|Journal: Old man|
-------------------------------------------Mood: DepressedSo if it's cancer, who should we blame?
I don't know how to feel, or what to think about this. So I don't feel fear or sadness.
Actually. I think you're rather selfish for thinking you get to decide everything on your own....Created 2015-02-14 11:59:10
-------------------------------------------Mood: HyperI wish I had feelings worth mentioning. I wish I could feel when I smiled, the happiness that surely is the underlying cause. I wish I was not this sensitive. I wish I could choose. I wish I could wish you all away.
I wish I could feel what was right.
I wish I could feel.
I wish I was a person, but I am nothing.
I once told a colleague I am not smart. I am not.
I just remember. I am a lifeless recorder. Your computer may seem smart, but all it does, is remember. It stores all the data in monochrome zeroes and ones.
It is not smart.
I can learn.
I can learn to recognize what is happening. I can learn to do this faster. I can tell what you are doing now.
And now. I know I should be angry.
But I do not feel a thing. Not a single shred of anger.
I know pain is an emotion.
'That has to be really painful', 'not much'.
That breach that once stood between me and taking my life. My body's rejection of pain, its aversion of dying, is slowly fading away.
And dear you.
How can I see love through that fog of living?
I am seeing things again.
I stopped the drugs because of them, but I am not on anything but hunger for a while now. I hunger. I hunger so greatly. My body, my mind, they are famished. The dark circles under my eyes are from malnourishment. The thin and brittle bones, carrying so much weight, going on for so long, they are fragile shadows of who I used to be.
Sometimes, I long back to those good old days.
I am late with so many things.
If only I had known.
But I do not.
I want you back. I want the old you back.
I want the us back before you became abusive, I want the old us back before you became an alcoholic, I want the old us back before you became terminally ill, I want the old us back before you died.
But I have found people that are like me now.
They are autistic and smart, sharp and cunning. They take pills to keep calm, and they are proud. They are proud that their little charge kicks up a whole lot of dust and you know what?
This isn't even half of it.
I wonder if I can ever be myself.
I don't think people could handle it, if I let go. Because if I let go and let the mania take over, let the depression take over, where will that leave me? Then again, I was never a person to speak of anyway. If I was not starving myself, and had the energy a regular person has ... how far would I run then? Until I could not go any further?
I am already exhausted.
Please. Give my shattered self a personality....Created 2015-01-17 17:06:16
-------------------------------------------Mood: AngryHey dad.
I wish things were different.
In my head you are strong.
In reality you are a drunk.
In my head you care about us equally.
In reality you care only for my brother.
In my head you take responsibility.
In reality you are scared.
In my head you were fair.
In reality you are deluded.
But things won't ever be different.
That's why; I'd rather stay here, believing in what is in my head, than be confronted again with reality.
Did you know?
You had a second child?
I think the dog got more affection though.
When the teacher asked us, telling us about third-world countries, whether we knew what hunger was, I was the only one who raised his hand.
But as a child in a first-world country, I couldn't possibly know what it meant to be hungry, of course. This wasn't possible in the black and white reality of said teacher.
But now I know.
I've been starved all my life.
Did you know the body eats itself when it goes hungry?
That certain mechanisms start to kick in when you're malnourished for long enough?
Survival is a beautiful thing.
So I'm happy you're enjoying your pension abroad; after having sold two houses, and can now be considered a wealthy man in said country.
I'm happy that my not coming to visit you any more, because I have run out of things to say, has lead to you writing me out of an inheritance.
Because you know what dad?
I don't need you.
I never have needed you.
And I won't cry for you at your funeral, old man.
Just for the ideas in my head that have been destroyed at your departure.
...Created 2014-06-27 05:41:12
-------------------------------------------Mood: The UsualWas it my insecurity which beckoned me to contact you?
It always is, isn't it?
My drive is doubt.
I want to take it away. Choose the right things because as many such things, you don't get a second chance. Don't tell me you do, because it'll mean you've misunderstood the concept of time.
Now, in other cultures, time is regarded as a circular object; meaning, in the end, everything repeats itself. Choice A might never pass you by again, but B and C might -who knows?
And things might seem the same because the human mind always searches for patterns, is subject to a conductor in the head called matter.
I wish I still felt certain emotions as strongly as I did back then. Love.
But all I am is nervous. Adrenaline makes my fingers shake, and with a few breaths that too fades until moment supreme. I can't even be anxious about arriving too late to something important.
Sometimes there's sadness, but not often and it is quickly shaken off.
I wish I could love.
I wish I could love you again as I did back then.
But I don't feel anything.
No. No, that's not true. I feel nervous.
My body works, but my mind is lagging behind.
My heart beats, my cheeks flush, my pupils dilate (something you enjoy telling me), but nothing else happens.
I wish I could be angry at you, for saying your head isn't in the game. As if I ever was? Presumptuous?
But I'm not angry. I'm relieved I can go back to the image in my head.
I can't kill myself.
It would hurt her too much.
I think I couldn't, even if I tried.
Because this body works just fine and it'll stop me anyway with the drive to live, or prevent self-harm.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with the existential realization that this is all there is.
After death; we stop.
Where do all the memories go?
Where did my feelings go?
Where will you go?
No. Actually. I don't want to know.
