Expressions of A Mentally Fucked
Today feels different. I feel hollow. Like a giant tree, but in the center is just a cavern full of echos and darkness. But it's a tree, so it feels homely still, even in the midst of the craziness.
Mostly I'm just tired of hiding. Hiding? Maybe more like lying. Yes, I have been lying to you. Most of you. Ok, pretty much all of you except a chosen few that made me feel comfortable enough that I didn't mind exploding my shit on them.
It use to be worse. I can see it getting better externally. But there are still those moments where I feel a void of shit anger and angst and anxiety about what?.... I don't even know.
If I had written this a year or two ago, you would see blood dripping from the moon as it fell like crimson honey to the earth below. I would stare up at the stars that I couldn't quite make out through the haze and drink in the madness.
There were days where I could barely make myself crawl out of bed. The only reason I did was because in order to sustain this beautiful fucking miserable life I was living, I had to walk around like a zombie and do what I needed to do to keep my head afloat. Nostrils barely staying above the numbness I felt.
I would say things like, "it's just one of those days", or "yeah, just tired today, not feeling it". Or maybe go silent all together and avoid everyone. Truth is I was dying. Literally fucking dying inside. And all I could do was silently scream into the void.
What was I supposed to say. Tell people who acted like they cared how I felt. But I didn't even know how I felt. I didn't know where this shit was coming from. And even if I did, that doesn't mean I would know how to express that.
I'm not one for labels and what not, though I do realize they have their place. I always fear that I would adopt a label as an identity like I see so many people do. But for the sake of understanding and feeling a little at ease with myself, I will tell you, alexithymia.
Its the inability to identify and describe emotions within the self. When I did come across this word it made me feel better. Like I wasn't actually crazy and there was an explanation for my emotional meanderings. But even then, it didn't help me with the daily nuances of HAVING NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT THE FUCK WAS HAPPENING.
I still don't. I think I have just gotten better at catching it. I'll notice the subtlety of a situation and know something is up, but not be able to tell where it is coming from or what it is. Add an extremely sheltered innocence on top of this and the world around me turns into a full on war. A war with "normal" people. A war of fuckings, and being taken advantage of. A war that taught me how to build the most epic of walls around my entire being. A war where I misread everything and everyone.
And even though I made the most valiant effort to do right by everyone and myself; in the end I found my self fucked from all sides. Alone. Hurt. Dying from the inside out. Screaming still louder into the silence of all the fucking noise and no one was hearing me.
When a girlfriend told me she loved me upon breaking up for the third time, I think I finally let out an actual audible scream. In my car of course, as I was taking a toke. To see the love I missed out on because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, fucking slit me open. To hear someone actually tell me to my face that they loved me....dear fucking christ!
I stopped telling my friends I loved them a while ago because it got to the point that it all seemed fake. I even stopped hugging people so much, because I didn't see the authenticity in it. Hugs even felt shallow. Words felt shallow.
I would drown myself in alcohol and God's green wonder just to maintain an edge of sanity. And that is what society has offered me.
I know that being sheltered to such an extreme level, where I literally missed out on my entire generation's cultural renderings, has something to do with the grander picture, or life purpose, whatever the hell that is.
I know that growing up in a Christian cult was part of some grander plan. But seriously, what the fuck? Is the world supposed to be this mad? Is it supposed to be so goddamn backwards that I can barely wake up in the morning without feeling despair and and an ache so deep within me that it seemed it would be easier to burn this treachery to the ground and just start over?
And I think what might have been the cherry on top of all this insanity, was knowing that there was beauty in the world. I could remember seeing it. I could remember tasting it. I could remember feeling it. But how it looked, how it tasted, how it felt I could not remember its details of splendor.
Even the things I knew where beautiful seemed pale and gray. No life.
Why am I writing this? Because, how I feel right now, these are the thoughts that come to mind. I don't feel how I felt two years ago. I feel loads better. I mentioned that it's still homely. But its like a reminiscence of sorts.
Like as if I have never actually fully expressed it. And this is the idea to my meanderings of thought and memory. To express myself.
