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War All The Time
|Recently I received a comment on my website, www.bestthingyouneverhad.com, that was of particular interest. Usually, the few comments that I do receive are sympathetic, and they make an attempt to relate to me as a human. This one was interesting, and I'm still not quite sure what I think about it. I believe it is from a girl in Canada, so if that is you, feel free to follow up with me. The comment goes as follows:|
How many girls talk to you because they
a) wanna fix you
b) wanna fuck you
c) actually understand you
the assumption : course they understand you they see you are smart, capable, and just a little broken surely with their glue you will be whole again. whole and theirs like some favourite art project. the one that took them forever but they did it, and now its theirs.
the realistic knowledge: everyone wants to fix you because the main human response to another beautiful articulate human broken is to fix them. your broken and handsome a tragedy waiting for its fairy tale ending. so they will rush you, slowly consume you...wait you out because girls are meticulous and cunning like this. smart, handsome, broken...if they just wait it out and they fix you...it'll work...
as for understanding, only someone thats been in your position with an objective opinion can really understand you. no one can fix you but yourself. and many a people are going to want to fuck you.
my only real comment is said with a certain sigh.... how will you ever find love as a broken boy.
swarmed with all the fakeness you wont see....because your just dying for anything.
First off, I have to say that not many girls talk to me. I get comments occasionally, but the number of females that I communicate with regularly can be counted on one hand.
Point A: Do they want to fix me? Maybe. I am glad that you present the realistic side of the argument. When we find something broken, do we not usually want to repair it? Do we not want it to be as useful and efficient as it was meant to be? Why would people want to let other people remain broken? I do not want to become the science project of some lonely girl, but to say that I want no assistance in my repair would be false. We all need help. Always.
Point B: If there are girls who want to fuck me, they are doing a wonderful job of remaining hidden. Seriously, if you are so inspired by my words and thoughts that you want to have sex with me, let me know. If you meet my approval, I will gladly fly you out to Georgia, and you can have your way with me. Maybe if you are lucky, I will scream out pseudo-poetic phrases, obscure observations, trite lyrics, and statements of self pity while you fuck my brains out. My transformation into a new Bukowski will be that much more complete.
In all honesty, I am fairly certain these girls don't exist.
Point C: As for understanding, you are correct. The only people who can understand are the ones who have been in my position, or currently are. I do not expect my words and expressions to enlighten people. In a sense, I would like them to understand, and I make every attempt to have this happen.
This is a huge part of who I am. This is consuming. If I cannot begin to help somebody at least try to comprehend this experience, then what is the point of any relationship I may have? Why would I want to have anything to do with a person who has no grasp of what being me is truly like? I want that bond. I want that understanding. I do not want my relationships to be a documentary, or some sort of social experiment. I do not want to be part of an exhibit.
A fairy tale ending. A light at the end of the tunnel. A yellow bird. These are things that everyone hopes for, especially people in desperate situations. Everyone wants to be saved. You are lying to yourself if you say otherwise.
Smart, I am. Too smart. Handsome, not necessarily. Broken, absolutely. Girls are indeed cunning. They are heinous creatures, and yet they are wonderful gifts. You know you have found something incredible when you meet one who achieves a balance of ruthlessness and beauty.
Most girls do not want to wait this out. Meticulous, they are at times, but not when it comes to this. I have had numerous relationships fail due to my recent situation, and several others that have failed to evolve, simply because I was not ready for them to turn into more than what they were. They do not have the time to wait this out. They want instant gratification. They cannot handle the amount of selfishness that I currently operate with. I do not expect them to. I am okay with that.
I see the fakeness, make no mistake. I am an amazing judge of character. I no longer waste my time with those who do not deserve it. As for the people wanting to fuck me, well, last I checked there were no ladies at my door. I am not dying for anything. I am dying for something.
You raise an excellent question, my dear. How will a boy as broken as me find love? How will a person so completely fucking shattered find something worth hanging on to?
The truth is, I won't. I know that I won't.
It will find me.
|Tags: journal, comment, blog, sex, life, anxiety, depression, love, Bukowski, understanding
|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
| I just realized I have been sitting here for 20 minutes with headphones on my head, but there was no music playing. Silly me. I can't sleep.|
It seems like time is once again running out before I have to make a decision. I should have been going to school at Portland State this semester, but the money wasn't working out, so I couldn't. It was really disappointing.
I have to make a choice of whether to stay here, or to go to somewhere like Georgia State. It's in state, so it would be much more affordable than having to move across the country. Unfortunately, I doubt it would be as enjoyable, but I suppose I need to take what I can get.
This semester has not started off very well at all. Nothing overwhelmingly bad has happened, but to the contrary nothing really good has happened. It's pointless when you just sleepwalk day to day, and nothing ever changes. I don't have as many friends as I did before. Most of them have gone their separate ways, some for better, some for worse. I'm kind of here by myself, so that makes me wonder if it's time for me to take a big step towards else.
I miss having fun with all those people. I never thought things would change so much, so fast. I particularly never thought that the relationships I had with those people would completely end. My fault or theirs, they ended. That happens in life, and when they do, something usually comes along and you can pick up where you left off. I'm still waiting for something to pick up and get me going with something else.
I have the highest doubts if I will find anything or anyone to do that here. The point I'm at in school just won't allow me to go out and get fucked up all the time like a lot of other kids are, and that's kind of frustrating, but also understandable. That's not totally my scene, and the people that do that nowadays aren't close friends of mine anyways. I don't even know enough people to go out on Thursday nights. It ends up me feeling awkward in a room surrounded by people that I don't really know or care about. There isn't really time left to forge all these new friendships. Most everyone else has something from the past they are holding onto and enjoying. I don't.
I'm very disconnected, and I don't know what the fuck it is that I'm looking for. I'd like to feel good about things, and that isn't happening here. It hasn't been for a long time.
I will probably flip a coin or something to figure out if I should just randomly move. It can't be any less inspiring than here, and the people couldn't be any worse.
I wouldn't miss a thing.
And there was never any place
For someone like me to be totally happy
I'm running out of clock and that ain't a shock
Some things never do change
|Tags: depression, indecision, ambien, skeet