My Awkward Life

I often wonder if I will ever burden anyone the way they’ve burdened me. I don’t think I will, but maybe it comes with age.

I’m very unhappy with my current life. I often wonder if that will change, too.

In the words of Linkin Park:

I tried so hard and got so far
But in the end, it doesn’t even matter
I had to fall to lose it all
But in the end, it doesn’t even matter

Is that what life amounts to? Is that what my life amounts to? In this moment, I’m thinking about grabbing a beer cap and fiercely rubbing it across my wrist until I no longer am able to think these thoughts. What will that change? When I get to the point where the blood is making it hard to grip the bottle cap, will I no longer care? Or will I be regretting that decision until the sounds around me become one loud hum? Will the wind stop to mourn my decease? My decease? My cease to exist? My de-cease? Will the bugs stop singing their songs? Will the air conditioner stop in my absence? No, I don’t think so. Life will go on, but my loved ones will think about what they were doing in that moment I took my last breath. Much like I thought of what I did during my dad’s last breath. I was talking to my online girlfriend, Kim. I believe we were either arguing or having phone sex. Maybe one before the other, but either way, he was not on my mind.

I often wonder if I’m holding on to false hope. A thick rope of hope that I believe is bound to a tangible idea that life will somehow become great. Or, am I mistaken that life is malleable? Are we destined for the inevitable or are we able to change it?

Every day, I feel like I’m in a daydream. You know the one. You’re staring at an inanimate object, dreaming of a life that is not yours while speaking to a person who is there, but is not there. You can touch them, but your mind cannot occupy the same space as theirs. You are not here. You are not present. You are dreaming, you are awake, you are not here, you are here. How? Help? No, don’t help me. I can do it on my own.

…right? Can’t I? I don’t know, man. I’m living, I’m alive, yet every day, i do things to kill myself. I drink, I smoke, I eat like shit. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. A body is a responsibility. A life is a responsibility.

I want to unload, I want the help, but every time I think about it, I get overwhelmingly exhausted and I opt out.

No, thank you. I decline the responsibility of living today. Ask me tomorrow. Oh, it’s tomorrow? No, let’s do it tomorrow. Somehow, it’ll figure itself out by then, through my own fault. I did it. Not life, not fate, not destiny, I did. No, I didn’t. I did nothing but the same thing I always do thinking life will change. Isn’t that the definition of insanity? The same thing I think my sister and grandmother suffer from? Do I suffer too? Is it really suffering if you don’t realize it?

I do, though. I do suffer. Because I do see my faults and shortcomings and I know I need to change, but I don’t know how. I shouldn’t trust anyone, yet somehow, I trust everyone. Help? No, don’t help me. I can’t be helped.

I sit here with my beer and cigarette knowing I shouldn’t be consuming either, yet consuming both. I disgust myself, I disgust you. I know, you don’t have to tell me.

Would I be best friends with my dad? Maybe, maybe not.

I don’t know how to navigate this world and I’m afraid I’ve spent so much of my adult life believing I did that I can’t steer myself onto the right path.

I just want to disappear sometimes and come back later when it’s all okay. Then again, sometimes I just don’t want to come back at all.