I was so suppressed as a child growing up. I was told that all the things that made me feel good were sinful. I was never allowed to explore my own self. It was the church's way or hell. A literal lake of burning black fire, where people scream in anguish for eternity and get to look up and actually witness everyone in heaven.
Wow, that's fucking poetic.
And now here I am, almost nine years after I concretely decided that what I was taught was a lie, and I'm still struggling. Its so much better now, don't get me wrong. But this idea of expression and showing myself and the world who I am without hesitation or shame still cripples me sometimes.
But that is why I write. I love writing. I love the way I can express a thought through written word in ways that speaking just doesn't do for me.
And then there is the posting it online where anyone can see it. I use to think it wasn't anyone's business. I used to think it didn't matter. But the more I forthrightly express how I feel and who I have come to know that I am, I find a sense of freedom I have never felt. I find comfort in the presence of facing my own fear.
It's not about telling a certain number of people. It's not about making people even understand me. Its about me, looking at myself and finding peace in how I feel most vulnerable and then expressing that in the most authentic way I know how. Then, facing the fear of others knowing and just putting it on a public forum. For some reason, in some way, it helps me.
So to all the mentally fucked individuals. The riff raff, the artist, the genius, the contemplative, the dancer, the king, the queen, the morbid, the dying, the screaming, the lost, the fairy, the lonely in a sea of people, you are not alone.
And as cliche as that sounds, I know, fuck that. In the name of your own sanity, which is a beautiful fucking insanity, DO YOU!
Love your madness, love your hopelessness, love your loneliness. Even if you cringe at the thought of the word love. Just say it. Tell yourself you love the darkest parts of you.
Tell yourself it will get better. When everyone plays a game and says they care, and turn around and fuck you in the ass, tell yourself it will get better. Fight, scratch, claw, scream if you have too. Throw rocks over a cliff, let yourself cry, be rid of those that you find don't treat you how you know deep down you should be treated, and tell yourself you love every bit of it.
It's darkest before the dawn. Its from the black void of nothingness that all light comes from.
Find something new to do. Stimulate your mind, drink a goddamn bottle of Jack if you have too, but take the next step forward.
It's ok to be insane. We're all just mad God's of our own existence anyway.
I love you.
'La Loving Logan'
Mostly I'm just tired of hiding. Hiding? Maybe more like lying. Yes, I have been lying to you. Most of you. Ok, pretty much all of you except a chosen few that made me feel comfortable enough that I didn't mind exploding my shit on them.
It use to be worse. I can see it getting better externally. But there are still those moments where I feel a void of shit anger and angst and anxiety about what?.... I don't even know.
If I had written this a year or two ago, you would see blood dripping from the moon as it fell like crimson honey to the earth below. I would stare up at the stars that I couldn't quite make out through the haze and drink in the madness.
There were days where I could barely make myself crawl out of bed. The only reason I did was because in order to sustain this beautiful fucking miserable life I was living, I had to walk around like a zombie and do what I needed to do to keep my head afloat. Nostrils barely staying above the numbness I felt.
I would say things like, "it's just one of those days", or "yeah, just tired today, not feeling it". Or maybe go silent all together and avoid everyone. Truth is I was dying. Literally fucking dying inside. And all I could do was silently scream into the void.
What was I supposed to say. Tell people who acted like they cared how I felt. But I didn't even know how I felt. I didn't know where this shit was coming from. And even if I did, that doesn't mean I would know how to express that.
I'm not one for labels and what not, though I do realize they have their place. I always fear that I would adopt a label as an identity like I see so many people do. But for the sake of understanding and feeling a little at ease with myself, I will tell you, alexithymia.
Its the inability to identify and describe emotions within the self. When I did come across this word it made me feel better. Like I wasn't actually crazy and there was an explanation for my emotional meanderings. But even then, it didn't help me with the daily nuances of HAVING NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT THE FUCK WAS HAPPENING.
I still don't. I think I have just gotten better at catching it. I'll notice the subtlety of a situation and know something is up, but not be able to tell where it is coming from or what it is. Add an extremely sheltered innocence on top of this and the world around me turns into a full on war. A war with "normal" people. A war of fuckings, and being taken advantage of. A war that taught me how to build the most epic of walls around my entire being. A war where I misread everything and everyone.
