growth, and things of that nature.
so.
it's about six in the morning, and I'm sitting here on this page.
admittedly, I wish I felt the urge to write in this box more often. but what to write about?
-
I mean, I've been spending the last week going through this journal, and I read it from start to 2005.
and what... a... fucking... mess... I was.
that was me? I keep reading and not believing it.
-
apparently, I used to think that everyone hated me. that I was shit. that people just fucking humored me. I used to cut myself when I couldn't figure things out. I used to think of death, consistently. I used to want to be dead. that was one of my needs, yanno... death.
huh. and hell, I have private entries that are about six times more depressing than the other ones. imagine what garbage I have typed up in there, and then immediately picture it five times worse - it's fucking bad, folks.
-
but yanno... it's inspiring. because now I'm sitting here in front of the same text box I spewed all that life, people, and self hate into. and now I'm calm, mellow... content.
don't get me wrong, I'm not some old fogey. hell, I'm pretty sure I'm one of those fuckers who's going to act like a vulgar twelve year old until I REALLY have to quit.
but I'm okay with that. and I'm okay with the fact that I've sat here and hated, and hated, and hated... because I don't feel like I have any hate left in my entire body. I can't hate shit. I can be pissed, and I can be vexed, and I can be SUPER FUCKING FRUSTRATED.... but... I have lost my will to hate.
I say I hate now and then, but it goes the fuck away real quick.
and maybe that's all it was, yanno? kid grows up, feels like the entire fucking world is against him, is shunned by everyone he thought loved him, and well, shit. I'm fucking lucky I didn't finish myself before I finally found myself.
because I was waiting a long time, d'ya know that? for years. for fucking years, I've been writing. writing about bullshit, writing about feelings, writing about me, writing about women, writing about life.
one thing I've been writing for a long time goes something like this:
I can't wait until I'm the person I want to be.
I've been thinking lately... I am that motherfucker. I finally became that guy. really, that was it. for years, I've wanted to be that guy. the one who has the kooky, crazy, episodic life, and rides along the waves, laughing all the while, grinning like a retard.
it took me almost a year to realize... I'm him. I'm me. and I'm so fucking happy about it.
and I'm tired of being down. I have been lately, you know. friends have been disappearing from my life, or fucking me over, and it put my soul in a bad place.
but not anymore. I've been living for some time since I was the emotional wreck I called myself, and I am through with it. my life is what my life is, and I do have great times, and I do have good times, and I'm tired of acting like they don't exist.
-
the world ends with me, just as it begins with me.
<3
it's about six in the morning, and I'm sitting here on this page.
admittedly, I wish I felt the urge to write in this box more often. but what to write about?
-
I mean, I've been spending the last week going through this journal, and I read it from start to 2005.
and what... a... fucking... mess... I was.
that was me? I keep reading and not believing it.
-
apparently, I used to think that everyone hated me. that I was shit. that people just fucking humored me. I used to cut myself when I couldn't figure things out. I used to think of death, consistently. I used to want to be dead. that was one of my needs, yanno... death.
huh. and hell, I have private entries that are about six times more depressing than the other ones. imagine what garbage I have typed up in there, and then immediately picture it five times worse - it's fucking bad, folks.
-
but yanno... it's inspiring. because now I'm sitting here in front of the same text box I spewed all that life, people, and self hate into. and now I'm calm, mellow... content.
don't get me wrong, I'm not some old fogey. hell, I'm pretty sure I'm one of those fuckers who's going to act like a vulgar twelve year old until I REALLY have to quit.
but I'm okay with that. and I'm okay with the fact that I've sat here and hated, and hated, and hated... because I don't feel like I have any hate left in my entire body. I can't hate shit. I can be pissed, and I can be vexed, and I can be SUPER FUCKING FRUSTRATED.... but... I have lost my will to hate.
I say I hate now and then, but it goes the fuck away real quick.
and maybe that's all it was, yanno? kid grows up, feels like the entire fucking world is against him, is shunned by everyone he thought loved him, and well, shit. I'm fucking lucky I didn't finish myself before I finally found myself.
because I was waiting a long time, d'ya know that? for years. for fucking years, I've been writing. writing about bullshit, writing about feelings, writing about me, writing about women, writing about life.
one thing I've been writing for a long time goes something like this:
I can't wait until I'm the person I want to be.
I've been thinking lately... I am that motherfucker. I finally became that guy. really, that was it. for years, I've wanted to be that guy. the one who has the kooky, crazy, episodic life, and rides along the waves, laughing all the while, grinning like a retard.
it took me almost a year to realize... I'm him. I'm me. and I'm so fucking happy about it.
and I'm tired of being down. I have been lately, you know. friends have been disappearing from my life, or fucking me over, and it put my soul in a bad place.
but not anymore. I've been living for some time since I was the emotional wreck I called myself, and I am through with it. my life is what my life is, and I do have great times, and I do have good times, and I'm tired of acting like they don't exist.
-
the world ends with me, just as it begins with me.
<3