... g o i n g . u n d e r ...'s Blurty
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in ... g o i n g . u n d e r ...'s Blurty:

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    Monday, March 1st, 2004
    1:19 pm

    Sunday, February 29th, 2004
    7:04 pm
    I don't think I have ever felt so free in my entire life. Free of everything, worrying, fear, anger, hatred. I think I have become emotionless. I have emotion and love but they are for one person. This person knows who they are. I am pretty numb and careless right now. Which could possibly be scary. But I don't feel it so yay for me. Last night I had some very rough chest pains. They are always right where my heart is, although I do not believe they are heart-related. I am very apprehensive when it comes to feeling my own heart beat, as I do not wish to discover any abormalities.
    I woke up this morning at 5 A.M. because I thought I heard the telephone ring. This has happened to me before on another night where I was upset and could not sleep well. The trouble with this was that I was not sure if this was real or part of my dream. It was hard to figure this out because

    A)The phone stopped ringing once I woke up
    B)It was what my phone sounded like, exactly
    C)It sounded like it was coming from the other room
    D)That would have been my senses not picking it up well enough because I was asleep.

    I did not want the phone to keep ringing, so I slumped out of bed and picked it up to hear if I had any voice mail. I did not. So I guess nobody was trying to call me at 5 A.M. If they did, they did not leave a message.

    While I was thinking all of this, my mind began to adjust to reality. The reality in my dream was much different and more pleasant from the reality in real life. This realization takes a few seconds and I soon remembered every bad thing that was happening to me and why I was waking up this early, thinking that the telephone was ringing. I was too tired to think any more about this, though, so I tried to sleep. When I tried going back to sleep, I was very, very cold-like. I wasn't freezing, but I was shivering all over. At first, however, I figured that I was just cold, but it wouldn't make sense, because my room is always hot and there's no way cold air can come in from the outside, so I WAS just terribly upset and that made it hard for me to sleep. That's all.

    I probably wont eat much today, which is unfortunate because I stored away two apples for today and I guess they'll have to wait for tomorrow. yay... not hungry ANY fuckin way.

    Blah.. Alex X8alex8X@aol.com
    If I leave here tomorrow
    Would you still remember me?
    For I must be travelling on, now,
    'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.
    But, if I stayed here with you, girl,
    Things just couldn't be the same.
    'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
    And this bird you can not change.
    Lord knows, I can't change.

    Bye, bye, its been a sweet love.
    Though this feeling I can't change.
    But please don't take it badly,
    'Cause Lord knows I'm to blame.
    But, if I stayed here with you girl,
    Things just couldn't be the same.
    Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
    And this bird you'll never change.
    And this bird you can not change.
    Lord knows, I can't change.
    Lord help me, I can't change.
    Wednesday, February 25th, 2004
    4:32 pm
    Fuck you and everything you are!!!!!!!!!
    NOT in a good mood right now. Ugh, I am so fuckin disgusted by this god damn world I just to scream and beat the hell out of things!!!!!!!!! Everything today is pissin me off, All starting with the most fuckin riduclous people, and I just cannot stand how people can be so god damn unaware of their own actions. I swear some people should be kicked the shit out of for what they do to other people. "sometimes they don't know they are doin it" my fuckin ass they don't. They are just to self consumed to see anything that they are doing. Fuckin bastards. If this is the case then i will be the one to stand up and tell them, hey your an asshole and we all hope you catch some disease and die a painful death and rott in the pit of hell! That's mean you say? That is the nicest thing i could do. I COULD break out a base ball and wait at the door of these fuckin idiots and give them a taste of what they give to everyone else. I would never do something like that, But the feeling of hatred and anger as it grows inside you. You become something that your not supposed to be. But you are made to be. I am so bored I am so stupid I am so ugly I am so perfect I am so attractive I am so smart I am so annoying I am so mean I am so rude I am so cool I am so interesting I am so nice I am so boring I am so idiotic I am so fucked I am so beautiful I am so great I am so amazing I am so ridiculous I am so lame I am so manipulative I am so lovely I am so right I am so perfect I am horrible Don't tell me what I want, Don't tell me what I need, Don't tell me how I need to feel, I feel, GODDAMN nothing Dig the eyes out of my face and I can still see right Fuckin' through you. FUCK YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU ARE! Fuckin me. X8alex8X@aol.com.

