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War All The Time
|In The Blue
|Today I finally got around to watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It made me think of you, and me, and all the things I wish that I could do to get you out of my head. I am a sucker, so naturally some part of me still hopes that somehow things will magically work out like they were supposed to. The other part of me realizes how little you are willing to put forth to help me out.|
I miss you like hell, but I know that I shouldn't. I fucking know that I shouldn't. What do I even have to miss?
Like I said before, the only way to really get over someone is to find somebody new. Until you replace what you lost with the other person, there will always be some part of you still refusing to let go of that individual. It was a good movie, and a great reminder that how in reality there is rarely a gorgeous brunette waiting in the wings to cure my relationship woes. I suppose that is why movies are movies, and my life is my life.
Then again, I haven't gone to an exotic Hawaiian resort lately, so maybe there's a lovely brunette waiting for me there. Round trip tickets are only $750 dollars. Probably time to sell all of those Deja Entendu vinyl albums.
I have had some good ideas lately for my book/movie. Finding the motivation to get organized and put the pieces together is another task in itself.
My medicine is once again horrible. Paresthesia, a charming side effect. Basically it means that my skin and muscles feel like they are on fucking fire. Like there is battery acid swirling through my veins. I can dope myself up on various other drugs to get temporary relief, but nothing really works. I am sick of all these mind fucking chemicals. I think it is time to go tabula rasa once again. Synapses be damned.
July is going to be a very interesting month.
Would you come around?
I'm dying to be found
I'm always in the blue, without you
They don't make 'em like you, oh
If they don't make 'em like you,
What should I do?
|Tags: journal, blog, personal
|I never use your name because that makes it feel slightly less real. Less personal. Maybe I am tricking myself into believing it will not hurt as much. Who knows.|
How did it feel to be caught in a lie? Better yet, how does it feel to be living one? You never prove me wrong because you can't. I would say that I miss you, but I don't think I do anymore. I would want an apology, but I don't think you have the guts to give me one. I would like to think that you deserve to be happy, somehow, someday, but I don't know if you deserve that.
Does it feel good, having somebody waste so much time on you? Nearly a year of my life, and absolutely nothing to show for it. Did you feel important? Loved? Wanted? Worthwhile? "You're the only one who makes me feel like I'm worth anything," you said. Actually, I don't think you're worth much anymore.
I should thank you, however, for showing me that I deserve something more. Something better. It will be hard for anyone else in my life to disappoint me as much as you have.
Maybe when you wake up in the morning you will look in the mirror and realize that your life is fucked up because of the actions you take. You have nobody to blame but yourself. I tried to make something work, but it was obviously a lost cause.
I have nothing left to say to you, so I will let the songs do the rest. The final mixtape.
For you, baby.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, goodbye, fuck you
|Why do people hold themselves back from what they want? Why do they stay in a situation that makes them unhappy? Is it fear? Apathy? Convenience?|
Everyone that I know makes me feel so sad.
Sometimes all your life needs is a spark.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life
|Year In Review
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How To Fix Everything
I canít sleep, but what else is new. Nobody reads these, but itís ok, I like to archive my feelings. Hopefully I can look back and laugh at them one day.
So, Iíve been back from the beach for awhile. It was decent. Itís good to get away, and itís always very nice to stay up late listening to the ocean. I have to admit, it was very lonely. Lacking nearly all cell phone service and having no internet connection seems to wreak havoc on my modernized psyche. It definitely would have been better had there been somebody to share the experience with. It feels pretty amazing to be on a rooftop at two in the morning, listening to an amazing song while staring at a completely brilliant night sky. You should try that sometime.
I got accepted to Portland State. Thatís what I wanted, but things arenít turning out as easy as I thought they would. Itís going to cost a lot of money to go. I mean, a lot a lot. Hell, the cost of just getting there is nearly a thousand dollars, let alone paying for out of state tuition, as well as an apartment in the middle of a major metropolitan area. Weíre talking salary size chunk of money. On the flip side, the cost to stay where I am for another year and a half could be made up for with one summerís worth of work. I guess I could just finish school, and then move. Eh.
