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....

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 fel...

Recently, my brain's been a muddled mixture of "what if's" "maybe if" "should I" "I really shouldn't" and "fuck that's" and it's been a dizzying emotional rollercoaster that gets quite exhausting after a while.  As a fan of the "It gets better" motto, this shouldn't really bother me that much, but surprisingly, it does.  To say that I'm confused would be the understatement of the year.  Lost is more appropriate, I think. Whether it's with work or life, I just feel lost.  Not empty, mind you.  Just really freaking lost.  I miss those days when I'd just got to Starbucks and people-watch while I sip my frappucino, chain-smoke, and type a blog entry furiously on my phone so I can immediately post something when I get home. And this blog entry just made me realize that maybe I should do that today...well, tomorrow, maybe, not today.  Definitely before I go back to work on Thursday.  It might ...

I love my quiet time, my “me” time. Sitting at Starbuck’s, sipping my frapuccino, cigarette between my fingers, and a good book to keep me company while a good rock band is pounding in my ears. Life is good when I can have moments like these. A time when I can just sit back, relax, and watch the world pass me by as I ponder the existence of my life. Or just a small portion of my life when I can sit still and empty my always churning mind.  This is my moment. My silence. The only time I can actually act sane. Chaos is overrated as it is. Silence is constant.  I live for solitude. My solitude. I act like a social person, may even interact with other people with the best of them. But really, my heart beats to the music of loneliness. Loneliness with sadness is only a part of it. Loneliness with calmness and peace is really what I strive to achieve. And I am able to do so when I am able to experience moments of solitude where I can just blend with the background and watch pe...