    Current Mood: angry
    12:49 am
    Every breath I force sends me into a spiral of thoughts relating to my own futile existence. I'm a waste of blood and tissue. I can't stand the sight of myself in any reflection and I can't stand thinking what people see when they look at me. The plaguing thoughts and ideas which I have to deal with every day are enough to drive me to want to die every time I wake up. I can't enjoy a life where I know that nobody thinks highly enough of me to care like they care about others. I surround myself with liars and when I try to feel some sort of security I realize that I am nothing more than the next best thing. People only know me for a purpose. Because they have to, like my parents, classmates... people who know me because they're social clusterfucks, like scenesters at shows, people trying to have a sphere of influence, people who think I can help them in some way... and people who just fucking use me as the next best thing. It isn't their fault. I do it too... but there are those few people who do mean something to me. Those people that I am so fond of that they never leave my mind. I tell you the way I feel about you because it's how I feel. Somewhere lost in my enigmatic thoughts and ideals you stick out as a savior to me. Though, in the end, I am human and I need to be loved... just like everybody else does.
    Monday, February 23rd, 2004
    11:16 am
    Self Confidence, Comes and Goes. No matter what anyone says you should always be content with who you are. What people say or think about you doesn't change that. I'm a fairly intelligent guy and I have black hair and I wear whatever I want, and you know, I'm okay with that. I like who I am and no one makes me feel bad about myself. You can be proud or content with yourself without thinking you're better than anyone else. I know I'm not. I'm just really happy with my life and I really don't care what anyone thinks about it or how I live it. Most times when people criticize you, you'll find they're either jealous or discontent with their own lives and need to take it out on someone else to make themselves feel better. Yea. Food for thought.

    and in the words of a very crappy band: "I don't wanna be you, don't wanna be just like you"

    Someone who used to have a crush on me once told my friend "I don't think Alex likes me very much because he thinks I'm smarter than he is." Do I really need to tell you what's wrong with this? I really don't care how smart or intelligent anyone is, myself included. That is really not something that is important to me, and I'm not even saying that because I don't think I'm that intelligent, I just really don't care. It's not important. I've dated people who are 'smarter' than I am, and it didn't bother me at all. This person who said that is just so incredibly conceited and insecure at the same time that they think these absurd things about people who they don't understand. I was never one to explain myself to people and I don't always tell people how I feel or what I'm thinking, so I guess that led them to assume things like that about me. So excuse me for not falling in love with you- I was never good at that. I am open and honest now, but wasn't always, thank you for ravaging my mind, you know who you are. Don't steal anymore of my entries, oh and concering the, "screw you I sent you a virus in an email." Thank you, now i can forward it to the F.B.I ass hole.

    Blah, Alex.
    11:16 am
    I'll be your dream I'll be your wish I'll be your fantasy I'll be your
    hope I'll be your love Be everything that you need I'll love you more
    with every breath Truly, madly, deeply do I will be strong I will be
    faithful 'cause I'm counting on A new beginning A reason for living
    A deeper meaning, yeah [chorus:]I want to stand with you
    on a mountain I want to bath with you in the sea I want to lay like
    this forever Until the sky falls down on me And when the stars are
    shining brightly in the velvet sky, I'll make a wish send it to heaven
    Then make you want to cry The tears of joy for all the pleasure in
    the certainty That we're surrounded by the comfort and protection of
    The highest powers In lonely hours The tears devour you
    [chorus]Oh can you see it baby? You don't have to
    close your eyes 'Cause it's standing right here before you All that
    you need with surely come I'll be your dream I'll be your wish I'll
    be your fantasy I'll be your hope I'll be your love Be everything that
    you need I'll love you more with every breath Truly, madly, deeply do
    [chorus]I want to stand with you on a mountain I
    want to bathe with you in the sea I want to live like this forever Until
    the sky falls down on me
    Sunday, February 22nd, 2004
    3:52 pm
    I know I'm not the only one, but I don't know and that kills me.

    Not only do I doubt myself, I take things too seriously. Often times I find that certain, let's call them "things," mean more to me than to other people that these "things" should be equally meaningful to. Now, let's think about this. Is it fair? Of course not. "Is life fair?" Duh, no. But if something is easily within one's control, one should make it fair or at least SHAPE it into what one wants.

    Into what I want. This is my life, this is about me. Old friends can be the best comfort; like blue bears and broken glass. TV tells me that stress makes you fat. I'm stressed and I haven't eaten a full meal since Sunday. Connect the dots, I don't care. I'm so mean lately and I can't even help it. Not to everyone, just the assholes. I don't like how people can be so unaware of their own actions and their repercussions. I know I'm just me, but .... Never mind, just eff me and go do something constructive.

    I'm so angry, but mostly tired. I'm tired of everything. And I don't even know why. I feel better these days since something wonderful came in my life. But I will not explain. Why? Because I don't add much of my person life.
    But these are the best years of my life. I can't sleep, kiss me. You know who you are.

    F.Y.I ..I am disallowing the posting of comments. So if you have one. Email me @ X8alex8X@aol.com

    Current Mood: drained
    Current Music: Bitter Sweet Symphony, The Verve.
    Tuesday, February 17th, 2004
    1:04 pm
    Sometimes, instead of wondering why we're all here or what I'm going to do with my life, I rest my cheek on my palm, my eyes drown and I ask myself: 'What the fuck'?

