10/15/02
it's two in the morning, i've been walking for hours not knowing where i am going, i turn slowly and head back to my room. thirty two hours after tears, and not a single second of sleep, i wander.
it's strange, these last two years, how much my life has changed. everything has gone up, and down. this "depression" that the entire family is "diagnosed" with has been hitting me harder, and harder. dad wants me to see a counselor. mom wants me medicated. i refuse both, who knows maybe out of pride. is it a self fulfilling prophesy that i feel this way? did they tell me i was fucked, and therefore i am, that i am a "lost cause"?
why is it that no light no matter how bright is anything but dull? like a sepia movie, my days unfold in a monotone that can only be described as engulfing. that no emotion is anything but meloncholy, even love?
it all happened so quickly, the loss, the pain, the new found love, the relationship, the elation. the suicide of her father, the mental suicide of a lover. all of it at once helped me loose my grip on the struggle over my "condition", i have been spiralling down ever since she called on the phone, crying "it was my father".
my depression was so obvious that thirty two hours ago i lost the lover of my life. i reminded her to much of her father, and she couldn't bare the brunt of seeing me another man she loved, lieing blue faced, dead in a garage................
.........................back in my room i begin with what has become the nightly struggle for my mind, my body, my life, and my soul. the lights are low, i can hear the dull hum of the florescent over the sink. i sit, slowly on the bed, not thinking, just going throught he motions. the knife is out, the blood from the night before still crusted along the edge of the blade. everything seems so dull, the colors, the thoughts, the sky, the only real feeling i have anymore is resting awkwardly in my hand. i rase it up to my arm, and pull. slowly. i watch the skin pull apart. the blood slowly rush out, from one end of the gash, to the other. soon i'll fall asleep, on my right side so that i can feel the throbbing of the cuts while i attempt to work through all the issues that pound at my skull. this is my medication, this is my feeling, and it is getting out of control. but still i pull, in a slow controlled way, across my skin. i let the blood rush down my arm, it wont be cleaned up until the morning.
i close my eyes.
maybe i'll sleep tonight, who knows.
1/16/05
i wanted to write this
i needed to write this
the scars are covered up right now, by tattoos,
but i still work through this,
i struggle with this every day,
and i needed to write about, to get it out there!
to purge the memories from my brain by sharing with you all a part of my past.
if you "know" me please don't tell anyone about this entry.
it's two in the morning, i've been walking for hours not knowing where i am going, i turn slowly and head back to my room. thirty two hours after tears, and not a single second of sleep, i wander.
it's strange, these last two years, how much my life has changed. everything has gone up, and down. this "depression" that the entire family is "diagnosed" with has been hitting me harder, and harder. dad wants me to see a counselor. mom wants me medicated. i refuse both, who knows maybe out of pride. is it a self fulfilling prophesy that i feel this way? did they tell me i was fucked, and therefore i am, that i am a "lost cause"?
why is it that no light no matter how bright is anything but dull? like a sepia movie, my days unfold in a monotone that can only be described as engulfing. that no emotion is anything but meloncholy, even love?
it all happened so quickly, the loss, the pain, the new found love, the relationship, the elation. the suicide of her father, the mental suicide of a lover. all of it at once helped me loose my grip on the struggle over my "condition", i have been spiralling down ever since she called on the phone, crying "it was my father".
my depression was so obvious that thirty two hours ago i lost the lover of my life. i reminded her to much of her father, and she couldn't bare the brunt of seeing me another man she loved, lieing blue faced, dead in a garage................
.........................back in my room i begin with what has become the nightly struggle for my mind, my body, my life, and my soul. the lights are low, i can hear the dull hum of the florescent over the sink. i sit, slowly on the bed, not thinking, just going throught he motions. the knife is out, the blood from the night before still crusted along the edge of the blade. everything seems so dull, the colors, the thoughts, the sky, the only real feeling i have anymore is resting awkwardly in my hand. i rase it up to my arm, and pull. slowly. i watch the skin pull apart. the blood slowly rush out, from one end of the gash, to the other. soon i'll fall asleep, on my right side so that i can feel the throbbing of the cuts while i attempt to work through all the issues that pound at my skull. this is my medication, this is my feeling, and it is getting out of control. but still i pull, in a slow controlled way, across my skin. i let the blood rush down my arm, it wont be cleaned up until the morning.
i close my eyes.
maybe i'll sleep tonight, who knows.
1/16/05
i wanted to write this
i needed to write this
the scars are covered up right now, by tattoos,
but i still work through this,
i struggle with this every day,
and i needed to write about, to get it out there!
to purge the memories from my brain by sharing with you all a part of my past.
if you "know" me please don't tell anyone about this entry.
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
so your mom was into the beats? that's cool. i can't remember ever being into what my parents were into. except hunting and horseback riding, which i lost interest in when i turned 14.
there was a friend of mine in highschool who was kind of pretentious and only talked about punk rock and the beats. so i picked up the wild boys by burroughs. i couldnt get into it but i pretended i liked it to be cool. i remeber ginsburg had a few good poems though.
Hey! We may have seen each other at the inauguration! I was probably the straightest looking guy booing against Bush.