Love me, hold me, take the pain away.
Disclaimer: For the preface of this I shall sate the following.
A: If you recognize me talking about you in this, please refrain from taking offense. This was a moment of deep depression for me, these are my true feelings, but more fear than anything. Please take anything you read here with a grain of salt.
B: I know nobody reads this anymore, if you do perhaps still read this. Please avoid the standard "Are you ok?" questions. Because the answer right now is no, I'm not ok. More pity from people makes me feel worse.
C: If you feel like this should be published elsewhere, feel free to do so. Just leave me anonymous, and do not link me to it. I really don't need to feed the ego of sadness.
D: This contains mature language, a lot of bitching, and was written while I was crying. So fuck off if you don't like it. I didn't ask you to read it.
E: This was written on the morning of my 22nd birthday. I am in another bout of insomnia due to depression. if you know someone close to you that suffers from things like I suffer from, please get them help.
F: If you know a good psychiatrist, or psychologist, that is willing to help me work through my mountain of issues for a small (or zero) fee, I would love to talk to them. I can't seem to find anyone that's not a god damned Dr. "Fucking Fat-ass I need to shut my whore mouth" Phil.
G: I just wanted to put G in there. It's coincidentally my favorite note on Trumpet.
H: This is not a Suicide note. For fuck sakes, I don't know how many times in my life I'm going to have to say that.
So the concept of getting older comes to me. I think I finally understand why
people, even my current age, used to look down on me. When I thought I knew
everything.
Oh life is so young, so fleeting.
We seek things to hold onto. Achievements of personal worth, of public worth. Do we
want to leave something behind for the whole world to benefit from? Do we want to
leave behind just enough to help our children survive.
Or do we just want to say fuck it all. Curl up in a ball, and let the world fuck
itself into oblivion.
There are many views on things, many different opinions, races, creeds, ideologies.
The world is a giant melting pot of nitroglycerine, just waiting for that dumb fuck
to come along and knock the side of it.
But I digress.
I lie awake and I think to myself. I think of all the things that are normal for
people my age now. Children, marriage, divorce even in some cases.
I look at people living out their lives with what makes them happy.
I see that, and I'm sad. Because I never understood how to achieve that happiness. I
understand now how fucking gimped my life is never having grown up with a father
figure.
Nobody to teach me how to shut the fuck up, to suck it up, and bear with the pain.
To stop being a little bitch about things, to man up. Because men are tough, men
don't feel pain, we don't cry, we don't get sad.
All lies that maybe would have helped me in this life. Someone to look up to,
someone to look after me. Someone to be proud of my accomplishments. Maybe someone to
be there, to tell my mother "It's alright, that's our son. He'll do just fine in
this world on his own."
So I'm sad. I don't understand the world, I never had a proper example for long
enough.
Always moving from one place to another, never staying for long. I don't have
childhood friends.
The only ones I can qualify as childhood friends are now either having life troubles
of their own, or... well having life troubles of their own.
I look at my friends. Both stuck without a good job. No direction in life. They've
hit the same wall I have.
I know so much in life, but there is just so much more to know. What is out there?
What is my life purpose?
How do I overcome the horrible past I carry?
We all have our personal quirks. I like to make jokes, but I'll never believe in
myself enough to tell them on stage. I'll never believe in myself enough for
anything. Because I was born shit, because I'm a male.
Having a penis cursed me in the eyes of my mother. For all the horrible men in her
life. I tried so fucking hard to please her.
I know, I know why I try to help all those troubled little girls so much. Why I'm
attracted to them. Because I ultimately want to save them from what my mother never
had anyone to save her from.
But who am I to save them?
I'm worthless, I'm nothing. I am emptiness.
I"m simply here to attempt to help. Everyone moves on with their lives, I sit here
and freak out about moving to Wyoming. To be with good friends. To listen to their
endless marital bickering over and over again. I know I'm going to snap at some
point and yell at one of them. Or bitch at one of them. Or maybe I'll just get
pissed off and not say anything. Then I'll become that fucker, the passive-aggressive
fucker that glares and doesn't say a fucking word.