    * * *

    I saw Mrs. Poling today. She was my 7th grade English teacher. She was the first teacher who I saw as a sexual being, though I wasn't entirely attracted to her. She had a smoker's rasp in her voice and a Bettie Page haircut, complemented by her large breasts. She dressed better than all the other female teachers and most of the female students (middle schoolers are rarely sexy, with the exception of one of my g/f's). The year I had her class is when I first read 'The Catcher in the Rye'. Actually, I shouldn't say "first read" since I've only read it once. Apparently I've lived it many times however.


    Will: "Have you ever read that book 'The Catcher in the Rye'?"
    Me: "Yes."
    Will: "You remind me of that guy."
    Me: "Yeah, I get that a lot, actually."
    Will: "Except you're likable."

    Whatever that means. Truthfully I don't remember it all too well, except constant use of the word "goddamn" and "phony".

    Mrs. Poling enjoyed my book reports and I had suspicion that she favored me over other students. I made TWO comic books for her. I choose to make them as an alternative to writing a boring old book report, and she said they were some of the best works she's ever recieved from a student. The first was a biography of Elvis and the second, I believe, was my version of 'Animal Farm'. I'm pretty sure I have them put away somewhere.

    Anyway, I hear my name called out. It was her. I couldn't believe she recognized me, I hadn't really seen her since the last day of class. I didn't really say much except a couple of 'how are you's' and 'that's good's', but it was very nice to know I was recognized. She'd probably be glad to know that I'm gonna be an English Major (possibly). But devasted to hear that I've only made one comic book since. Perhpas I should start more...

    The lesson? Never pray for death, even if you don't mean it. And lay off on the hamburgers. Please.

    Thursday, February 12th, 2004
    1:54 pm
    house of 1000 corpses
    she had a corpse
    under her bed
    he had her fun
    but now he's dead
    hear momma said
    come feed desire
    her brother said
    hey, throw her on the fire

    this is the house
    come on in
    this is the house
    built on sin
    this is the house
    nobody lives
    this is the house
    you get what you give

    i cut the flesh
    and make it bleed
    fresh skin
    is what i need
    i let it dry
    out in the wood
    all your crying
    did no good, yeah

    now you're lying
    on the floor
    yeah, you can't
    take anymore
    the devil's laughing
    in your face
    give me another taste, yeah
    Wednesday, February 11th, 2004
    11:12 am
    "My mother use to warn me and beware of those latin lovers." People never heard of friends? Jesus Christ.
    11:11 am
    "So it says you think about suicide..."

    Her demeanor, her eyes, her hair, her outfit. Aside from her name, she was the exact same psychologist I would see when I was 13. I felt a need to be rational about my irrational thoughts.

    "Oh, I know it's a silly thought, it just sort of creeps up in my mind there. I know I'll never do it, it just becomes...a fantasy."

    You fantasize about every single person who is being fickle, lazy, ridiculous, bitchy and insufferable and watching them cry over you, not realizing how you're no worse.

    "I'm not a victim of circumstance, and my reactions to things aren't situational."

    The poor handicapped boy tells me about clinical depression as if I don't know. He can't talk right, walk right and now think right. You can tell by the joy he finds in the company of others that his problem is not clinical, he's just looking for a cure that doesn't exist. I tell him: "There is no happy pill. Pills can make you react more appropriately to the situations you face, but there is no medication you can take that will gurantee you feeling better about yourself."
    "Oh" he said. Just trying to help.

    It's almost as hard to tell somebody they're crazy as it is to tell them they aren't. There are two types of sad people walking the earth: those who can help it and don't know it, and those who can't help it and do. I'm in the latter category. I told Ms. Hausman that I would prefer not to continue counseling because I am very aware of what is and is not under my control. I have a firm grip on reality. She had little words for me.

    "Do you feel lonely?"
    "Do you hear voices tell you these things?"
    "Does she support you?"

    Inside I'm screaming, NO MORE, YOUR AN IDIOT! But I abstain.

    * * *

    My Mother diagnosed Jesus with manic depression. Grandiose ideas, abundance of energy, absence of rationality. Nowhere in the bible does it mention Christ's 'down' periods, though with all the other "Jesus"'s she has met, I'd say could be on to something.

    I'm not manic-depressive, though a girl once told me I might be. This girl didn't know what she was talking about and this girl is probably dead by now. She understood my depression, but did not understand my lack of MANIA, which can be more destructive to others than the depression.

    Consider my health teacher. At 47, she has no problem flashing her belly, discussing her lesbian past, her marital problems and bringing her dog to class. It's all fun and games, and probably more educational than my other classes, though we don't follow the book too closely. In fact, we hardly discuss the material presented in the book at all. It ends up online, and if we choose to remember that then all is well, though that seemed to be a problem for many.


