It’s amazing how much things can change. That’s an extremely cliché statement but, for a good reason. I found this old heart box of mom’s in the garage. I was pissin around in a bunch of random stuff down there and found a few treasures. In the box there were old things and it’s funny how the things I always seem to treasure are old. Or from before. The past. I’m so f***ing hung up on the past man it’s insane. And it’s also no secret. I mean, everyone tells me that. And the more I stumble across these old things from the past and think to myself what treasures they are, the more everyone is proven right. But it’s not a bad thing I guess, at least, I don’t see it as a bad thing anymore. More of an objective fact. Maryam is hung up on the past. Big whoop. But I guess the reason why some people think of it negatively is because the past is a sort of vice for me. It’s something I go back to when I want to let the bad parts of myself engulf me and poke their steely knives at me. It’s where all my insecurities are shut away. So every time I peek through the blinds and open up the past again it’s also me allowing myself to be a victim. I don’t even know if this makes sense dude. Hell I don’t even know if anything ever did make sense. I’d like to think it did but the more I learn about what was really happening I feel like I was in some kind of coma growing up. I guess the proper term for that would be innocent as in that thing that most kids are until the expiration date rolls around and suddenly their package is ripped open and used up all at once. It’s kinda abrupt if you ask me. And whoever the hell supplies innocence kinda forgot about the warning label which I’m pretty sure is required by law therefore there’s some serious underhanding going on which nobody seems to care much about but maybe that’s because whoever the supplier is just has that much control and there’s nothing anyone can do. Maybe that’s why some people go crazy. You know, just like how when the economy sucks more people turn to crime, not because they’re bad people or anything but just because they have no other choice. They gotta put food on the table and keep a roof over their head and let’s face it, drugs sell and robbing a convenience store pays the bills a lot faster than working 8 hours a day for five days a week. So maybe when people realize they have no control over their own loss of innocence, they get frantic. So instead of selling drugs or robbing convenience stores, they just go berserk. They let it pull them under and hold them down and never do anything about it because…there was never anything they could do about it in the first place. Boy, do I sound like one depressed mother f***er. I swear dude it’s sick, and I know that I really do but at the same time, what can I—or anyone else for that matter—do about it? You know what’s been eating at me? I have nothing to offer. There’s nothing that the world needs from me. There’s nothing useful that I have that can benefit someone else and I’m not talking about manpower to get the living room painted faster or some dumb s*** like that I mean really, at their core and at my core, there is nothing I have to give to anyone. I don’t even have any of whatever this s*** is to give to myself. And I know I say it all the time and everyone is f***ing tired of hearing it but it’s the simple truth of it—I’m tired. I’ve got nothing left to give anymore. I never had anything to give it was just an imaginary idea used to bait me through my pre-existing innocence so that…and that’s where I go blank because what was that for? Was it to make the fall from innocence that much harder? Was it to make me that much more f***ed up when my buzz goes away and I can see straight again? I wish I had some kind of answer to some of my questions or at the very least I wish I could be naïve enough again to believe that whatever I was being fed were answers, even if they really weren’t. I would love to go back to being able to believe things after the first time again. Naïveté is a blessing in disguise if you ask me. But then again, there’s always more than one way to look at things so I guess I could be wrong just as much as I could be right on that one. On anything actually. This is what drives me crazy because there never is a stopping point. There never is that Ah-Ha Moment where it all comes together and unwinds in a nice little pile for you to pick through and nod your head. It’s not like mitosis where it’s this neat little cycle that never wavers and just keeps repeating. It’s never f***ing simple. Oh God forbid anything is ever simple. There’s so many different kinds of perception and faith and truth and understanding I just wish there was a clear cut way to think that always ended successfully but it’s like we always get caught off guard or lose track or focus and suddenly our thinking gets all muddled and we never really do get back on the same track again. We might find a similar track of thinking and get on that one but then the process repeats and by the time we shrivel up and die, we’ve lost too much of our memory to even remember what we were doing to begin with. And every time I think I might have myself figured out even a fraction more than I previously did in the last ten minutes, something comes along and f***s me up and I’m like damn I was so close and now I’m even more confused than before. I’d love to throw the towel in and call it a day but the thing is, even if I do that, I call it a day and go to bed, tomorrow the same thing starts all over. So I guess I was wrong when I said nothing is ever in a neat little cycle like mitosis but then again I think I was only half wrong. Because sure, there are cycles, but they aren’t neat. They’re confusing and complicated and you think there’s something good to gain from them and all you get is more f***ed up. And I know I sound like a whiney loser but shoot me man because that’s all I am. I’m not progressive. I’d like to be but whenever I try I find myself caught up in the same pile of s***. I know what I want. I know that just like everything else in my life though, I can’t have it. