(no subject)
I have a lot of rage in me.
I'm not sure exactly what the rest of this post is going to sound like, either some whiny goth shit or suburban faux-rage or what, but I'm gonna go with it just the same.
So, rage. I'm angry about pretty much everything. My life is a fucking hole. I have comfort and basic survival needs and that's it. I have no joy. There is nothing left that brings me happiness any more. And I have even more rage because I'm not going to do anything about it, because I have rage's best buddy in spades as well: fear. Fear of change. Fear of loss. Fear of a better life. Because as horrid and wasteful as my existance is I *know* it, it's what I've always known, and I can't let it go no matter how much I should. Misery and Complacency are my shoulder angels. They are my guide and my shield. With them at my side, things can't possibly get any better, but things also can't get *too* much worse.
People are going to read this and tell me to get help. Fuck you. I've done the all the brain-drugs. I've seen the headshrinkers. And I gave it all up years ago because it just DOES NOT WORK. All I can figure is that I'm wired to be this way, to hate myself and everything around me and be to scared to stop it. I'm twitching right now as I type this. I've heard it called "Restless Leg Syndrome", where you just have to have your legs or at least your feet moving at all times. I think it's a symptom of the beast on my back. All that hate and rage and fear and misery curls up and slides down inside me like burning black tar, and the only way it can escape at all is through the shaking of my leg. And I guess, through my fingers flying across this keyboard.
So it goes. I'm not happy. I'm probably never going to be happy. So it goes.
I'm not sure exactly what the rest of this post is going to sound like, either some whiny goth shit or suburban faux-rage or what, but I'm gonna go with it just the same.
So, rage. I'm angry about pretty much everything. My life is a fucking hole. I have comfort and basic survival needs and that's it. I have no joy. There is nothing left that brings me happiness any more. And I have even more rage because I'm not going to do anything about it, because I have rage's best buddy in spades as well: fear. Fear of change. Fear of loss. Fear of a better life. Because as horrid and wasteful as my existance is I *know* it, it's what I've always known, and I can't let it go no matter how much I should. Misery and Complacency are my shoulder angels. They are my guide and my shield. With them at my side, things can't possibly get any better, but things also can't get *too* much worse.
People are going to read this and tell me to get help. Fuck you. I've done the all the brain-drugs. I've seen the headshrinkers. And I gave it all up years ago because it just DOES NOT WORK. All I can figure is that I'm wired to be this way, to hate myself and everything around me and be to scared to stop it. I'm twitching right now as I type this. I've heard it called "Restless Leg Syndrome", where you just have to have your legs or at least your feet moving at all times. I think it's a symptom of the beast on my back. All that hate and rage and fear and misery curls up and slides down inside me like burning black tar, and the only way it can escape at all is through the shaking of my leg. And I guess, through my fingers flying across this keyboard.
So it goes. I'm not happy. I'm probably never going to be happy. So it goes.