And please ...
Don't come back.
...Created 2014-06-23 13:09:33
-------------------------------------------Mood: The UsualShe asked me:
"Don't you feel proud for what you have achieved?
What you achieved, is quite uncommon. You're among the top scorers, everyone wants to work with you ...
Don't you have dreams?
I'm curious on where you will go next."
Because I slacked off so much.
This isn't my full potential -did I aim too low once more?
...Created 2014-06-23 12:53:54
-------------------------------------------Mood: The UsualAnd lately everything has passed me by without focus. Time is as blurry as the world without my glasses. My attention is wavering, my ambition out the window.
I watch but can't see.
The fading letters meant to become words, dripped into meaning they are wearing down, fading.
I am fading.
It's not even ... it's just that I'm not even really trying to do anything against it ...
I'm sure losing any more weight is detrimental to my health.
I wish people were more worried.
No I don't.
I wish they'd all leave me alone.
It's the respect they have for what once was strong that they abide by my wishes and I can feel they are waiting too.
For that person I used to be a couple years ago to return. Sometimes there is progress, I suppose.
I will visit a few friends and be social.
It's all fun and games as long as I can forget my reflection or reason that it is fine.
But then my mind will teeter and thoughts drown out in white noise, losing grip on the here and now, staggering into awkward silence of a subject lost.
I can't do it.
No one taught me how to be human.
I can do anything you teach me. I am positive that this is the level of intellect I posses. But I am not creative enough to think on my own. Sometimes I think I can. At the brink of running passed a leader and leading the charge myself.
I am a natural leader.
It's in my personality, somehow.
I imagine greatness.
I never did have trouble sleeping.
The more I write, the more life possesses me, the more I feel like I am losing grip on what is happening around me. Losing awareness. Like driving through a tunnel, no left, nor right, just ahead.
And nothing more.
Where were the days I could provoke another state of mind simply by concentrating?
When did I stop dreaming?...Created 2013-11-17 17:43:00
|Journal: Dog days|
-------------------------------------------Mood: The UsualGender confused isn't even half of it.
I don't like that term.
Dysfunctional. Aren't we all cool now that we can name our dysfunctions? I'm not a teen. Nor a kid.
I am an adult who has been raised in askew manner.
Do I blame a parents? No.
But maybe I should.
Am I a man? No.
Am I a woman? No.
I have an analytical mind. I find myself strangely lacking certain emotions. (and overcome with all the negative ones for all the wrong reasons)
I get too comfortable and honest, leading to reprimands that shut me down completely. Leaving me terrified.
I am a dog trained to sit, wanting to do nothing more than play, or die. You can put me down.
I have faith in you, my master.
But I am waiting.
Because you have abandoned me.
And I am loyal to a fault.
It's a comforting notion....Created 2013-11-17 17:32:11
-------------------------------------------Mood: SadI don't miss them any more.
The times that have been.
When I told a friend those were the moments I cherished, he said, 'what a poor existence', and 'you are weird'.
Even though I know, all those who I know long back to those days.
There was this young child at my work the other day, and as young children go, they are unabashed, yet afraid. We have this large flat escalator up to the parking lot, and the mother -pregant- had gone on ahead. The child dawdled at the bottom, scared to step on.
I had to go upstairs, to fetch a few things, and the child peered up at me, seeking comfort, stretching out her hand. I hesitated for a short moment, but the basic gesture had my body taking the reins and I took hers, so that together we got on.
It felt nice, going up.
On my way down, I tried to think whether my mother had done such things for me.
It felt icy cold going down.
I know she couldn't have. Even though I used to hide in silence behind her.
I never. /Never/ want to have children. ...Created 2013-07-02 05:26:01
-------------------------------------------Mood: The UsualTenacious ass.
Pushy fool, moronic compulsive fuck-up.
Loner, stoner, sad fuck.
Tell me, what's up today?
Why do you smile? It doesn't suit your tears any.
Aren't you playing a little hard, throwing the ball through fences? Disregarding love like that?
What's wrong with you, little twerp?
Scared, are we now?
What's it to ya?
Stand up and fight already. Well.
Here I am!
Come and face me like a true challenger.
Have some honour and pride.
You sick little pile of oozing vomit.
What's wrong with you?
Dance, until there's nothing left.
Run, until there's nowhere to escape.
And then stop. Bare your teeth in a crooked grin and raise your glass high -
Welcome Hell, welcome Devil.
I've been waiting for you....Created 2013-05-14 13:07:51
-------------------------------------------Mood: Well, fuck meSo.
We abuse the word, misuse it.
The blood was still on the pavement. I hear.
Your collarbone had penetrated your skin. I hear.
Your head was smashed in ... I hear.
There were glasses on the roof, in the gutter.
There was a ring there too. The window was open. There were pills and a knife in the attic.
You knew she was gone.
I've never seen a person so shattered.
I never knew those few words I ran about to say could have that much impact.
"About him ..."
"I know, he's in the hospital ..."
I held your face and said sternly 'no'.
You were confused, and then scared. And then, everything shattered.
You wailed -there's no better word to describe it.
Suicide. He jumped.
You're angry. Sad more so.
I'm sorry mom.
RIP, Hans....Created 2013-05-14 12:54:37
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