Because I hate conflict. I hate confrontation. I don't want to admit my mistakes. I
don't want anyone else to be disappointed in me.
But I don't know how. Nobody ever taught me how to grow up. To be an adult.
So I sit here, trying to play my games. Trying to keep up with my world. Absorb
myself with everything here, so I don't have to grow up.
My maturity grows every year. I get a littler older and a little wiser.
But for some reason, I never seem to be able to be happy enough. I'll never be happy
enough.
All I wanted was someone to recognize me. To tell me I was worth something. To tell
me I was a good person. Or a good friend.
I have those people, but sometimes it feels more like pity than truth.
Do people truly like me, do people love me?
Will I ever be irreplaceable in anyone's life?
In twenty years. Would anyone remember me. Would anyone look back on the life
lessons I've tried to teach them. To help them with.
Will they ever remember the times I tried? The times I cried? The times I tried not
to complain at them.
Because how pathetic do you have to be, to constantly bitch at your best friends.
The people you want admiration from the most. Sympathy makes the pain go away for a
little bit. But the bitterness never does.
So many women. I pine after them, I develop feelings for them. Never reciprocated,
never felt back. I want love, but I don't want to get hurt again.
I don't want to feel the pain of rejection. I'm suppose to be able to love, and I
am. I love unconditionally, I'm sensitive. I cry a lot sometimes.
But there is never anyone there to hold me. To take me in their arms and tell me
it's going to be alright. Or at the very least, to tell me that things will get
better.
The pain of being an optimist. Being so god damned cheerful, or amusing, or funny,
or useful, or that guy, that shoulder, that fucking guy.
Nobody knows the pain of that guy. How he constantly hears your problems without a
single complaint. Offers insight, and maybe even helps you a little. Gives you the
push when you need it. Gives you a shoulder when you can't take the world.
But when does that guy, get a that guy.
Never.
So the curse of being that guy. Is that you derive your self worth out of how much
others rely on you. And when things get better for them. When they move on in their
lives, you're left there.
In bitter, lonely, optimism.
Someday things will be better.
Someday things will not hurt so bad.
Someday you will find love.
Someday you will not cry.
Someday.
Someday.
A: If you recognize me talking about you in this, please refrain from taking offense. This was a moment of deep depression for me, these are my true feelings, but more fear than anything. Please take anything you read here with a grain of salt.
B: I know nobody reads this anymore, if you do perhaps still read this. Please avoid the standard "Are you ok?" questions. Because the answer right now is no, I'm not ok. More pity from people makes me feel worse.
C: If you feel like this should be published elsewhere, feel free to do so. Just leave me anonymous, and do not link me to it. I really don't need to feed the ego of sadness.
D: This contains mature language, a lot of bitching, and was written while I was crying. So fuck off if you don't like it. I didn't ask you to read it.
E: This was written on the morning of my 22nd birthday. I am in another bout of insomnia due to depression. if you know someone close to you that suffers from things like I suffer from, please get them help.
F: If you know a good psychiatrist, or psychologist, that is willing to help me work through my mountain of issues for a small (or zero) fee, I would love to talk to them. I can't seem to find anyone that's not a god damned Dr. "Fucking Fat-ass I need to shut my whore mouth" Phil.
G: I just wanted to put G in there. It's coincidentally my favorite note on Trumpet.
H: This is not a Suicide note. For fuck sakes, I don't know how many times in my life I'm going to have to say that.
So the concept of getting older comes to me. I think I finally understand why
people, even my current age, used to look down on me. When I thought I knew
everything.
Oh life is so young, so fleeting.
We seek things to hold onto. Achievements of personal worth, of public worth. Do we
want to leave something behind for the whole world to benefit from? Do we want to
leave behind just enough to help our children survive.
Or do we just want to say fuck it all. Curl up in a ball, and let the world fuck
itself into oblivion.
There are many views on things, many different opinions, races, creeds, ideologies.
The world is a giant melting pot of nitroglycerine, just waiting for that dumb fuck
to come along and knock the side of it.
But I digress.
I lie awake and I think to myself. I think of all the things that are normal for
people my age now. Children, marriage, divorce even in some cases.
I look at people living out their lives with what makes them happy.