Honestly, I donít know what to do. Yeah, I could probably take out a loan and make the move, but that is a ton of money to be borrowing. Iím not sure what the easy way out with this is. Iím so unhappy where I am, and with the people that I know. Itís really aggravating sitting in this town waiting for things to get better. Theyíre not; I think they are only getting worse. Iíve finally pretty much put myself back together; I donít want to sit in this disgusting place waiting to fall apart again.
Can you put a price on being happy?
For the first time in my life, I feel scared of something. Iím scared of being trapped. Iím scared of never being happy. I see so many people who donít give a fuck about anything, and it completely blows my fucking mind. They just seem so happy with everything around them, no matter how bad it is. I feel sad for them, but I also envy them. Everyone is different, so if that makes them happy, then good for them. For me, not so much. Iím not doing too good here.
Depression is a fucking horrible demon to fight, and itís worse when it seems like there is nothing around you to make things better, even temporarily. I think thereís one person I could call right now if I really needed to, and theyíre several hours away. Everyone else is either drunk, in some pseudo-relationship, completely out of touch with reality, unable to relate, and more than likely not really a good friend to begin with. Most people I know fall under multiple categories. I have a ton of acquaintances, no good friends really. I guess Iíll take the responsibility for that, but itís just one more reason I would love to start over somewhere else. Iíve outgrown this place, but society doesnít make it easy to get out of where you already are. I hate this fucking town.
I miss a lot, and I want a lot. Thereís so much room in my heart that I need to fill, and so many memories in my head that I need to replace. Seems as time goes on I figure out more and more what itís really like to be lonely.
In conclusion, Iím trying to figure out if taking a huge risk on being happy is worth financial destruction, or if I should tolerate another year of lame people and mediocre living.
On another note, Iíve stopped drinking, due to the fact that I nearly gave myself alcohol poisoning a few days ago. Iím also working on the greatest mix tape Iíve ever done. Iím also listening to Konstantine, because that song never gets old, and it never will.
And God damn, I miss having somebody to miss.
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I might as well have written this yesterday.
I have to make something happen.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, lack of progress, fuck
|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 doctorís 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
|Today I started a new medication. It is used primarily to treat bipolar disorder. I have not been diagnosed as being bipolar. Supposedly, this will help with my feelings of uneasiness and hopefully let me sleep better. Lately, I have been getting no more than three hours of sleep at a time.|
The drug does not sit with me as well as I had hoped. I want to throw up. I am dizzy. My skin tingles. I want to fucking throw up. I really want to fucking throw up. What am I getting myself into this time why isn't this getting any better why does it never ever fucking work.
The withdrawal from my other medication is beyond horrible. It is not even worth trying to describe anymore. Please, unless your life is in danger, do not let anyone convince you to take antidepressants.
I have a lot of things to say to you, but I do not know if this is the appropriate place to do so. You have made it almost impossible to have a conversation lately. I have a hard time believing you.
There are others who would gladly pick up where you seem to have left off.
Think about that.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, drugs
|You Want Romance?
|I stand in my driveway watching the sun emerge from the horizon, crawling over the tops of the trees. |
I stand in my driveway watching the sun. A gentle fire that would burn regardless of whether or not we were here to witness it.
A billion fragments of pharmaceutical post production explode into my bloodstream.
I close my eyes. Warmth. Wind.
If only for a moment.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, medication
|Drawing A Line
|"Are you a vampire, Joe?" my mother asks. It is six a.m. She is on her way to work. I am on the couch and the television is aglow. The dog cannot decide if she wants to say inside or outside and she is walking the halls and I hear her claws click click click on the floor. I have not slept.|
I might be one, a vampire, I think to myself, considering my mother's question. My sleep cycle is completely backwards. I have never liked garlic. I have an undying lust for charming, youthful girls. I look in the mirror and I do not see anyone staring back. The doctors have diagnosed me with numerous conditions, but Vampirism was never mentioned. I will have to ask about it the next time I am in the office. Wouldn't want that to go unchecked.
Once again, I can feel myself becoming manic. It comes in waves, my mind unable to turn off. Thought after thought, idea, inspiration, desire, fear, curiosity all racing through my head. Write it down, find a way to put the pieces together, find a way to make this productive. Some days I cannot make myself get out of bed until four in the afternoon, and then some days I feel that if I were to sit still I will surely explode. You're losing it Joe, you're losing it boy.
