I must say that both Boston and I have taken far too much time off of this here little experiment. We both say we're too busy for this. And it makes me want to kick my own ass. Writing is what has always been my release. It was probably hers too. But neither of us write anymore. Wish I knew why.
Some people stay around us to better themselves. To make them feel better about the worthless fucks they really are. The best thing for us to do in a situation like this? Remove every last fucking one and care none what they're gonna think.
I came across the following today, and it really made me see others feel the same as Boston and I once did, maybe still do. (*note: how we once felt about the feelings of others, not each other.) Thanks Kimmy.
what do i really have left
muted self expression ?
love ?
myself ?
after a hard month, year, life time, i seek refuge in the only town i know that can always make me smile. and its ripped away from me, why? because i was on an uncommon street? because people get drunk and lost in iv? because i went out of my way to pick a friend up and offer a ride home? "nice guys finnish last" or maybe never at all. i feel like ive been battered and broken, physically & mentally. my friends were never really my friends. my lovers not my lovers.
and what now im supposto hold on for more? why? so that the few people that still enjoy my company can be comfortable knowing im around. not for me. for them so i dont hurt my family that turned their back on me in the first place. if you were really my friend you would want the best for me, no matter what the was .
im a lost soul. ive been through hell and back. ive lived more chapters than a life time and im 20. and i still try and put other peoples "feelings" before my general well being. so let me know how people that are so outspoken, people that sit on highhorses talking about how they are better, have better hearts, better intensions? how someone can say they have love for you watch you fall so hard without one action not even a wink? its because they dont have courage they dont love enough they dont have passion.
i am a person with courage, courage to win even myself, courage and passion to stand up for the people around me, to take a low blow so they dont have to feel the heat. i am so loving. and when i need a break need a second for YOU to love me, its really just to much to ask. and now im a bad person because im not their to answer your phone calls, seriously?
what if i just cant do it anymore ? what if this hearts loved all it can? what if my body just cant get out of bed anymore? what if i just cant?
we all make mistakes, we all embares ourselvs and fuck up. but theirs a line because if you cant even admit to yourself that you did something wrong...
so yeah im heartbroken, i feel as though i cant express myself. i feel abondoned, i feel broken.
so thanks to the people that see this and really really give a shit .
but thing is idk if i can do this again. idk if i can come back better or stronger. idk if i want to jump of a clif or swolow some pills or sit in a room at my parrents house untill i turn to dust. or if i want to come back and ignore the stupid people and their insults ignore the people that broke my heart. broke my confidence. broke me.
i cant get out of bed. my thoughts are irrational. i cant eat. ive lost weight. im losing hair. im losing faith. the people i need arnt here. the people i need are the people that hurt me. and the people here are the people i didnt know i had.
and thats it .
Who would'a thought that somebody could be as beat up, worn and faded as the guy and gal who started this blog?
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Sometimes...
...when i get home from work at 2:50 in the morning, or later, (or is it earlier?) i wish for nothing more than four (4) fried eggs, some corned beef hash, two (2) pieces of wheat bread toast with grape jelly and a tall glass of cold orange juice.
more often than not, my hopes and dreams for a wonderful early breakfast are thrown into the recycling bin like the empty cans of Mountain Dew that reside there.
excuse me...the empty cans of Mountain Dew WHICH reside there. i've been instructed, much to my dismay, one shouldn't use the word "that" in any sentence. there are more powerful, more meaningful words than the word "that" which can be used.
anyway, those great breakfast hopes are deleted from my day for one reason, and one reason only...i'm tired as fuck when i get home and want to do one fo two things when i get here: (1) sleep and (2) shower and sleep.
tonight is a shower and sleep night. talk to ya later.
more often than not, my hopes and dreams for a wonderful early breakfast are thrown into the recycling bin like the empty cans of Mountain Dew that reside there.
excuse me...the empty cans of Mountain Dew WHICH reside there. i've been instructed, much to my dismay, one shouldn't use the word "that" in any sentence. there are more powerful, more meaningful words than the word "that" which can be used.
anyway, those great breakfast hopes are deleted from my day for one reason, and one reason only...i'm tired as fuck when i get home and want to do one fo two things when i get here: (1) sleep and (2) shower and sleep.
tonight is a shower and sleep night. talk to ya later.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
In the Wrong
For 32-years, I've felt it unacceptable to laugh at the emotions of others. For 32-years, I've stood up and protected the people whose emotions were being laughed at by the douche bags who were laughing. For 32-years, I felt this to be a strong quality of myself.
Last night, those 32-years all slipped away.
I had no reason for the smiles on my face or the jokes spilled from my mouth. But they presented themselves for all to see and hear, if those people knew what my smiles and jokes were about or not.
After I said my jokes and grinned my smiles, I thought about what I was doing. And when I realized what it was, it all stopped.
I've been in the same place as the person who I was making jokes about and smiling over. I've had to accept the fact of loss each time something/someone I cared for, loved or craved was going to be removed, or was removing themselves, from my life. I've told myself each time it was going to be easier than I knew it was actually going to be and each time I've found myself to be a liar.
That's what I was laughing, smiling and joking about...the pain inside somebody else.
Bastard.
Last night, those 32-years all slipped away.
I had no reason for the smiles on my face or the jokes spilled from my mouth. But they presented themselves for all to see and hear, if those people knew what my smiles and jokes were about or not.
