Getting hit by a freight train feels like this...

I’m afraid of the improbable and the impossible; of wounding hearts and hands. It’s like shooting at a glass moon and watching it shatter to a million pieces only to be plagued by the duty of having to pick up the pieces and putting it back together.  It’s a never-ending vicious cycle and things are never the same again.  The cracks and holes will always be there for the whole world to feast on – broken and torn.  Once that’s done, you sink deeper and deeper.  It’s cigarette depression – to quote a phrase from a book I have never read.  It just fills you up and decays you from inside out – rotting, fouling up. Failure had always been me.  An ever constant presence that eats at my insides.  Success is but an elusive dream that never comes but is always gone. I feel like I’m on the wrong side of a gun.  Cocked, locked and loaded and pressed against the temple of my head filled with useless thoughts of death and uncalled for redemption.  To use the cliché, I’m caught between

She thought her relationship with her friends already seemed unhealthy.  As the days progress, she feels more and more like an outsider and it was driving her insane.  There’s always that hitch in her throat and her heart palpitates with so much sadness to see their friendship fall apart.  There’s also this insane idea in her brain that either she’s the only one who notices it or that she’s really that much different from them.  She’s just really, totally, and outrageously different from her friends. She wasn’t cool.  She was a geek pretending to be cool, and the pretension was getting to her.  It was eating her from the inside – an insatiable termite living in her psyche. She was tired of always having to put on masks and barriers and walls all around her.  It was making her hurt all over more and more each day.  The walls that she had put up were starting to close in on her and she had no one else to blame but herself. Her chest felt heavy with so much anger, frustration

I was immensely depressed way back in October 2008.  Ironically, that was my birth month, but during that time, I was in an extremely dark place.  I just wanted to die, but didn't seem to have the resolve to go through it.  So I wrote.  I wrote and I wrote and I wrote until I finally had fucks to give again. The next two essays that I am going to post are from the darkness inside my head back during that year.  I was messed up; completely and utterly fucked in the head, and these writings are illustrations of the vulnerable, broken (like I'm not broken until now...) 28-year old me stripped bare of everything. These are the thoughts in my fucked up (yes, I cannot emphasize that any more than I am physically capable of) head.