My neighbor is still dying. I suppose this is to be expected, as dying does not usually make guest appearances. Sometimes it schedules your date well in advance. Sometimes it makes a surprise appointment. I doubt he will make it to Christmas.
My medication is the lowest it has ever been, and yet I am fearful of discontinuing it. I experience things in my mind and throughout my body that defy normal physiological explanation, and can only be a side effect of the drug or the subsequent withdrawal that my body and brain are enduring. When I close my eyes and attempt sleep, miniature earthquakes flow through my head and out my ears. I feel as if my breathing stops. I am acutely aware of my heartbeat. Bombs go off inside my skull, but the room is silent. It is all inside of me. It is all in my damaged senses. It is all in the fluctuating levels of chemicals in my bloodstream. The discomfort these symptoms create defies all possible description.
You called ridiculously late. Your name lighting up on the front of my phone. I stared for a moment. Disbelief. I had not heard from you in twelve days. You were just released from the hospital, you say. Bad reaction to the medication. Your brother found you unconscious. Nobody could find your phone, and nobody followed through to call me. You're sorry, you say, you feel terrible about it. I ask "How soon can you get to Georgia?" You tell me you have an appointment on Thursday, and then you can go to the airport afterwards, or on Friday. Okay I say, okay. The weekend, I guess, but if that does not work out, I cannot make any promises anymore. I told you I do not know how long I can fight this fight. I am not weak, but time changes everything, and if things end up too strained, then what is the point? You reassure me. You will stay in touch for the rest of the week until you arrive in Georgia. You tell me there isn't any reason why this shouldn't work out. That you still want it to. That we will be fine.
I have not heard from you since. You were supposed to be here, again. You were supposed to call, and you did not. You have disappeared once again. You have let me down.
I have too many questions to ask, but the point is that you are not here, and nothing will change until you are. A phone call would be helpful, so I know you are not dead or disabled. I would ask for an explanation, but that would only be good until you disappear yet again. You are wanted, but nothing changes until you are here. You have more than enough ways to contact me. Prove to me that you are more than just talk. It is your move.
As for you, dear friend, you deserve better. Why do you settle for what you have? Why do you insist on staying stuck in some sort of hollow relationship? He doesn't appreciate you. He doesn't understand you. He doesn't have a fucking clue. Maybe I'm wrong. It is doubtful. You wrote me tonight, several times, keeping my phone a glowing buzz on the desk. Terribly drunk in the cutest way possible. You made me smile. Thank you. You deserve better. You will find it, eventually. It is up to you to decide when, or how difficult you will make the process. Sometimes things find you, but only if you put yourself in a position to be found.
We all have this illusion in our minds of how our lives could be better. Something we think we deserve. Somebody whose attention we desire. A dream that always seems slightly out of reach. We all have pieces missing. Bits of happiness we are crawling on our hands and knees searching for.
If you don't like your situation, change it.
If you can't change it, leave it.
The sun is rising.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, love, relationships
|If you had a one way ticket to anywhere in the country, where would you go? At this point, I would feel better in the company of strangers, rather than the people I know. I don't know how soon I can make it happen, but God, it has to happen.|
An empty town does so little,
For a heart so full.
You are not here.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, goodbyes
|The calls continue to go unanswered. I only call because I am a fool and I cannot let go of anything, anymore. I hang onto the little pieces of the things I find, because all too often I am unsure if I will ever find anything else should these pieces disappear. I was told somebody would get in touch with me. You, a family member, anybody. Obviously that has not happened.|
I have been left to wonder if you are still in a hospital somewhere, or if you are dead. Maybe you simply woke up one day and realized that you do not give a fuck about me anymore. Maybe there is some other possibility that my mind just wonít wrap itself around.
Eventually, this will all fade away. Maybe that is what you want. If so, there are better ways to go about this. I am not sure as to how long it will take me to feel nothing for you. Attraction, or curiosity, some form of feeling will continue to linger.
For most people, giving up is the easy thing to do. The path of least resistance.
I am not most people.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal
|One of the few positive consequences of having unrelenting insomnia is the opportunity to appreciate so many more sunrises.|
An empty bed is anything but inviting. It is taunting, in a sense. A reminder of something others have, but you do not. Something you have not found. Something you have lost.
The morningbirds are singing their song.
|Tags: journal, blog, personal, life, insomnia