Day Thirteen

So here I am with pockets full of good intentions
But none of them will comfort me tonight
I’m wide awake at four a.m
Without a friend in sight
Hanging on a hope but I’m alright…

We spend so much time presenting a brave face. Smile and say, “It’s OK.” It’s a much bigger lie than, “The devil doesn’t exist,” or “I read the terms and conditions,” or “I won’t cum in your mouth.” It’s way more insidious or dangerous and leaves a far worse taste in your mouth.

Do we do it to save others the discomfort that even people who seem to have it all together are broken and staggering towards whatever horrors the day… or the night contains. What is it about the illusion of wellness that makes us do it. Maybe there is some kind of misguided altruism in us that wants others to have a safe harbor because we don’t want to see them hurting. Maybe there’s some kind of misguided pride that tells us that we are better people if we tough our way through whatever horrors the day… or the night contains.

Maybe we’re just trying to fool ourselves. If we just keep saying we’re OK, that somehow, magically, we’ll actually BE OK.

Day Twelve

And today is another day.
The aftermath.

Depression storms are worse than being blackout drunk. At least being drunk, I can blame the alcohol. With depression, I’m the only one to blame.

But the storm passes, in time, and the clouds pass and the sun shines again.

In time.
In time.

Another drop of that which will surely kill me.

There is no anti-venom to the poison of time.

Day Ten

Another day, another dollar, another day spent staring at a stupid computer monitor. It keeps the light on and food on the table it also keeps me from thinking about how shitty this life is. What would I be doing without this screen? I’d probably be sitting in a different room staring at a different screen. And if not, maybe I’d be somewhere else looking at an even bigger screen.

In any case, the result is the same. It’s more time that I can ignore the unfortunate truth of how alone I am and how crap my life is.

Though, for the record, crying at home alone is underrated.

Crying alone in public sucks! Everybody stares at you. And it’s not just the staring, it’s that damned pitying look that comes with it.

Poor man…
Poor bastard…
Look at that sad fucker.”
I guess it really just all depends on their temperament.

Crying at home usually gets you a few minutes behind on whatever you were otherwise doing. Crying in public usually gets you kicked out of whatever bar you’re in.

If I kicked everyone out of my life who didn’t put the same effort into our friendship as I did, I’d be alone.

Oh wait, I am.