I would like a place I could call my own
Have a conversation on the telephone
Wake up every day that would be a start
I would not complain about my wounded heart
Just wait till tomorrow
I guess that’s what they all say
Just before they fall apart
- New Order — Regret
I have to write this or I will lose my mind.
People don’t understand me. They just see the externals and judge.
But I have fucked up too many times and I am sick of living with something I apparently can’t control.
I have everything I need to start a podcast and yet I hang back, too afraid to take the step.
My job is killing me but no one really understands why.
They keep me in a bubble here and watch for signs of instability. I guess the cops are on speed dial. They always are.
I am here but I am not a part of here. I am a walking definition of ‘tolerance.’
The worst feeling in life is being left out. And I’ve felt that all my life.
I’m tired of trying to explain the people who live in my head.
‘You’re not really mentally ill – you have a personality disorder – you’re just an asshole.’
Spirituality let me down. Whenever I miss going to church and being a part of a congregation, I remember how I was treated because I wasn’t among the gifted and gifting. And I have a hard time believing in God.
It’s true what they say – we all die alone in one form or another.
Maybe I expected too much.
I have been knocked down and gotten up to try again so many times. Is there a limit?
I am not alone. But that doesn’t comfort me.
Both of my ex-wives became incredibly self-sufficient and thrived after I was gone.
I feel like battery acid with legs.
It wasn’t always like this. I was fucked up from the beginning but I had friends. I remember the beer runs, our favorite pizza joint, all-night poker and Indians games. All gone.
I’m tired. So tired. And I’m sorry. For everything.