I am moody allot, certain sounds, touch, or stimuli can make me become very agitated, and "riveted". While at other times those same things have no effect on me at all.
There are times that any time I react or feel an emotion I feel guilty for it. Either my actions (which are never out of line), or my own thoughts and feelings. Kind of beating myself up for having them has become a ritual in dark times. Add to that any situation when someone who knows this about you, uses it against you, your self worth cease to exist.
The truth of it all is that WE are our own worst enemy. Well, I am MY own worst enemy.
The reality in which I feel is my responsibility... But how do you control a freight train, with no brakes, with just your bare hands?
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
Death, Getting Older, Acceptance
I had accepted my mortality many years ago.
You see, I shouldn't be alive at this moment due to the medical stuff I endured. Not to mention the intentional harm I repeatedly did upon myself. My body, my mind, my soul...
HERE I AM, though... Kind of complacent and anxious about the current situation. The situation?
LIFE my friend, simply life.
Pardon me if I grammatically stumble through this blog, but it must be expressed and left in the digital underground.
Death: The particular deaths I have experienced over the last 9 years has been nauseating. The manor in which they happened, my relation to the person, my emotional investment in them, up to becoming just solemn about it. It is part of life, yet it confuses the hell out of me. While I walk around with a surgically repaired heart, people are dropping dead from either illness, or their own hand. These are not older individuals either. Young people, 20's, 30's, 40's... I recall a teen death that really bothered me as an adult. A kid I knew and helped us carry band equipment into our gigs.
The reasons why I have heard are "It's gods will" and other cliches because we humans have no fucking idea what else to call it. Death, dead, gone... into tomorrow. Passed back into the universe like an exploding star. Our energy fades and we begin a new journey. It is fun to think of what that journey may be. Make up stories, have faith in something... When your faith is purely just "Your dead", it is a bit scary.
What is it to not exist? After years of conscious mind and awareness it seems unfathomable to NOT have it.
Signing off
You see, I shouldn't be alive at this moment due to the medical stuff I endured. Not to mention the intentional harm I repeatedly did upon myself. My body, my mind, my soul...
HERE I AM, though... Kind of complacent and anxious about the current situation. The situation?
LIFE my friend, simply life.
Pardon me if I grammatically stumble through this blog, but it must be expressed and left in the digital underground.
Death: The particular deaths I have experienced over the last 9 years has been nauseating. The manor in which they happened, my relation to the person, my emotional investment in them, up to becoming just solemn about it. It is part of life, yet it confuses the hell out of me. While I walk around with a surgically repaired heart, people are dropping dead from either illness, or their own hand. These are not older individuals either. Young people, 20's, 30's, 40's... I recall a teen death that really bothered me as an adult. A kid I knew and helped us carry band equipment into our gigs.
The reasons why I have heard are "It's gods will" and other cliches because we humans have no fucking idea what else to call it. Death, dead, gone... into tomorrow. Passed back into the universe like an exploding star. Our energy fades and we begin a new journey. It is fun to think of what that journey may be. Make up stories, have faith in something... When your faith is purely just "Your dead", it is a bit scary.
What is it to not exist? After years of conscious mind and awareness it seems unfathomable to NOT have it.
Signing off
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Why I am irritated today
Laundry
Dishes
My bitch ex who gets to sit in Florida with no fucking responsibilities and shoot heroin.
Her even more selfish family who has abandoned my son.
This stupid fucking town and its lack of ANYTHING positive and productive.
Addiction.
Withdraw
Being broke
Being 35 and being STUCK exactly where you are with nowhere to go.
Suicide would be a viable option if so many weren't depending on me. So I am pissed off I can't just check the fuck out and leave it all behind.
My goals are just that GOALS, all my friends are miles past where I will EVER be.
A woman has ruined my life.
A woman has ruined my mind.
No one gives a fuck about my music or my art.
I hate my brain.
I hate feeling.
NUMB ME PLEASE!
Dishes
My bitch ex who gets to sit in Florida with no fucking responsibilities and shoot heroin.
Her even more selfish family who has abandoned my son.
This stupid fucking town and its lack of ANYTHING positive and productive.
Addiction.
Withdraw
Being broke
Being 35 and being STUCK exactly where you are with nowhere to go.
Suicide would be a viable option if so many weren't depending on me. So I am pissed off I can't just check the fuck out and leave it all behind.
My goals are just that GOALS, all my friends are miles past where I will EVER be.
A woman has ruined my life.
A woman has ruined my mind.
No one gives a fuck about my music or my art.
I hate my brain.
I hate feeling.
NUMB ME PLEASE!
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Dying before the executioner
Hello sir. I see your ax is extra sharp and prime today.
Expecting precision in your delivery I presume?
Maybe that is for your benefit, maybe it is for mine.
It matters not however!
As I lay before you helpless and an unwilling participant of your justice.
As I lay before you a father, man and a helpless child.
As I lay before you.
As I lay here.
...to die!
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