    Well, she said she was bi-polar (manic-depressive)m so you expect rationality? You expect things YOUR way? I smiled and leaned back in my seat. A kid turns to me, I'm convinced more people are talking to me because of my hat:
    "So what do you think?"
    "I just don't know what everybody is so worked up about. Besides, it's true or false and multiple choice anyway. Who cares?"

    Then again, try telling the teacher she was wrong (which they did). Try telling Jesus he wasn't the son of god.
    Just nod and smile. I'm ready for the test.

    * * *

    There were many things I probably forgot to tell Ms. Hausman. Recently, and I believe this has been caused be circumstantial things, my hand would tremble. On one particularly horrific night regarding my personal life, I awoke a few hours after attempting to sleep and my whole body shook uncontrolably. Needless to say, something was bothering me.

    "Lately I haven't been eating much. I've been going to the Kitch. probably once a day now and maybe I'll pick up something to eat when i am out and about early in the day. It fluxuates though, I'll sometimes ask my whoever is going to the store to get me a lot of food when she goes grocery shopping and then I just wont eat it. I have a shelf here that's full of food I haven't touched."

    For dinner I had two corn-dogs, a glass of chocolate milk and a glass of Powerade. I'm not sure of if that's a lot or a little.

    "I must say Alex, you're very brave for doing what you do, and living with all this."

    So why did I feel like such a jerk on the way out? I guess that's what medication is for. I'm glad I understand all that now. I hope everyone else can too.


    Current Mood: flirty
    Monday, February 9th, 2004
    11:56 pm
    Fuck Pizza
    9:34 pm
    omg, i found this entry that i wrote some time ago and my gods i know i have come a long way....
    I have low self esteem and here is why... I like myself in some areas, I like that I have a sense of humor and ability to make other folks laugh and smile. I like that I am a good friend, there for people when they need me. I am a nice guy, sweet, caring, concerned, and interested in other people's happiness. I like to take care of friends and family make sure they are respected, and more importantly kept safe in every way. Every day I try and improve someone's day try and make it a little easier for them because I know how it is o hurt and have a bad day. The ole quote, "can't win em all" comes to mind a lot when it comes to me, I see that, realize it and except it. My low self esteem comes from years of abuse, putting put down verbally, belittled and told what I can't do rather then what I could. Abused physically and sexually, and many times on these particular issues. People have always been very cruel, as far as I can remember back until minutes ago, day in and day out it has always been that way. I consider myself to be unique, one of a kind, etc., etc. I know they're are things with people, but these things just aren't as important to me as they should be. I have always been the one who was raised scared of everything, and for obvious reasons. I don't walk around thinking people owe me anything I don't at all, but what I do walk around thinking is that my life here has had a lot more pain then some others and yes that is possible!! how do I look at myself?? I hate the way I look, I hate the way I carry myself, I hate my thoughts, I hate my life, I hate the sun, I hate this life, I hate some people, I hate the way I smile, I hate the way I breathe, I hate the way I talk, I hate the way I feel, I hate the way I am rejected, I hate the way I am pushed, I hate my anger towards things, I hate the way I am treated by some people, I hate being nice, I hate being sweet, I hate being taken advantage of, I hate being treated like shit, I hate being belittled, I hate being told what to do, I hate not being myself, I hate drugs, I hate alcohol, I hate Cutting, I hate depression, I hate sadness, I hate happiness, I hate joy, I hate love, I hate being loved, I hate hurting, I hate being hurt, I hate not getting what I want when I DO DESERVE IT in some areas, I hate looking, I hate thinking, I hate the way the world turns, I hate the way I laugh, I hate the way I cry, I hate they way I am looked at, I hate being looked at, I hate attention, I hate affection, I hate affliction, I hate despair, I hate hopelessness, I hate not being honest, I hate lying, I hate dreaming, I hate confusion, I hate that no one hears my cry for help, and the list goes on and on and on.... True love is a fairy tale, dreaming comes so easily for me because it is all I have known. Stop the world I want to get off, I am sick of all this shit. I am tired of life, I don't like being here, I wish I was never born, I wish I would have been aborted, I wish someone would walk up to me and shoot me, I wish I had a rope and something sturdy enough to hang myself from, I wish I could cut myself so bad that I would bleed all the pain right out of my heart. I can't go back though. I don't want to press on, I want to just die, I want to fall asleep and never wake up, I want to O. D on sleeping pills. Will no one hear my cry for help and come to my aid, as many times as I have come to theirs. I know tomorrow I will be crying, I know my life will be nothing less of sheer pain and misery, it will never get better and no one will ever convince me it can because it has been years and life is still shit and life is still fucked up and I hate it and I want to fucking die already mother fucking ass hole life !!!!! Why do I cut? Here is why... I cut because I can't stand my body, it is ugly, it is bad, it isn't supposed to be here, it isn't supposed to be making me feel the way I do, people are not supposed to stare at it the way they do, people are not supposed to be treated like this, so it needs to be hurt, it needs to be shown that this life it has forced me to live, if lived at all will not be lived without me having a say!! and I say fuck you! let me die, let me get a gun and blow my fuckin brains out and die a thousand deaths before ever living this shit whole life again, before ever sending my ass here to go through this shit ever again!!! ever!! I cut because I have so much pain built up inside that unless you want me to explode and beat the living dog shit out of everyone for making my life a living fucking hell!!!!! then I better hurt myself instead, other wise quit hurting me so much so I don't have to do it to myself!! Nothing ever changes! If I died right now, no one would give a shit! they would feel bad for a few min but then move on in they're lives on to the next person, Lamb of God have mercy on us, Lamb of God wont you grant us some peace for fucking once! Not trial, bull shit, blessings, and all that fucking non sense, how about the fact that I feel like a total ass hole and my life is shit and I feel so bad all the time but still carry a "fake" smile on my face and tell someone to hang in there. But then my life is still shit, fuck that!!! I wont take it anymore. There are certain people I would like to say this, I can't believe you had the nerve to say the things you said, the way you treated me, knowing perfectly well, I was there for you and helped you and cared for you every fucking time!!!! And then you say let it go? move on? Let God heal you? Don't you think I know that fuck head!! but why when you will come a long again carrying that same shitty fuckin attitude and bring me down again so you can feel better, or take advanteg of me again and again and again!! You sorry ass son of a bitch!! I hate you I hate the way you treat me, leave me the fuck alone, I don't want to hear you anymore, I don't want to hear you mouth, fucking liar... I went through shit you wouldn't even want to fucking dream about, and for what a two faced, no good, self centered, fucking ass hole that's what!!! SAVE ME!!!! MY REASON FOR ALL OF THIS? I don't understand what am I supposed to do with a life that is thrown to scraps and labelled tragedy?! Fuckin Alex
    11:30 am
    smile, Jesus loves you, everyone else thinks your an asshole!
    There is a Dunkin’ Donuts right outside of my old neighborhood, Colorado, that has seen years of this town’s youth spend their nights – it being one of the few locations open in the later hours. It’s bright lights and decadent desserts contrast the dark sky in such a way that makes it feels like a purgatory of sorts, a place between night and day. It’s a place where the youth of this small town spends time between growing up and getting older.