And even though I made the most valiant effort to do right by everyone and myself; in the end I found my self fucked from all sides. Alone. Hurt. Dying from the inside out. Screaming still louder into the silence of all the fucking noise and no one was hearing me.
When a girlfriend told me she loved me upon breaking up for the third time, I think I finally let out an actual audible scream. In my car of course, as I was taking a toke. To see the love I missed out on because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, fucking slit me open. To hear someone actually tell me to my face that they loved me....dear fucking christ!
I stopped telling my friends I loved them a while ago because it got to the point that it all seemed fake. I even stopped hugging people so much, because I didn't see the authenticity in it. Hugs even felt shallow. Words felt shallow.
I would drown myself in alcohol and God's green wonder just to maintain an edge of sanity. And that is what society has offered me.
I know that being sheltered to such an extreme level, where I literally missed out on my entire generation's cultural renderings, has something to do with the grander picture, or life purpose, whatever the hell that is.
I know that growing up in a Christian cult was part of some grander plan. But seriously, what the fuck? Is the world supposed to be this mad? Is it supposed to be so goddamn backwards that I can barely wake up in the morning without feeling despair and and an ache so deep within me that it seemed it would be easier to burn this treachery to the ground and just start over?
And I think what might have been the cherry on top of all this insanity, was knowing that there was beauty in the world. I could remember seeing it. I could remember tasting it. I could remember feeling it. But how it looked, how it tasted, how it felt I could not remember its details of splendor.
Even the things I knew where beautiful seemed pale and gray. No life.
Why am I writing this? Because, how I feel right now, these are the thoughts that come to mind. I don't feel how I felt two years ago. I feel loads better. I mentioned that it's still homely. But its like a reminiscence of sorts.
Like as if I have never actually fully expressed it. And this is the idea to my meanderings of thought and memory. To express myself.
I was so suppressed as a child growing up. I was told that all the things that made me feel good were sinful. I was never allowed to explore my own self. It was the church's way or hell. A literal lake of burning black fire, where people scream in anguish for eternity and get to look up and actually witness everyone in heaven.
Wow, that's fucking poetic.
And now here I am, almost nine years after I concretely decided that what I was taught was a lie, and I'm still struggling. Its so much better now, don't get me wrong. But this idea of expression and showing myself and the world who I am without hesitation or shame still cripples me sometimes.
But that is why I write. I love writing. I love the way I can express a thought through written word in ways that speaking just doesn't do for me.
And then there is the posting it online where anyone can see it. I use to think it wasn't anyone's business. I used to think it didn't matter. But the more I forthrightly express how I feel and who I have come to know that I am, I find a sense of freedom I have never felt. I find comfort in the presence of facing my own fear.
It's not about telling a certain number of people. It's not about making people even understand me. Its about me, looking at myself and finding peace in how I feel most vulnerable and then expressing that in the most authentic way I know how. Then, facing the fear of others knowing and just putting it on a public forum. For some reason, in some way, it helps me.
So to all the mentally fucked individuals. The riff raff, the artist, the genius, the contemplative, the dancer, the king, the queen, the morbid, the dying, the screaming, the lost, the fairy, the lonely in a sea of people, you are not alone.
And as cliche as that sounds, I know, fuck that. In the name of your own sanity, which is a beautiful fucking insanity, DO YOU!
Love your madness, love your hopelessness, love your loneliness. Even if you cringe at the thought of the word love. Just say it. Tell yourself you love the darkest parts of you.
Tell yourself it will get better. When everyone plays a game and says they care, and turn around and fuck you in the ass, tell yourself it will get better. Fight, scratch, claw, scream if you have too. Throw rocks over a cliff, let yourself cry, be rid of those that you find don't treat you how you know deep down you should be treated, and tell yourself you love every bit of it.
It's darkest before the dawn. Its from the black void of nothingness that all light comes from.
Find something new to do. Stimulate your mind, drink a goddamn bottle of Jack if you have too, but take the next step forward.
It's ok to be insane. We're all just mad God's of our own existence anyway.
I love you.
'La Loving Logan'
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