user 176211
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jul 24, 2020
- Messages
- 141
- Reaction score
- 138
Before I write anything, I just want to recognize that this is how I feel in this very moment in history of time. I may not feel like this in the future, and if I may read this again at a future date, just recognize that this is where I was mentally TODAY.
As I sit here in my parents house, I can't help but feel a sense of poetry about what life has become. Anyone who isn't in the know will see this place and they might think words like "quaint", "rickety", "run down", or "charming". Just an old dilapidated house where life happened.
I hate this house with every fiber of my being - with every measure of my soul. To me, this place is a grandiose museum of each and every bet that my father made where he used my soul as a gambling chip. It's a place where I have died, over and over, billions of times, in every kind of way imaginable. It's where I was beaten physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually. This would be Dr. Frankenstein's lab, and I would be its monster.
This is the place where each dream I ever had got lined up one by one like a firing squad and summarily executed for the temerity of existing. Failure is such a normal thing for me, that I genuinely, and deep down inside hate to see people enjoying life. I know its evil. I don't want to be thought of as a bad person and hope for at least some mercy points from the universe with the understanding that I merely don't understand why some have to die in the desert, and other get to swim in an oasis. As a man, and having experienced the world and understands it far more than when I was let loose unto it, I realize that I was dead from day 1.
This house is a monument to indifference and complacency. Its where my father never thought that he had sons to prepare for a world. Its where he thought the bare minimum in life was good enough. And then when we got out into the world grossly unprepared for it, he mocked us for it.
I love my parents. I genuinely do. But I am not a well person. If that wasn't enough of a curse, I am not a well person but who is a FUNCTIONING not-well person. So people see me that they think I have answers and know what to do at all times. But the reality is that I'm the only one here who isn't a chickenshit about figuring things out.
And so the poetry comes in the fact that this is just the end. Life doesn't get better. We don't get stronger and faster and younger as time passes. We slow down. And this train is about to stop. My mother had a stroke last September and honestly she was very lucky. But in a weird way, it just made her more of what she already was. She has always been a bitter angry woman about the poor decisions she made in life. Because like most women who rely on their beauty in their youth, they don't know how to do absolutely jack honeysuckle later in life. By the time they realize it, they're so far gone as a bitter and hateful person that there is no redemption or coming back.
So what we have now is a bitter ass old lady who does absolutely nothing but diarrhea out of her mouth. 24/7. Non stop. No breaths in between. A bitter angry jealous hateful old lady who messed up her own life beyond recognition because of her own stupid choices in life. And as a result, she messed up the lives of everyone within her very small orbit. Everyone else is just a burned bridge who just saw a bitter ass angry woman and left. And she's not weak enough to just die off already. God- if such a thing every actually existed, has left her with enough faculties to just LITERALLY live as obnoxiously as she always FIGURATIVELY has. And that, my friend, is where the poetry lies.
I have been on a quest to live better and healthier. My blood pressure is always near 200. I know I'm going to die one day. Heart attack. Stroke. Aneurysm. Name it. But not today. Today, I am going to my drug dealer, and I am going to just get doped up. Not so that I can feel the high. But so that I don't have to feel the low.
Everyday I think more and more about death. I am not suicidal. I do not think about committing suicide. But I DO envy people who are gone. Or those who have gone early. I don't see what the big deal is- where people don't even want to HEAR the word death. I do understand the appeal of it. And truth be told, I daydream about just sleeping. So that I don't have to work anymore. I started working a 14 years old and never stopped. Never had a vacation. Never had anything special or significant for myself. All that I literally know in my life is how to serve others. And I am so tired, that death doesn't even scare me. I just want to sleep.
As I sit here in my parents house, I can't help but feel a sense of poetry about what life has become. Anyone who isn't in the know will see this place and they might think words like "quaint", "rickety", "run down", or "charming". Just an old dilapidated house where life happened.
I hate this house with every fiber of my being - with every measure of my soul. To me, this place is a grandiose museum of each and every bet that my father made where he used my soul as a gambling chip. It's a place where I have died, over and over, billions of times, in every kind of way imaginable. It's where I was beaten physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually. This would be Dr. Frankenstein's lab, and I would be its monster.
This is the place where each dream I ever had got lined up one by one like a firing squad and summarily executed for the temerity of existing. Failure is such a normal thing for me, that I genuinely, and deep down inside hate to see people enjoying life. I know its evil. I don't want to be thought of as a bad person and hope for at least some mercy points from the universe with the understanding that I merely don't understand why some have to die in the desert, and other get to swim in an oasis. As a man, and having experienced the world and understands it far more than when I was let loose unto it, I realize that I was dead from day 1.
This house is a monument to indifference and complacency. Its where my father never thought that he had sons to prepare for a world. Its where he thought the bare minimum in life was good enough. And then when we got out into the world grossly unprepared for it, he mocked us for it.
I love my parents. I genuinely do. But I am not a well person. If that wasn't enough of a curse, I am not a well person but who is a FUNCTIONING not-well person. So people see me that they think I have answers and know what to do at all times. But the reality is that I'm the only one here who isn't a chickenshit about figuring things out.
And so the poetry comes in the fact that this is just the end. Life doesn't get better. We don't get stronger and faster and younger as time passes. We slow down. And this train is about to stop. My mother had a stroke last September and honestly she was very lucky. But in a weird way, it just made her more of what she already was. She has always been a bitter angry woman about the poor decisions she made in life. Because like most women who rely on their beauty in their youth, they don't know how to do absolutely jack honeysuckle later in life. By the time they realize it, they're so far gone as a bitter and hateful person that there is no redemption or coming back.
So what we have now is a bitter ass old lady who does absolutely nothing but diarrhea out of her mouth. 24/7. Non stop. No breaths in between. A bitter angry jealous hateful old lady who messed up her own life beyond recognition because of her own stupid choices in life. And as a result, she messed up the lives of everyone within her very small orbit. Everyone else is just a burned bridge who just saw a bitter ass angry woman and left. And she's not weak enough to just die off already. God- if such a thing every actually existed, has left her with enough faculties to just LITERALLY live as obnoxiously as she always FIGURATIVELY has. And that, my friend, is where the poetry lies.
I have been on a quest to live better and healthier. My blood pressure is always near 200. I know I'm going to die one day. Heart attack. Stroke. Aneurysm. Name it. But not today. Today, I am going to my drug dealer, and I am going to just get doped up. Not so that I can feel the high. But so that I don't have to feel the low.
Everyday I think more and more about death. I am not suicidal. I do not think about committing suicide. But I DO envy people who are gone. Or those who have gone early. I don't see what the big deal is- where people don't even want to HEAR the word death. I do understand the appeal of it. And truth be told, I daydream about just sleeping. So that I don't have to work anymore. I started working a 14 years old and never stopped. Never had a vacation. Never had anything special or significant for myself. All that I literally know in my life is how to serve others. And I am so tired, that death doesn't even scare me. I just want to sleep.
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