    In the parking lot, I sat in the passenger’s seat of the car of an old friend, Domenick Pontoriero. We’ve shared much of our school experiences together, as he would drive me back in this very automobile to take me back to my town on the weekends and we would discuss our weeks at UCD. “I am very disappointed with college.” He would tell me, somewhat brazenly, though he’s the type of fellow who you can almost always find smiling during conversation, as he loves to learn through discourse. I would share my qualms about school as well, though I don’t believe my hopes were anywhere near as high.

    Domenick was one of the top high school students of our class and a stellar addition to the FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America), German Honor Society, National Honor Society and the Student Government. His constant “GO!” attitude seemed perfect for the college life, whereas it seems to have befitted my laid-back approach more appropriately. Perhaps he hadn’t found himself the right school, as his original plan was to attend Georgetown University in Washington DC.

    “Everywhere, all colleges are formatted the same, at least the classes.” He exclaimed. “It’s a fallacy that one educational institute is more (apt in the pursuit of learning) than another and unfortunately, your choice of school and area of study reflects your economic success.”

    So why go to college anyway? As a double major in International Business and Public Policy, it would seem as if motivation wasn’t exactly a problem. “I just need this (a degree) to be marketable. To make it seem as if they need me.” He said sardonically, though he does not portray an aura of roughness. His sarcasm is faint, and only reflects his discouragement. Having always been active in high school, I pondered if maybe he were just bored. He looked through the rain-drenched windshield and into the night sky as we talked, shifting positions frequently in order to get comfortable. Though, how bored could he be on the verge of being the paragon of success he modeled himself out to be in high school?

    Over the summer, as a change from playing small-town businessman, Domenick took a job as a pianist at Vincenzo’s Italian Restaurant, and it was the best job he’s ever had.

    “As I grew up I had many interests,” he told me, “What I wanted to be when I grew up constantly changed from scientist, to politician, to artist and then to pianist.” He began to play at the age of 5, simply for the fact that he grew tired of “sitting around the house, doing nothing”. It became a habit, even though he didn’t always enjoy playing. “At first I wasn’t into it, but I didn’t want to quit, either. I didn’t enjoy it, but I wanted to be good.” This being similar to his determination to go to school and graduate, despite it not being as easy as hitting the ivory keys are to him now. In fact, it was only until five years ago that he actually began to enjoy playing. He said “I started to like playing when I would actually be impressed by myself with what I was doing.”

