I’ve been thinking about my deceased brother a lot lately. His birthday was March 13th, and the 10th anniversary of his death is coming up in a couple more weeks. I’ve been thinking about in particular how much he loved opiates, and my fiendish accounts of the same. Perhaps it was in his genetic makeup to love opiates, and in mine. It could have been in his blood, so to speak, and in my blood as I write this. Perhaps it’s due to mental illness that is prevalent in my Mother’s side of the family. Maybe we are weak minded people. Maybe it was due to his dreams dying at a young age, as did mine, destroying our abilities and making us miserable, making us want to escape reality due to that the fact that our reality showed the fact that he and I would never find whatever it is or was, that we were looking for. Who knows?
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I’ll Make It Better
I’m sorry I’m not a better friend. I’ll make it better.
I’m sorry I’m not a better companion. I’ll make it better.
I’m sorry I’m not a better lover. I’ll make it better.
I’m sorry I’m not a better father. I’ll make it better
I’m sorry for all of the seedy, shady things I’ve ever done. I’ll make it better.
I’m sorry I’m a hypocrite. I’ll make it better.
I’m sorry for all of the mean things I’ve ever said or done. I’m sorry my spite gets the best of me. I’ll make it better.
I’m sorry that my mind makes things worse than they actually are. I’ll make it better.
I’m sorry I’m crazy. I’m sorry I’m not better looking, that I’m gaining weight, that I have things physically wrong with me all together. I’ll make it better.
Just to see your smile, to touch your skin, to smell your hair, and to hug you is enough to make me be a better person. Let me try. Honestly let me try.
From this day on, I’m going to be the man who I want to be, not the man I have been. I want to love you the way that you deserve. I will.
I’ll make it better.
It Is What It Is
I wish I had known you when they did.
At least I would have had a turn at ruining you, just like they did.
Perhaps I could have not known you at all.
Now, I get what’s left of you, thanks to them, and thanks to you for allowing it.
At least with them, you found it fun. Now, it’s just an annoyance.
Do I feel any sympathy or empathy for you?
No. I believe you liked it.
You show no shame in the nasty things you have done.
Why would I feel for you?
If our pasts make us who we are today, I’m a self-loathing, self-centered, womanizing drug addict.
What does that make you?
The Sadness
I had a fraction of a huge conversation last night about the subject of suicide and depression. It was just a small talk. I stated that I don’t understand how there aren’t more suicides everyday than there already are, especially when dealing with depression. I have bouts with depression every day. It’s extremely painful. My last post was about feeling hope, and was rather positive. I do have hope, and I try to remain positive. The depression only bleeds through and gives me doubt every now and then. However, sometimes the hope and happiness bleed through the depression and makes me doubt my happiness. It’s a constant battle, and it’s amazingly cruel and painful.
The worst part about being depressed is how it affects other people. It makes them feel like they are the cause, or that they are unable to make you happy, or that you just have a bad, negative attitude on life. It makes people wonder how the feelings of sadness, hopelessness, and loneliness are even possible when everyday interaction and smiles are exchanged. It’s difficult to explain. I can’t blame anything in particular for making me sad. I can’t explain what I’m sad about. All I can say is that it’s nobody’s fault that I feel depressed when I am depressed. There isn’t anything that can be done. They say that meds help, but I have yet to find one that does. It’s this huge weight of dread, guilt, hopelessness, and fear that lays heavy on my heart. On my soul, if you believe in that type of thing. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there, and it’s miserable. Maybe it’s because I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing with my life, accompanied by not knowing what it is that I’m supposed to be doing with my life? Maybe it’s because I neglect the passions in my life? It feels like if I want to spend more time doing the things that bring me passion and happiness, those around me would get neglected. Maybe I get sad because I’ve never done the things that I’ve truly wanted to do. Who knows? Like I said, I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there, nonetheless.
The funny thing is, I feel more comfortable writing this out rather than saying it to someone. Rather than saying it to anyone, really. I’m afraid I’ll be made fun of, or completely misunderstood. I feel that no one would listen or take me seriously enough because it’s so confusing. It’s frustrating to feel like this. It’s frustrating to feel like there is no way to explain what’s going on in my mind to anyone, not even professionals. Feeling like that makes it seem as though I am truly alone. That I have to put on the act of being okay when I’m not, because no one understands, and if they did, they wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t take me seriously. They would point the finger at me and say that it’s all my fault for feeling the way I do. I’m a strange cookie, I guess. I can put on a game face and talk to anyone. I can put on a game face and connect with anyone. The problem is, that gives off a false impression that my world is great, and that nothing is ever wrong. Maybe I just think too much? Who knows? The show must go on either way.
There are some cures to my depression. When I feel so hopeless that it’s hard to breath, I get in touch with my best friend and talk about music. I talk about the music we used to love when we were young. We talk about members of bands that we’ve always adored, we talk about different types of music, we talk about shows we used to go to, shows we would like to go to, and how much things have changed. We talk about things that we know. It takes my mind off of everything. It makes me feel like I did when I was young. I would like to say that it makes me happy, or that it makes me remember a time when I was happy. The truth is, I don’t know if I’ve ever truly been happy. The even worse thing is, I can’t blame anyone for my unhappiness. Things are so much easier when you can blame someone or something. I can’t. This will be misconstrued as me being a crybaby, or me being an asshole. No one is to blame. I guess it’s just how I’m wired. I don’t want anyone thinking that they have ever been the cause of my unhappiness, or that I am or have ever been unhappy due to them. That’s not the case whatsoever. The people in my life give me joy, the people in my life give me purpose, the people in my life are the only things that bring a sense of hope and happiness that I have. Without them, all is lost.
