Muddled Clarity

There are times when I wish I knew who was out there. If my writing this is either entertaining someone, helping someone, maybe connecting, in some way, with any person out there.

Since it's inception, it has always been about me blowing off steam, for the most part. Mainly due to the severe lack of a real life counterpart in which to truly vent.

And to be honest, there are many, many things I don't speak of on here, most of the time for personal reasons.

I know it sounds odd, considering how personal most of my ramblings can be. But, there are some things in life that, let's be blunt, talking does nothing for.

There are those things in one's life that just are. Incidents have occurred, feelings were hurt, physical injuries, whatever the case may be. They just are, we try to get over them, suppress them, deal in which ever way we are able to.

I would hope that my words mean something, to someone out there. To me, I have re-read them, some of them, and it'll bring back a memory of what I was going through at the time. Tragedy, or triumph. Or, triumph that led to tragedy, whatever the situation.

Maybe these words are all for naught, and nobody really cares about them. I wish I knew. Whether I was inspiring someone... letting someone know that there is another pewrson dealing with some of these issues. A kindred spirit, or whatever. 

I wish I knew it mattered.

I wish I felt I could matter.

The Butterfly Effect

I was hit really hard by the tragic passing of Robin Williams yesterday.

Ever since I first read about what had happened, I haven't stopped thinking about it. Minus the drug issues he battled, we shared many of the same, let's call them, "health issues."

I grew up with him on TV, in movies. He was everywhere throughout my life. He was smart, funny, successful, but, in the end, all of that really doesn't matter, it seemed.

Depression isn't just about being down, or sad. It's more like the inability to be happy, to a point at least.

I have suffered from the same affliction for decades. The most "help" anyone ever gave me were lies, or, the generic "cheer up" as if that has any sort of relevance to the situation.

Whenever you hear stories like his, and how even through all he appeared to have, and all the joy he brought tens of millions of people, in the end, there was one person who he could not reach. Himself.

So, hearing stories such as these, it always leads me to wonder one thing; How the hell am I supposed to win the battle?

Not to completely turn his tragedy into a "look at me" situation, but, I am me, and I am forced to look at me.

He had fame, and fortune. Two things I'm not particularly interested in, but, they were there because he succeeded at something he loved.

He has his own family, wife, kids, whom he undoubtedly loved, and cherished, as I'm sure they did him. On paper he had it all, it would seem. So, how does someone like me, who really has near to nothing, survive? The thing that would disturb most people whom I know, would be the question I ask myself every so often.

Do I want to survive?

Tired

I'm tired. So tired of all of it. 

I'm tired of being disregarded as a friend, a human, a family member, just a person in general.

I find it sad that I've had to condition myself to "not care" about certain things, just to try and minimize the damage it can, and will do to me.

Those who know me know I've mentioned, at times, that no one has even tried to throw me a birthday party in, probably, 15 or so years.

I threw myself one two years in a row, only to have it stolen by a self-centered family member.

That would be bad enough, as it sits, if it weren't for the fact that there seems to be some sort of party, or gathering for any little thing for anyone else.

Hell, they don't even have to be related to us to get a party!

I'm not looking for some big blow out, but, for the love of Christ, I dated a girl for just under 8 years, who never once bothered to even try to have a small get together for me.

I never ask for much, even if I'm in dyer need of it, but, there's one day a year that you would think I'd be treated nicely, made too feel special. Right?

Far too much to ask. Far, far too much.

Now, if you know me, this would seem odd, as my birthday isn't until December. But, it's hot off the couple of recent parties. One for my ex-sister-in-laws son, who isn't the son of my brother. They have the party here. Then, one of my nieces is apparently moving, and having a kid (daughter of a half-brother I've rarely ever seen due to his criminal ways, and the girl I've not seen in, I'd say, 7-9 years by the way) At least the latter has some sort of blood relation to us.

Anyway, this all just adds fuel on the fire of why, as soon as I'm able to, I am leaving this place, and these people in my past.

A Beautiful Lie

Something I fight with, on an almost daily basis, an inner struggle with outward effects. The thought, the idea, the meaning of having passion.

People can be passionate about damn near anything. Faith, politics, music, photographs, you name it, there is someone who has thrown themselves into that 100%. For better, or for worse, they are doing something meaningful.

Even if it is something you are not profiting off of. The starving artist, hoping to sell a painting at an art walk.

The musician who records a song, and just hopes some people will like it enough to buy an album, a shirt, pay to see them play.

Then, there is me. There are things I like, things I enjoy, things I love. But, I can't put my finger on something I'm passionate about.

I tend to blame it on the time in life leading up to now, but, there are a handful of reasons behind it, none of them easy to explain, and even hard to understand at times. 

I've done things. Written music, recorded music. Played music for others. Created pieces of photoshop "art" for lack of better term, for others, to aid in their passions.

I've stepped in the ring, behind the camera, behind merch tables. That would be the closest thing to attach passion to. Whether it was touring the country, or just driving out 15 minutes to man a table, or whatever it may be.

But, even with that, it is so few, and far between, it's hard to truly enjoy it at the most.

Which is issue #2 for me, living in the moment, or, enjoying it, without having it dampened by something in the past, or knowing it'll be ending in an hour, or whatever it may be.

Let Your Dim Light Shine

I wish I had will power. True will power.

For very short spurts of time I'll eat a little better, or, at least cut out some of the worst items I'll eat.

I'll do good for a few days, a week, maybe even a month. Then I figure, I've been good, I can have, let's say, one can of soda. Or glass, whatever. But, then it'll go from one can, to one 2 liter, to one 12 pack. It's really bad.

In my mind, I am split. I eat what I eat because most of the time, it's the only happier feeling I get. That delicious chip, that tasty slice of pizza. So, if I eliminate that, or even change it just a bit too much, then what do I have left?

Then, on the flip side there is that part of me that just wants it all to end sooner than later. So, if I keep eating so shitty, at some point something in my body will give up. I've always joked, to myself, that the way I eat is a form of very slow suicide. It's hard for me to picture a bright light at the end of the tunnel I've been in for, what, a decade now? Maybe more. It really is. I still hold out that little bit of hope that if one thing changes, just enough, something will click.

Whether it be a certain job, finding some random hobby type of thing that just draws me in. Something to make me feel like this existence has a god damned point, you know?

But, maybe that's a stupid thing, in the long run, to hope for.

Fade Out

I am mentally drained. So much anxiety, and stress. I'm pulling myself 100 different ways, and in some senses I want to do each of them, and none of them. Some are compatible, some are not.

No matter what I do for now, none of these matter, not for a few years. So, somehow I have to try really hard to cope with my situation. I am stuck in it.

Part of me wants to just be at the end of the decade, get on with life, and have these next few years just be another bad memory, emotional scarring on my mind, and try to move on. But, obviously I must deal with now as best I can. The next 2-3 months will be the biggest struggle, in about 5 different ways. For the first time in, well, probably ever, I'm looking forward to the Summer. Only for the fact that I'll be passed this patch of shit.

It's hard to really enjoy much now, not like enjoying things has really been a huge part of my makeup, hah. There are the little things, the nights out, a movie, whatever it may be. But, sometimes it is just the bandage on top of the gaping stab wound of life.

Then there is the part of me that just wants to disappear, and let it all end, fading out hidden from view.

Who the fuck knows anymore.