    Although accomplished in his own right, Domenick has not pursued his piano playing the same way he had business, something which he claims he’s mostly interested in for the financial security. I asked him, hypothetically, if he would rather take a high-paying international relations job with many benefits or a comfortable job as a pianist, which did not guarantee luxury, though it assured he would be financially secure.

    “So would you rather be a pianist?”

    He paused for a while, and in an uncharacteristically meek tone, he replied “Yes.”

    So what does this say, if anything, about how our schools model us? Do our dreams get deferred too often by society, or can we only blame ourselves for such quarter-life crisises?

    “I think it’s a problem with American society.” He said, already a worldly traveler himself. “It has much to do with the strict encouragement of mass production. Everything is geared towards the economy.” And the role of educators? “Teachers should not stress the importance of money so much. They should teach people to find more beauty in things.” A pause, and quietly, “It’s not all money.”

    Finally, I asked him what his goals were as a pianist.

    “I want to be accomplished.” He replied.

    “What does that mean?”

    “I don’t know.” Though he continued, still looking through the raindrops and into the stars. “To be better than the people I watch and to be as good as I can be.”

    Saturday, February 7th, 2004
    7:47 pm
    sweet six six six
    i cry when is see all of the pain i have caused
    looking into my mothers tired eyes
    she worked so hard to get me this far
    and with every breath i take i am slowly creating her demise

    i cry when i feel
    when i feel the presence of a stranger that won't go
    one that was created so early on
    one that was not meant to be more than a fairy tale
    and now its a nightmare

    i cry when i remember
    how the lights went out
    the smell of alcohol on his breath
    his cold hands on my neck
    with ever finger slowly sealing my demise

    i cry when my eyes open
    each and every fucking morning
    bringing me back to this hell
    i cry and i cry
    and yet i feel dead inside
    7:31 pm
    The world was on fire, no-one could save me but you
    It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
    I'd never dreamed that I'd need somebody like you
    And I'd never dreamed that I'd need somebody like you

    No I don't wanna fall in love
    this world is always gonna break your heart
    No I don't wanna fall in love
    this world is always gonna break your heart
    ..with you

    What a wicked game to play
    To make me feel this way
    What a wicked thing to do
    To let me dream of you
    What a wicked thing to say
    You never felt this way
    What a wicked thing you do
    To make me dream of you

    No I don't wanna fall in love
    this world is always gonna break your heart
    No I don't wanna fall in love
    this world is always gonna break your heart
    ..with you

    The world was on fire, no-one could save me but you
    It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
    No and I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
    I'll never dream that I lose somebody like you, no

    Now I wanna fall in love
    This world is always gonna break your heart
    Now I wanna fall in lust
    This world is always gonna break your heart
    ..with you

    Nobody loves no-one

    Current Mood: amused
    Current Music: wicked game, HIM
    Wednesday, February 4th, 2004
    10:00 pm
    "Alex, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
    I have an appointment at the Counseling Center for Human Development for Wed at 9 A.M. That's a week from today. When I filled out my forms, I made note that I wanted to see a psychiatrist, though I will probably end up having to talk to a psychologist as well. Before I get into this, however, I should explain my last experience with "therapy"

    When I was about 12, I went into a depression. I'm not sure how much of it was truly caused be a chemical imbalance or the pressures of everyday life. To be honest, I don't remember so much about how I felt back then as opposed to WHAT I felt. I remember crying nearly every day, for whatever reason, so much so that my parents stopped believing me. I had frequent fights with my family, and when I could not handle the fickleness (and they are extremly fickle) I would violently attack them sometimes. My father and I did not get along very well, mostly due to my poor communication skills and inherent fear of him, due to his temper as well. I had a best friend who treated me like dirt and I was in love with a girl I had hardly ever spoken to. Maybe the fact that I never tried speaking to her was reason enough for me to think about getting help.

    Somehow, I came to a point where I told my mother that I did not enjoy living much and she took it upon herself to take me to a psychiatrist. Please note that my mother herself is a psychiatric nurse, so she knows fully what she was doing. If this had been a case where I just needed to shut the hell up and quit whining, she would have asked me to do so. She had also gone through this with a family friend, Amanda, who had been on medication for quite some time, although I was not fully aware of her situation because we harldy spoke (and her room was right next to mine).

    I had a strong resentment for my mother setting up this appointment without my consent. When you're that young, and that unstable, you expect problems just to solve themselves. I suppose the fact that I had revealed my weakness to her alone was enough, and the thought of confessing my self-hatred to a stranger was inconcievable. The fact that my mother made it a non-option for me only heightened my angst.

