Randomness via moi.
You're not the sun, It's just a light
Waking early sunday morning
You're not my church
It's just the bells
Ringing sweetly through the house
And in this sense of mine
You're not this prayer.
You're still in reach
I please myself
Wasting early sunday morning
You're not my lead
You're just my help
Talk the edge off sheer denial
And in this state of mine
You're what I want
Nothing close to what I need
I breathe you in
Suit yourself, lose myself
Breaking early sunday morning
You're not the sun
You're not my church
I still hold some self-control
But in this sense of mine
I'm still too high, look no hands
I breathe you in
-Sneaker Pimps
Unscrew the wine, she'll throw a party line
Stories extreme, she's such a drama queen
Cries through the night, she choked on Marlboro lites
Pure charm and grace, she hates her pretty face
I'm begining to think that this journal has become an outlet for me to spill my guts raw. It may not seem like much.. these few sentences and fragments I scribble at random. Perhaps it is a place for me to just not make any sense. Whatever the case, I can not write in my paper journal like I can here. I need a new journal.. something anti-social and raw where I can be completely uninhibited.
Oh did I mention I'm hypo-manic? Ha, you probably could have guessed. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, but when it's 7:30 am and all you can do to keep from going insane is stare at the ceiling and watch the patterns shift while singing Tori Amos to yourself at the top of your lungs, you wonder if it's really a good thing, either. At least it inspires productivity, I'll give you that.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy. I'm happy as all hell but there's the anger there too. But the anger, ah beautiful anger, is what let's us know that we're alive, that we're only human. It's a primal feeling that, with all the logic and technology we have going on today, you'd think we could surmount. Ha, never. It's the rage that makes us human.
Yes there's a lot of worry down in the depths of my soul, but I know today that there is a Power higher than myself that will make it all right again. I've dipped into the sacred parts of my being to summon the strength and the courage to continue down this path I've chosen instead of running as I've done so many times before. See, the devil isn't just in the details, but it's in everyone of ourselves.Wouldn't heaven be nice? So much easier than this, but only through a full life lived can we truly know ourselves, and I can't wait to meet me.
Ah, the mixed blessing of hypo-mania. With all the thoughts comes enlightenment, but there's always that danger on the horizon of mania, and the fear of going insane. I won't know it when I get there. The fact that I realize that I'm in a hypo-manic state troubles me, fore it always progresses into mania sooner or later. Maybe not now, maybe not next week or next month or next year, but it's always there. The beast in the darkness. Of course you wouldn't know anything of that. I only talk about that in my private jounal where I cannot be judged. There's always the fear that they'll find me out - they as in anyone, everyone - for I am truly insane and that will never change. Perhaps I will continue to be able to manage it, live with it, even use it to my advantage, but sadly I know that no amount of drugs or therapy will ever cure me of it, and will never give me control. I am forever at the mercy of the beast.
Waking early sunday morning
You're not my church
It's just the bells
Ringing sweetly through the house
And in this sense of mine
You're not this prayer.
You're still in reach
I please myself
Wasting early sunday morning
You're not my lead
You're just my help
Talk the edge off sheer denial
And in this state of mine
You're what I want
Nothing close to what I need
I breathe you in
Suit yourself, lose myself
Breaking early sunday morning
You're not the sun
You're not my church
I still hold some self-control
But in this sense of mine
I'm still too high, look no hands
I breathe you in
-Sneaker Pimps
Unscrew the wine, she'll throw a party line
Stories extreme, she's such a drama queen
Cries through the night, she choked on Marlboro lites
Pure charm and grace, she hates her pretty face
I'm begining to think that this journal has become an outlet for me to spill my guts raw. It may not seem like much.. these few sentences and fragments I scribble at random. Perhaps it is a place for me to just not make any sense. Whatever the case, I can not write in my paper journal like I can here. I need a new journal.. something anti-social and raw where I can be completely uninhibited.
Oh did I mention I'm hypo-manic? Ha, you probably could have guessed. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, but when it's 7:30 am and all you can do to keep from going insane is stare at the ceiling and watch the patterns shift while singing Tori Amos to yourself at the top of your lungs, you wonder if it's really a good thing, either. At least it inspires productivity, I'll give you that.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy. I'm happy as all hell but there's the anger there too. But the anger, ah beautiful anger, is what let's us know that we're alive, that we're only human. It's a primal feeling that, with all the logic and technology we have going on today, you'd think we could surmount. Ha, never. It's the rage that makes us human.
Yes there's a lot of worry down in the depths of my soul, but I know today that there is a Power higher than myself that will make it all right again. I've dipped into the sacred parts of my being to summon the strength and the courage to continue down this path I've chosen instead of running as I've done so many times before. See, the devil isn't just in the details, but it's in everyone of ourselves.Wouldn't heaven be nice? So much easier than this, but only through a full life lived can we truly know ourselves, and I can't wait to meet me.
Ah, the mixed blessing of hypo-mania. With all the thoughts comes enlightenment, but there's always that danger on the horizon of mania, and the fear of going insane. I won't know it when I get there. The fact that I realize that I'm in a hypo-manic state troubles me, fore it always progresses into mania sooner or later. Maybe not now, maybe not next week or next month or next year, but it's always there. The beast in the darkness. Of course you wouldn't know anything of that. I only talk about that in my private jounal where I cannot be judged. There's always the fear that they'll find me out - they as in anyone, everyone - for I am truly insane and that will never change. Perhaps I will continue to be able to manage it, live with it, even use it to my advantage, but sadly I know that no amount of drugs or therapy will ever cure me of it, and will never give me control. I am forever at the mercy of the beast.