Enough rambling. Back to my point. It is surprising that there aren’t more suicides. The feeling that I experience sadness every day. When I’m not feeling it, I still know it’s there waiting to rear up its ugly head. I’ve been extremely selfish before, but I’m not selfish enough to end it due to the pain that my depression causes me. I have too many people who I would let down if I were gone. I have too much life to live to let go. I’d be a horrible therapist, because I couldn’t sit and tell someone that the pain is worth living through. I hope it is. All I know is that, tomorrow is another day. It’s another day that is unknown. You never know what tomorrow is going to bring. It may be good, it may be bad, it may be exactly the same as the day before. The point is, you are never going to know unless you live to see it. Hold on.
Blind Hope
It feels good to have hope. Over the last four years or so, there have been times that I’ve felt extremely lost, lonely, helpless, and without hope. Even though when I would try to put things in perspective by realizing that there are people out there that have nothing, I have still had those horrible, dismal feelings. They say that misery loves company, so during these bouts of hopelessness, I’ve managed to make those around me miserable. Some people have stood by me, waited, and weathered the storms with me. Others have jumped ship. I don’t blame them at all.
Ever since I got out of the military, I’ve tried to figure out who I am. Over the last four years I’ve attempted to pick up the pieces of who I was before I joined the military. Combining them with the pieces that are left of what I got out of the military, it’s been a struggle to make sense of it all. I’ve done what I thought I was supposed to do. Through all of it, I still don’t know who the hell I am. I learn more everyday.
I’ve made a ton of mistakes, and I feel like an asshole over most of them. I’ve learned from them, and I’ve tried to be a better person because of them. I’m still trying to do my best, but sometimes it doesn’t seem good enough. Through all of these situations, mistakes, and bad luck, I’ve felt utterly hopeless at times. But, I’m still alive, and I still have a purpose. I get ashamed of myself for getting so down and out due to the things that I’m blessed with.
Lately, I’ve truly started to see all of the things I’m blessed with. I just graduated college with a double major that I worked long and hard for. I’m going to be starting on my master’s degree in the fall. I’ve maintained a roof over my head, and I’ve always been able to keep food in my belly, along with anyone that I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with. I’ve got friends and family that love me, and I have a wonderful lady that loves me enough to have a child with me. All of these things I have, and I am truly blessed because of it. Because of these things, I have hope. Because of this hope, I’m looking forward to whatever tomorrow brings. Because of this hope, I’m no longer dwelling on the bad things I’ve done, and the horrible mistakes that I’ve made. This hope is helping me find out who I am, and who I want to be. I’m starting to slowly like who I am. I’ve never felt that way before. It feels good to have hope.
In the many days of our lives,
We are bound to be hurt by others.
Hurt by their action, hurt by their stinging words.
Deep can be the injury.
Bitter our hearts can turn.
But all the wise teachers and the compassionate gurus,
Have taught us to avoid subjecting ourselves,
To the second round of hurt.
Hurt that comes from our holding onto hatred-
Propagating a destructive energy,
Eating into our soul.
We know the Past cannot be changed.
So past events cannot be reversed.
But we also know,
The future is yet to be determined.
Healing comes from self,
By wanting to move on,
And dropping the drama.
To love self enough,
Is to present self with a better picture,
Of a healthier body and mind.
Detachment is the key ingredient of the cure-
The wonderful medicine of a healing heart.
Everyone deserves a second chance in life,
But…
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Sunlight
Sometimes, you can be deep in thought and worry, look up, and see the sun shining through the clouds in a way that makes you know that everything is going to be just fine. These pictures aren’t much on the technical photography side, but I had to post them. Cheers.
“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”
“Time is a created thing. To say ‘I don’t have time,’ is like saying, ‘I don’t want to.”
― Lao Tzu
“Time is precious, but truth is more precious than time.”
Time, an element whose importance can’t really be expressed in any form. Time lost, well, is Time gone. There is no way of getting it back, ever. I’m pretty sure everyone has felt at some time of their life, if they could go back, or change some things, or just predict/construct out the future in their mind, manipulating it exactly the way they want. I know I’ve done that.
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Nearly everyone has seen a coin toss. Many have tossed a coin. The landing is significant here. By a bit of simple inertia imparted onto it, the coin slips through the air, flipping over and over, then finally landing on a surface to reveal only one side. Is this random? Just chance alone? In the sphere of happenstance, the coin is like the human experience.
Are we all like the coin; stamped, beveled, polished, flipped then spent? We surely can be if we desire. But most desire it not. No matter, the coin is solid and human. The coin is the working of polarity. One side is opposite the other, and starkly different; much like the persona. Only we must see the fabric that binds the sides together; we must witness the essence of spirit.
I knew a man once who was admiringly friendly. A friend to all; he could…
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The World I Live In 