After I said my jokes and grinned my smiles, I thought about what I was doing. And when I realized what it was, it all stopped.
I've been in the same place as the person who I was making jokes about and smiling over. I've had to accept the fact of loss each time something/someone I cared for, loved or craved was going to be removed, or was removing themselves, from my life. I've told myself each time it was going to be easier than I knew it was actually going to be and each time I've found myself to be a liar.
That's what I was laughing, smiling and joking about...the pain inside somebody else.
Bastard.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Lesson Learned?
As she walked away from him, the door to the apartment slammed shut against the frame to let her know she was out of his life for good. She stood uneasy in the elevator as it slowly made its drop from the floor she had lived on, to the floor below where her parents were waiting to load her things for the trek back home.
The elevator bell dinged, the door slowly crept open and excitement overwhelmed her. He wasn't standing on the other side of the door. A second showing that she was on her own from then on. No more she and he. No more they and them. Only her.
The truck, borrowed from a family friend, began to fill with her things. Each time she set a box, a case, a trunk in the truck bed, she slowly turned back toward the back door of the building to see if he was there, begging her to come back up...to give him one more shot. And each time, her heart sank a little more into her stomach because he wasn't.
As she and her family pulled from the building, she looked back through the window, hoping he would be chasing behind her, waving his arms, begging her to stay. He was not.
When they stopped for fuel at the Indiana-Michigan state line, she looked for him to be sitting at the coffee shop, sipping a drink, waiting to hold her again. He was not.
As the journey came to an end, she buried her face in the pillow she had been resting her head on to hide her cries from her mothers ears. Her mother didn't like that she was in love with the guy she just left. Her mother didn't like the idea that he had made her daughter see that she could be anything that she wanted to be.
When they pulled into the drive at her mothers house, she expected him to be standing in front of the truck, hands raised, crying and professing his love. He was not.
After she moved her things back into the house she grew up in, a 300 miles away from the guy who loved her, she lie in bed and looked at her phone, questioning why he hadn't called the whole time.
Though he did want to race down the stairs to meet her on the first floor, and to stop her from loading her things into the borrowed truck, and to chase after her to stop her from leaving...to hold her again like he did all the times before and to stand in front of her house and profess his love for her as he cried, he didn't for one reason, and one reason only.
I gave you what you asked for, kid.
Hope you're well.
The elevator bell dinged, the door slowly crept open and excitement overwhelmed her. He wasn't standing on the other side of the door. A second showing that she was on her own from then on. No more she and he. No more they and them. Only her.
The truck, borrowed from a family friend, began to fill with her things. Each time she set a box, a case, a trunk in the truck bed, she slowly turned back toward the back door of the building to see if he was there, begging her to come back up...to give him one more shot. And each time, her heart sank a little more into her stomach because he wasn't.
As she and her family pulled from the building, she looked back through the window, hoping he would be chasing behind her, waving his arms, begging her to stay. He was not.
When they stopped for fuel at the Indiana-Michigan state line, she looked for him to be sitting at the coffee shop, sipping a drink, waiting to hold her again. He was not.
As the journey came to an end, she buried her face in the pillow she had been resting her head on to hide her cries from her mothers ears. Her mother didn't like that she was in love with the guy she just left. Her mother didn't like the idea that he had made her daughter see that she could be anything that she wanted to be.
When they pulled into the drive at her mothers house, she expected him to be standing in front of the truck, hands raised, crying and professing his love. He was not.
After she moved her things back into the house she grew up in, a 300 miles away from the guy who loved her, she lie in bed and looked at her phone, questioning why he hadn't called the whole time.
Though he did want to race down the stairs to meet her on the first floor, and to stop her from loading her things into the borrowed truck, and to chase after her to stop her from leaving...to hold her again like he did all the times before and to stand in front of her house and profess his love for her as he cried, he didn't for one reason, and one reason only.
I gave you what you asked for, kid.
Hope you're well.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
How Big a Boy Are Ya?
When it's time to muster up the courage and fight for what you believe in, will you have the balls to play?
Or will the pride you pretend to hold run down the inside of your left leg?
Will the devotion you hold for the thing you love more than anything in the world carry you through until morning, or will you lie scared, under your covers, like the pussy you pretend not to be?
Can your eyes fill with tears and fall down your face? Or are you not enough man to let others see that?
If the woman you love was taken from you, would you do all the things that you needed to do to get her back? Without hesitation? Without worry? Without fear that the cost may be your life?
If you faced the devil herself, and she held the winning hand, would you try to bluff the bitch or fold?
Without a doubt, toe to toe I'd stand and see my loves safe return.
If she liked it or not.
Or will the pride you pretend to hold run down the inside of your left leg?
Will the devotion you hold for the thing you love more than anything in the world carry you through until morning, or will you lie scared, under your covers, like the pussy you pretend not to be?
Can your eyes fill with tears and fall down your face? Or are you not enough man to let others see that?
If the woman you love was taken from you, would you do all the things that you needed to do to get her back? Without hesitation? Without worry? Without fear that the cost may be your life?
If you faced the devil herself, and she held the winning hand, would you try to bluff the bitch or fold?
Without a doubt, toe to toe I'd stand and see my loves safe return.
If she liked it or not.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
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