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m done making things worse. I’d rather just cut my losses, I mean, if I’m going to hell then send me now because sticking around is only gonna earn me a deeper pit to roast in anyways. And I know that. I can’t ever get past the s*** to be grateful for whatever the good stuff is. I can’t even tell what the good stuff is anymore and I try or at least I like the idea of trying but it just seems like it has stopped getting me anywhere. Or maybe it never got me anywhere and I was just still innocent and it’s taken until now for me to lose that innocence and I’m realizing that it never got me anywhere before either. There’s too many options man that’s what I mean. It’s all too f***ing complicated and the only thing that’s simple is not being here to deal with it because that’s the only other option. Be here and deal with it—which clearly I’m no good at because what I’ve been doing isn’t dealing with anything it’s not even surviving it’s just…decomposing and it’s going to bring me to the same point as my other option would be and that is—by ending it now. So I can go the agonizingly miserable route or I can go out the back door nice and easy. The only thing is (and here we go with the complications again) I refuse to kill myself because A)I’m a f***ing stubborn bitch like you’ve never seen B)it’s only going to make things more complicated for the people that decide to stick around for the bulls*** (even though they get to be complicated either way as I’ve already established) C) it’s against my religion and as negative and doubtful as I sound a part of me—s*** dude ALL of me—still respects what I believe too much to go astray from it. Yet I’m a hypocrite because there’s plenty of other stuff that I’ve strayed from as far as my belief goes. See that’s what I mean. I’m such a f***ing psycho I just don’t see the point in any of it. I don’t think I ever did I just think I used to have the heart to go around chasing A Point To All Of It until at some point that died out and I was like oh, so there’s no point and never was and instead of pretending there is so that I’ll have something to do, I’m just gonna sit here and wallow in the fact that I’m an idiot and there’s no point. Hurray I figured it out. There’s just too much hurt to live with though. I can’t take it anymore. Let me rephrase that though because I never could take it I just didn’t know there wasn’t a choice I figured I’d pile it up in the closet and something—nuclear decomposition maybe?—would make it go away or I would go away but either way I’d be away from it. God damn I said the word ‘away’ a lot in that sentence. Anyways though, at least for some people, for the duration of their comas they get a nifty little morphine button that will shoot them up every time they start thinking like this. For me though I‘m just sitting here rotting man. And you know how trees are, it takes a while for you to realize that they’re rotten because the outside still looks like a tree until it collapses and it’s like holy s*** the thing was dead all along, well how about that? And you know, for me, my morphine is stuff like helping people out, or those fiber-size moments where my ribs are filled with the sawdust of what I imagine is this thing someone made up and described and called love. But those moments are fewer and far between each time I think I’m having them and there used to be a point where I really thought they were real. Silly me. Because here’s what I think: for some people, love exists, sure. But it only exists in an imaginary form they’re just f***ing stupid enough to believe in it and to them I say you lucky bastards. And for everyone else, there is no love. In the end everyone ends up the same but some get to hit the morphine button as they go along and then some of us got left with the leaky IV bags and get none. Just like that one Little Piggy. Man I just feel like nothing is anything anymore. That’s what it boils down to. That piece of me says well there is a God and there is such thing as family and emotion and love and anger and hope and there’s a Master Plan and all that and I know it’s all true. But saying that is becoming something I just toss out there like yeah, sure, whatever kid. But the part that’s taking over is this part like that’s all true in the world but I’m not a part of the world. Like I got kicked out or something for being too f***ed up but the sucky part is if I had things my way it’s not like I would’ve chosen to be f***ed up. I wouldn’t have chosen to lose the only people that mean anything. I wouldn’t have chosen to have my childhood cut short. I wouldn’t have chosen for things to be complicated. I wouldn’t have chosen to be afraid to tell people how I feel and then when someone comes along and completely changes my world forever and gets me to be the person I never thought I would ever get to be because she didn’t really exist to begin with, I would tell them everything and trust them completely and be myself and allow all of my weaknesses to manifest and just melt into their hand only to realize that I had misjudged the distance of their hand and that it was never within reach and was never going to be. So now I’m a puddle all over the floor and everything I ever thought or ever hoped for so blindingly doesn’t exist. And I just don’t know what to do. I may be young but my life is one long f***ing story. I could never tell the whole thing to anyone, and the one time I tried to I realized, maybe I don’t even know it anymore. Maybe there never was one. Maybe that person doesn’t exist. I mean sure, they have limbs and they inhale and exhale and s*** but…maybe that’s it. Maybe, they don’t even look like how I think they look like. Maybe I just want to understand and be understood so f***ing badly, maybe I just want there to be a point so f***ing badly, maybe I just want love to exist so f***ing badly, maybe I just want to make it through my coma so f***ing badly that somehow I projected this creation into someone and maybe I don’t really know them at all. Maybe they don’t know me at all. Maybe all this time they’ve been saying excuse me miss but I’m not so-and-so and I really need to get going but I’ve just clawed them to me and won’t let them go and they just aren’t and won’t be and never could be and never were. And maybe that’s how everything is. That’s what everything feels like and that’s the only thing I’m certain about. For now anyways. Tomorrow I could probably write all about how that was wrong and come up with some new concept to vacuum it all into. Tomorrow might not even exist man. Maybe I’ll finally flat line, but you know, as much as I want that right now, if tomorrow does exist and it does come, maybe tomorrow I won’t want that anymore either. So, like I said, nothing is anything anymore. Nothing ever was.