I see that, and I'm sad. Because I never understood how to achieve that happiness. I
understand now how fucking gimped my life is never having grown up with a father
figure.
Nobody to teach me how to shut the fuck up, to suck it up, and bear with the pain.
To stop being a little bitch about things, to man up. Because men are tough, men
don't feel pain, we don't cry, we don't get sad.
All lies that maybe would have helped me in this life. Someone to look up to,
someone to look after me. Someone to be proud of my accomplishments. Maybe someone to
be there, to tell my mother "It's alright, that's our son. He'll do just fine in
this world on his own."
So I'm sad. I don't understand the world, I never had a proper example for long
enough.
Always moving from one place to another, never staying for long. I don't have
childhood friends.
The only ones I can qualify as childhood friends are now either having life troubles
of their own, or... well having life troubles of their own.
I look at my friends. Both stuck without a good job. No direction in life. They've
hit the same wall I have.
I know so much in life, but there is just so much more to know. What is out there?
What is my life purpose?
How do I overcome the horrible past I carry?
We all have our personal quirks. I like to make jokes, but I'll never believe in
myself enough to tell them on stage. I'll never believe in myself enough for
anything. Because I was born shit, because I'm a male.
Having a penis cursed me in the eyes of my mother. For all the horrible men in her
life. I tried so fucking hard to please her.
I know, I know why I try to help all those troubled little girls so much. Why I'm
attracted to them. Because I ultimately want to save them from what my mother never
had anyone to save her from.
But who am I to save them?
I'm worthless, I'm nothing. I am emptiness.
I"m simply here to attempt to help. Everyone moves on with their lives, I sit here
and freak out about moving to Wyoming. To be with good friends. To listen to their
endless marital bickering over and over again. I know I'm going to snap at some
point and yell at one of them. Or bitch at one of them. Or maybe I'll just get
pissed off and not say anything. Then I'll become that fucker, the passive-aggressive
fucker that glares and doesn't say a fucking word.
Because I hate conflict. I hate confrontation. I don't want to admit my mistakes. I
don't want anyone else to be disappointed in me.
But I don't know how. Nobody ever taught me how to grow up. To be an adult.
So I sit here, trying to play my games. Trying to keep up with my world. Absorb
myself with everything here, so I don't have to grow up.
My maturity grows every year. I get a littler older and a little wiser.
But for some reason, I never seem to be able to be happy enough. I'll never be happy
enough.
All I wanted was someone to recognize me. To tell me I was worth something. To tell
me I was a good person. Or a good friend.
I have those people, but sometimes it feels more like pity than truth.
Do people truly like me, do people love me?
Will I ever be irreplaceable in anyone's life?
In twenty years. Would anyone remember me. Would anyone look back on the life
lessons I've tried to teach them. To help them with.
Will they ever remember the times I tried? The times I cried? The times I tried not
to complain at them.
Because how pathetic do you have to be, to constantly bitch at your best friends.
The people you want admiration from the most. Sympathy makes the pain go away for a
little bit. But the bitterness never does.
So many women. I pine after them, I develop feelings for them. Never reciprocated,
never felt back. I want love, but I don't want to get hurt again.
I don't want to feel the pain of rejection. I'm suppose to be able to love, and I
am. I love unconditionally, I'm sensitive. I cry a lot sometimes.
But there is never anyone there to hold me. To take me in their arms and tell me
it's going to be alright. Or at the very least, to tell me that things will get
better.
The pain of being an optimist. Being so god damned cheerful, or amusing, or funny,
or useful, or that guy, that shoulder, that fucking guy.
Nobody knows the pain of that guy. How he constantly hears your problems without a
single complaint. Offers insight, and maybe even helps you a little. Gives you the
push when you need it. Gives you a shoulder when you can't take the world.
But when does that guy, get a that guy.
Never.
So the curse of being that guy. Is that you derive your self worth out of how much
others rely on you. And when things get better for them. When they move on in their
lives, you're left there.
In bitter, lonely, optimism.
Someday things will be better.
Someday things will not hurt so bad.
Someday you will find love.
Someday you will not cry.
Someday.
Someday.