    As always, I was boy of high probity. I did, as I always do, what I'm told, though rarely with a smile on my face. The odd thing about depression and anxiety, and something they don't realy tell you in movies abd books, is that you usually have it the most when you need it the least. I wasn't that wild rebel going in to see this doctor I had no interest in talking to, I felt rather fine that day, and just about every day I had to go talk to the doctors. I felt almost like a phony having to come in and say "I'm depressed, help me", when I'd be in a rather serene mood sitting there in the office.

    Sae Song was the psychiatrist's name and her face will forever be etched in my memory when I think that profession. She looked like a wider Yoko Ono, and spoke just as much english. She only had one tone, though I wasn't quite sure what it was. I did not enjoy her, because it was difficult to express myself to what felt like a brick wall. I didn't trust her diagnosis either. How could someone who shows no human emotion understand the human condition?

    I started on Effexor at a fairly light dosage. It peaked at .75 millograms and before I stopped, it gradually decreased. The thing about getting better is that pills aren't even half of it. I think that is, by far, the most important thing my mother ever told me about mental health. There is no such thing as a happy pill or a shock therapy that can make all of your problems go away. All that these pills can do is make you more apt to deal with these problems. The fact that I did not get along with my father may have been a result to my anxiety and comminicational errors, though the only way I could understand him was through talking to him.

    I stopped hitting my family years ago. I only stayed on my medication for a good six months, but it was a pattern I was able to break. I don't remember when, or if it was something I just grew out of, though I know I don't enjoy watching family cry or hurt and I knew that it didn't make me feel like a good person inside. So I stopped.

    I don't at all remember if I felt any differenced on medication. Perhaps I was expecting too much. I was expecting for my fears to dissappear and my sadness to wash out. In a way it had, though I found myself with the same problems. My dad. My Family. My friends. I was living proof that there really is no escaping the past, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. I don't think I dug myself in a ditch, but I was too young to consider just what my responsibility was in this matter.

    Besides the monthly visits to Dr. Song, I also went, monthly, to Dr. Johnson, a psychologist, a counseler. Some people don't like counselers and I think those are just folks that don't like to deal with their own problems. I was certainly somebody who didn't want to deal with my problems. Out of blatant fear, I didn't speak much of my social problems. How I got so depressed over when it comes to anything to do with other guys, how I suspected my best friend was manipulative and abusive to me, any of that. I didn't want to give up on them. I loved those people no matter what - if this doctor really cared, why would she tell me to give up? I was too smart. I didn't even give her a chance to tell me what I already knew. That was my mistake.

    Finding no other source, my mother suggested heavily that we dicuss the problems with my Father. For most of my life he had been working two jobs, so I hardly had any time to communicate with him in the first place. I was afraid of him, and even more afraid of making peace with him, though I felt that this idea of us resolving our problems was my mother's agenda, not mine. The fact that I was simply afraid to talk to him to begin with meant that I had bigger fish to fry.

    Once again, the biggest trouble psychologists have is the lack of honesty on behalf of their patients. Though how can you expect someone with a disorder to be completely honest? On the other hand, how do you expect them to get better without an objective analysis and guidance from someone whose job it is to solve these kinds of problems?

    Dr. Johnson actually talked to my father a few times, and after that I decided to stop going. I'm not sure how my parents fell for it: how I was able to convince them that I had gotten better. I wasn't, nor ever was, a complete wreck, though I still had my fears, and I still felt down often.

    By that time, however, I had found a girlfriend, even though she lived very far away. It didn't matter, because I had affection and reassurance that I was a pretty good guy, something that I wasn't able to accept from my family. It may have been codependent behavior, but it worked. Besides, she made me look like Mr. Rogers, so my confidence was at its peak.

    The relationship lasted a good nine months, and our union fell apart rather peacefully. Looking back, I am shocked that I was able to forgive her for cheating on me yet I couldn't forgive my parents for trying to help me and trying to get me to love them.

    I think I have all the answers as to why I feel like I do, but I can never be so sure. I'd like to try medication again, but if I also need counseling, I'm open for that too. I've solved a lot of my own problems lately and I feel I've been on a real upward stride towards progress. I'm actually proud of myself for going to the counseling center and making an appointment. Though I still have anger, and I get tired so very eaily. And the fears. The fears, the fears.

    I can't wait to be rid of these, though I know nothing can ever, EVER get done without talking about it. So, if there's anybody reading this, wish me good luck and I will see you in the next life.


