Tag: hurt

wound

I am a wounded person. Sometimes I feel emotionally void. I feel like I have difficulty feeling, especially those closest to me. I feel as though my emotions were run dry in my youth, compounded with my radically demanding parents using their techniques of tough love to shape me up. Instead I feel void inside. Maybe its my friends, the guilt, hanging over my head for years as I tried coping with the thought of a suicide pact gone fucking wrong. Me trying to rationalize this notion of the responsibility lying on me, internally coping with these disastrous feelings with cutting, drugs and sick dark depressing thoughts of death. Anything to stop the feelings of guilt, emptiness and a lost sense of self value.

I want to feel comfort. Somewhere. I know you have to give it to get it, but I never felt it worked that way. I always felt like the more you gave, the more you could lose. Eventually I grew up with a superficial shield that guards my heart from over committing. It never surprises me when someone lets me down. It’s automatically expected. Its how I cope with disappointment and guilt. This problem transcends into my relationships. Friends are all right. I know that they mean a lot to me, and as long as I remain true, there is no reason for me to feel guilty about their lack of thought for me. I love unconditionally. I have a hard time feeling emotionally attached at times. I feel like I never have the right feelings even though the love is there. Women especially. I’m only receptive to an unconditional love. All else is typical. That’s why I want a mature woman. Women come and go. I can see through bullshit. I can see through petty games. I can also see when someone really cares about me. Despite their bullshit claims and antics to push me away. It hurts, yea. It hurts a lot, the games and hurt they throw my way, but I feel the love. If I didn’t I wouldn’t subject myself to it, and I would walk away unscathed. If I felt that they weren’t worth it, they weren’t worth my time and energy, I wouldn’t even waste my thoughts on them or their pathetic attempts to get under my skin. But when I feel love and when I feel that they are true, despite the bull, I subject myself to it. Not indefinitely, but my love for them resides deep within me. I may not show it, but my love it true. I may have a hard time wrapping my hands around what it means to me, but its there. I probably won’t do anything about it, cause i don’t waste my time with people who don’t give me the time, but I still obey the love. It burns within me. One day that love will be for someone who deserves it.

self-destruct

I’ve done every drug but heroin. I’ve tripped on so much fucking acid dozens of hits. Soo many shrooms; pounds homegrown and picked from pastures. I’ve done so much blow- innumerable ounces upon ounces. I’ve ate so many fuckin ecstasy- dozens upon dozens. I’ve smoked god knows how much reefer- pounds upon pounds. I’ve ate so much DXM. I’ve chomped down so many pain killers. and even more benzodiazepines like xanax klonopins and valiums. I’ve eatin so much fuckin ritalin. I’ve overdosed more times than I could ever remember. I’ve vomited enough to fill several bathtubs. im had more sex with the most beautiful girls. the most fucked up girls. I’ve been to more parties and met more people than most people do in a lifetime. I’ve done more keg stands. more beer bongs. more bongs. more fights. I’ve knocked out so many kids. I’ve been in so many brawls. I’ve got so many scars. I’ve cut myself so many times. I’ve burned myself so many times. I’ve pierced myself. I’m tatted. I’ve dyed my hair. I’ve been homeless. I’ve failed high school. I’ve had friends overdose to death; two of my closest friends hung themselves. till their eyes popped out of their head and their face went purple and blue like a infectious pimple. I’ve lost 30 pounds from not eating. I’ve gained 30 pounds from wanting to get big. I’ve crashed cars. I’ve flipped cars. I’ve had anxiety till I vomited. I struggle with it every day. I’ve had depression until I’ve overdosed into severe unconsciousness. depression where i prayed i wouldn’t wake up for years on end, where breathing became painful. I’ve seen so much fucked up shit. I’ve moved twelve times in six states and attended eleven different schools, public, private, boarding, all boys, very small, very large. I’ve been all over the fuckin country. I’ve seen the richest rich; the poorest poor. There isn’t much I haven’t seen; nothing surprises me.  I’ve been fucked up for weeks. Months. Can’t see straight; can’t remember last month. Last week. Last night. Don’t remember what the fucks been going on. I’ve been to concerts, raves, clubs, bars, strip clubs, pool parties, bonfires extravaganzas, mega bashes, basement parties, mansions, yacht parties. You fuckin name it. My god. None of that has ever left me the least bit content. Nope. Not at all. When that shits over I usually felt worse. The memories are good, but I can’t live in the past and forget about the now. That shit is all stupid. It fucks you up. Kills you. It’s a hole. A bottomless pit that eats you up and you fall faster and faster and it gets harder and harder to examine what reality looks like and you crash. Hard. I’m done living like that. life will be there when you wake up. Unless you never wake up. you make it good and worthwhile.

anyway.