Read the Printed Word

Read the Printed Word!

Creativity

Creativity

You Make Crazy Fun

You Make Crazy Fun

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Essays: The Cure for my Laziness

I have been thinking a lot about essays. Mostly what topics that I should talk about. The list is endless, so why am I having such a difficult time starting to write essays? Laziness. That is my fucking block, to my writing. I write so much, for college, that I don't want, nor do I have the desire to write leisurely. 

I need to get off my dead ass and start writing essays. They are cathartic for me, and essays are a different way for me to express what I am thinking. 

When shall I start?

Saturday, June 21, 2014

She Cuts Loser Into Her Arm

Oh the emo child that I am not. I am an emotional woman; mostly anger, and frustration. I act out of stupidity most of the time. The confession I am about to make is a confession that I think I need to spill after 13 years.

I am a cutter. Some of my 5 readers already know this, but there are others who do not, so there is my confession. I get off on cutting myself. Not, literally, but cutting is a release for me.

I need to cut when the shit, in my life gets to be a bit too much. My personal life is in shambles. My work life, which I thought I was making better has fallen apart. My spiritual life is the only part of my life that hasn't taken a big dump. But, I still cut myself.

I have forgotten what is important too me, so I cut to feel something. Anything. I think I feel love, but I am not sure. I think that I enjoy activities that I once did, but I don't. My depression does not help matters. I cut so I can see that I am still human, and not just a pill popping zombie. I cut myself, tonight, and it felt fantastic. 

Say what you may about cutting myself, but am I hurting you? No, and the little pain that I feel as the razor blade goes into my skin is nothing compared to the pain that my mind puts my body through every fucking day. Judge if you wish, and call me an emo child, but I know why I take that razor blade to my skin. You are only getting snippets of the torment.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Don't Blink

The line between fantasy and reality gets blurred for me. When life throws shit at me, all I can think of is "I want my imaginary friend to come and take me away in a blue box." RUN! Those who are in the know will get what I just typed.

I don't want to sleep anymore, because of have dreams that should have been. I wake up crying, sometimes. Sometimes, I don't even want to get out of bed. These are all first world problems...of course. I almost feel guilty about feeling the way I feel, but why shouldn't I feel the way I feel? Or don't feel, at times. 

I am not sure anymore. Projects to do. Writing to accomplish. Stacks of books to read. A master's degree to manage. Oh, and just life. I want a life. Crazy man in a blue box take me away!

Friday, May 2, 2014

Dear Robyn

Dear Robyn,
Did you not think I would get to you at some point? You are the biggest ghost. What the fuck have you done to me? I am a 38 year old loser and I blame you.

Why couldn't you have stood up to your bitch of a mother? You were not meant to be an athlete. You just wanted to read, write, and be an academic. But, you allowed others to ruin those wishes, and wants. Why? Why did you allow this to happen? You were to weak to stand up for yourself. You needed psychiatric help after you dad passed away, but your bitch of a mother wouldn't allow it. You suffered. I get it. But, that is not excuse for the decisions that you have made, and the lies you have told  yourself.

There is a better life outside of your head. You are not the imaginary friends you have made to cope with reality. You will never be as smart as those you dream up. You are not a musician. You can't sing for shit, and you dance like a white girl. GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND GET OUT OF YOUR WAY!

You don't deserve to be happy, and you don't deserve compassion. The reasons are too many to list. You spent your entire 20's not getting your child back, but trying to find a man you could rope into being married to you. Your child suffered for this. He was with a drug addict, and you just bowed down. Pathetic. You thought by paying child support, and sending gifts, letters, and calling your son would matter. But, it didn't. You didn't fight for your child. You let your mother control every aspect of what you could do with your own baby boy. You are so weak. You were so weak. 

Happiness is not in your future. Nor is being in the life you have now. You think you are comfortable, but you are not. There a things that are in place that you can't stop. you have become a very angry woman, and there is nothing that can be done about that anger. All of the therapy in the world wouldn't, and couldn't change the reasons for your rage, and anger. No amount of pills will drown out the cries of your children, and the voices talking too you. You are a lost cause. A broken child. A worthless woman, who shouldn't even be called a woman. What are you going to do about changing? Live in your past, or live in your present? Burn your past, and super glue yourself back together. Stop being a loser. Stop being a push over, and go after what you want. Stop worrying about what others think, and stop worrying about a man who was never there for you. Time to wake up, and shut up.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Dear Mark

*I have started a series of "dear" letters to people who have hurt me. This is a cathartic way for me to let their ghosts go.*

Dear Mark,

Two weeks. That is all it took for you to say that you didn't want me. I figured out why two days after. You hadn't given up your junkie ex girlfriend. That is why I was thrown out of your life...over a junkie. At least, you let me stay at your apartment me, because it was January, in Vermont. You are still a piece of shit, but at least you don't stink as bad as other pieces of shit that I have come across.

You hurt me. You lied too me. Maybe I wasn't what you thought I was. I don't know, but you shouldn't have placed any expectations upon me. I moved to a place where the only person I knew was you. And you did what you did too me. 

I showed you what type of person your junkie ex girlfriend was; she used your cell phone to call another man. All the while, you were attempting to get back together with her. Stupid bitch didn't even had the presence, which is difficult when you are a junkie, to erase the number she called. But, I showed you the number, and you called it to find out that the voice on the other end was a man. That dashed your hopes didn't it? You thanked me, and thought that we were cool. Far from being cool. I was fucking one of your friends behind your back, even though we weren't a couple. But, in some strange way you still thought we were. All of the verbal, emotional, and intellectual abuse I took from you; I still stayed there, in that apartment. Maybe musicians are like this. Moody, unpredictable, and egotistical. 

Oh, and for the degrees that you acquired, how are they treating ya? A music degree with no hopes of teaching, and a philosophy degree with, once again, no hopes of teaching. Worthless degrees tagged upon a worthless human being.

You said to me once that you could not hold onto a relationship with a woman. I believe that you are a homosexual, and that is why. There was some strange shit you would do before, during, and after sex, with me, that made me question your sexuality. I really don't care what sex you prefer, but I know that you don't get along with women. 

I never loved you. I loathed you. I despised your "better than thou" attitude towards anyone, and everyone. You were always broke, and expected people to buy you beer, and food. You are a leach upon society, because you think that society owes you something. I don't know what that something is, but I am sure you still think this way. You are a disgusting human being that I hope I never come across again.