    Current Mood: cold
    Thursday, January 29th, 2004
    10:22 am
    Christians *shakes head*
    Ok, people are always asking me about m religous standing and etc. I typed out an entry sometime ago, but forgot to post it. It's not to insightful, but should bring you some informative explanation. But I was asked a question by someone that believed in the Christian based baby Jesus we'll call him. "Well Alex, you think others are close minded. Doesn't that make you close minded to not believe in something in which you cannot see?" Faith is it? No, I am not close minded because I do not believe in your baby Jesus or god in which I cannot see. Isn't it more close minded to believe in one person that you can't see, and call it the only answer? I believe there are things I can't see in which can't even be fathomed or dreamt about by the human mind. I believe there's many things out there. However, I do not presume to logically know what the fuck that is. I can't see it, so sorry if I can't explain it. I do not need to cling or believe in something grand and invisible, so I can feel better about living and dying. Especially if that something is unseen and rules out all possibilities of anything else, and strips away the rights of human nature, and calls it a sin. I am very open minded, with the belief of endless possibilities.

    "Well, if you don't believe in Christianity, why do you celebrate Christmas?" Wow, heres a hard one. Tradition. Once upon a time a boy named Alex was raised to believe that there only was one possibility of an invisible god, and to renounce his name was to burn in the hottest of fires. On this great day of our baby Jesus, we are not to forget that it is not about the presents, or even the giving, but the acknowledgment of the baby Jesus birthday. As Alex got older he soon opened his eyes and he began to grow. He saw that his beliefs did not fit that in which Christmas entails as far as the baby Jesus goes. He thought that possibly baby Jesus was a great philosopher, and perhaps resembled that in which would entail the life of Buddha or something. Could he know for sure? Probably not, but it seems more logical than 800 year old men, talking 2 bushes, giants that get their ass kicked with a modified slingshot, and a fucking wizard that can part water. But, what if it was all true? Well, sorry folks, Alex needed a little more than a 2000 year old book to show him this. A book filled with everything natural seeming to be a sin, and with stories better than Dr Seuss's animated creations.

    So Alex thought to himself. I like Christmas because it's tradition, and yes, that is what it's all about presents and giving to others. Taking out the part of religion itself, and there you have it. Did you know if you rearrange the word SANTA you can spell SATAN. Coincidence? I think not... MUHAHAHAH MUHAHAHA ::Dr. Evil style:: I like the Santa part to, which may stem from religion, but I don't view it in such ways. The thought of the story probably stemming from a tribe in a far off land on some peyote journey could easily conjure the visions of some 300 pound guy in a sleigh with reindeer pulling him along through the air.

    If I was Santa my first stop would be over the White House as I called off the reindeers names to lose control of their bowels, with just enough head on speed to hit the presidents bedroom window with a few grain enriched brown marbles. My next stop would be over area 51 after I spray painted my sleigh silver, and put giant large eyed alien masks on my reindeer and me. Then I would pull Michael Jacksons head from my bag and drop it at the guard shack yelling "Identify this mutha fuckers" all said in a Mr. T voice. ::What the hell was that all about?:: Anyway, I like the little story of the fat fucker in a red suit and reindeer with one having a glowing red nipple on his snout to guide him.

    Current Mood: cold
    Wednesday, January 28th, 2004
    11:15 pm
    I feel like I no longer exist and it's the saddest thing in the world to me.

    Current Mood: gloomy
    Saturday, January 24th, 2004
    2:39 pm
    A friend of mine wrote an entry not too long ago about how he cried on the first day of school after one of his sandals broke. It wasn't the only reason he cried, as the first day can be quite stressful, and it would be certainly feasible to label his reaction as being slightly melodramatic. He told this story to a friend of ours who recently ended, for the time being, her battle with cancer. Her opinion of the matter was that he was being somewhat shallow, seeing as there are poor kids out there like herself who have gone through the terrors of a life-threatening illness.

    When I try to imagine what it must feel like to have cancer, as much as I picture a large tumor hanging from my body, I also recall real pain I've felt in my life. I remember moments where I have feared that my life would be over, be it a legitimate threat or not. I think about my dog dying as a kid or my girlfriend moving away from me. I remember when my Mom told me we'd be living in Arkansas and the time we got caught in a tornado at the park. I just don't know what it feels like to have cancer, though I understand how it feels to be unwell, and unsure about the rest of my own life - rational or not.

    It's a fallacy to say that someone else's feelings are not justified. An elephant does not critcize an ant for not being able to lift the weight he can, and I don't believe we should make the same judgments with ours and others' emotions.

    On the other hand, there are some who are in better positions to deal with their emotions than others. Some people have wonderful parents, friends and teachers whom they are able to receive guidance from. Others are not as fortunate and that, as well, needs to be respected.

    * * *

    I'm not going to say that I don't want to be right all the time, because who doesn't?

    ...And, in a way, I just don't want to feel wrong any more.


    Current Mood: okay
    Current Music: st anger, metallica.
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