Category: Uncategorized

feeling rotten.

how’s that for an amazing status check.

p.s. the links in the last post don’t work. so… you might have to find them on your own.

Just want to share this band… Thanks to Bre for scouting and downloading them to my computer for my listening enjoyment.

Below is the link to Azureus (BitTorrent Client) and the torrent file.

Download SILVER MT ZION

So, Battlefield 2142 came out last week. I’ve been playing it pretty fiercely. I think I suck at it though. Well, i’m not horrible, but I’m not great. But so long as I am playing I don’t have to think and I don’t have to want anything.

I Fucking… i repeat, fucking hate winter. I think my mood must be connected to the temperature/pressure of the air, cause i always get miserable this time of year and i don’t come out of it till early spring.

So there’s this box, called the Happiness Box. It’s more like a machine with cushions in it, not unlike a casketlike container in which an astronaut might sleep on a long space voyage. The box is equipped with electrodes and a life-support system that can keep a person alive for atleast what would be a normal lifetime. During that entire period, users of the machine would feel nothing but a continuous state of pleasure and contentment – no traumas, no depressions, no anxiety, no bad days, no failures, no unhappy breakups, no fears of impotence or going broke or losing face or getting fucked over. Use of the machine is entirely voluntary, and a person can decide to get out of the box at any time, even after just a few minutes. But no one whgo gets into the box has ever decided to get out of it. They all stay in for the duration of their lifetimes, smiling contently, their bodies withering up and going out of shape like a beanbag, eventually forgotten by old friends and relatives, though they couldn’t care less. They are happy. They are sleeping pleasantly through life.

I have everything I need and I have exactly what I want.

yup… still feel alone. wow, this is uncomfortable. i don’t know what i am supposed to do with myself. crazy. waiting all day and night for that text message, that phone call, that msn message, that post on the blog, to affirm to me that someone is thinking about me. wow.

just took apart two of my computers and mixed the parts up and put them back together. then took them apart again and put them back in to their orignal forms.

now i’m sitting on my bed thinking about what nick does when he is alone. uhm. might read a book? uhm. might watch a movie by myself? all i want is to cuddle with her. and i can almost make myself believe i would be doing it for the right reasons.

bullocks.

so…. fuck.

Ya know what? I have never actually experienced being alone.

Not that I can remember anyway. Let’s just skip my teens and adolescent years, cause back then I had organized religion and i don’t want to talk about it. But I will say that it must have given me something, must have filled some void that was soon to be filled by… marijuana. I thought I had found my maker. I worshipped it. It completely changed the way I looked at the world, the people around me, and most importantly me. I felt alright. Then came a flury of psychadelics, alcohol, downers and uppers. I was never alone. I was totally accompanied by them at all times. There was not an activity I would pursue that did not involve me getting high or down on something. That sorta trend led it time to the new love of my life: meth.

When I was in treatment, for said drug addictions, one of the first ‘activities’ I was told to do was write a love letter personifying my drug of choice. I was to write a love letter to meth telling her why I could no longer be with her and that I could never see her again. Of course, if you know the story I would see her again, a mere 8 months later, when I relapsed and spent another year and a bit in an on again off again sorta affair. Thrown in to this mix was Briony, a girl whom today I love dearly, but back then we shared two common interests: meth and trying to get off meth. Between the two of them our hands were full. It was several months of wanting to be with the girl and wanting to be with meth and the two never mixed. Eventually I quit them both. But without even a day in between I was on to a new girl, Breanna. I’m taking too long to make my point.

After Breanna I was straight in to Lorea. After Lorea I was straight in to Tamar. All in all, looking back on it I have not actually had to be alone in my own skin since I was fucking in treatment, and even then there were enough crazy girls coming off drugs to keep me occupied.

I don’t know what it is like to be alone. It freaks the fuck out of me. I always want someone nearby. Someone with me. Someone to call and someone to be in my bed at night. I want someone to laugh with, to be afraid of, to worry about, to have worry about me. I tech out on a girl and use them like I used drugs. I had an inkling that this is what was going on but I always wanted it to be different and in doing so deluded myself in to thinking I was in love or something. I am not by any means discounting all the emotions I felt for those women. I love all of them today, right now. What I am talking about is me and my fucked up way of dealing with women. I don’t know how I am supposed to just be alone. But I feel I won’t know until I do it, just like I didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side until I got off drugs.

It’s unhealthy. It makes me uncomfortable and it makes me sad. I hope that is enough for you to convince you that I am not running away, I am taking a step back to realize that I am fucked and I need to get the help I need to get. More importantly, that is help that I need to get for myself, and not help that you can provide for me.

I am uninstalling messenger from my computer. I told Bre I would not flirt/talk/sleepwith/fuck any girls for a month. She didn’t propse it, I told her I would cause I am interested to know what will happen to me if i do. More over, I am going to be celebate for the next year. K, maybe that’s a long time. But, just for tomorrow, I am going to be celebate.

fuck I hope this works. fuck i am lonely right now. fuck saying all this makes me feel so alone. it’s like giving up your security blanket. I jsut want to know how to be in a relationship and not be used and use others. I want to learn how to let go.

I’m crying. my god, i am crying. how fucking pathetic.

this weather sucks so bad oh my god it makes me want to die.

and then i sit here alone, with my cock in my hand. the only thing that i know for sure will make me happy. sometimes masturbation just seems so fucking carnal and pathetic. i sometimes imagine dying while masturbating and that would be the freeze frame moment that would capture my existence: being totally fucking alone trying in vain to satisfy some unquenchable, unknowable desire and never quite making it. in many ways i feel like a failure. and this is not a fucking pity party. fuck you. your pity just excites my sickness. I like it when you care, secretly it’s what keeps me sick. getting a rise out of you. making you pay attention to poor pathetic me. i think i need to come to terms with things and i don’t know where to start. seems like no one has the answers. seems like everyone has their distractions in life to keep them from the ultimate truth. what that is? i dunno. your guess. that we are born alone, live alone deluding ourselves in to thinking we are not alone and then die alone? seems cliche but pretty fucking basic.

bah. fuck it all.

I got some really harsh news yesterday.

I still sort of don’t believe it.
I still am wishing it will turn out to be not true.
The implications of it are too much for me to even think about.
I don’t know what to fucking do.
The good old standard suicidal/drug-using thoughts accompany.
I didn’t show up to work today.
I read this kid’s book when i was younger. In one of the stories, this girl has to give a presentation in class. The story is just her internal monologue while she is standing in front of the others. I distinctly remember her saying she wishes she could just slip through the cracks in the floor, as she rubbed the cracks with the toe of her shoe.
fuck i hate this blog business. it was a lot easier to be entirely honest and open when i was fucked up on drugs and couldn’t feel anything anyway.