Today I realize, just how dead I am.
How mentally dead and how spiritually dead I am.
I’m basicly just a zombie; physically alive, but dead in all other aspects.
There is no purpose to my life. There really is no reason for me to be alive.
What do I produce or contribute to the world. Nothing.
O.K., maybe somebody would miss me. But the same advice would be given that was given to me.
“Time heals all wounds.”; “You grieve, and then you move on.” “You need to forget and move on with your life.”
I will be forgotten and people will move on with their lives.
I have already been forgotten by some, and I’m not even dead yet.
I should just finish the job, but I’m not even capable of that.
What am I capable of?
Am I capable?
Anyway, enough with all of this.
Enough spending every major holiday…every single weekend for that matter, holed up in my room fasting/starving myself for most of it.
Enough spending time thinking about cutting myself. I def. have Livejournal to thank for that one.
Enough spending time thinking that life is like the show Friends, or some other hip and witty sitcom. My friends will never come barging through my door to take me on a cruise or a trip to Vegas, where we will get into lots of “hijinks”, and I learn a life lesson of some sort. Or to the Peach Pit, where I run into Mick Jagger and help Aerosmith out somehow…Actually Areosmith is probably too famous. Maybe Hoobastank, or heaven help me Avril Lavigre. Anyway, the truth is that people are too busy taking care of themselves and their families. Things like house payments, braces for kids, soccer practice, diapers, wedding announcements, and couples nights. The truth is I have nothing to offer to most of them and just dropped the dead weight that is me, which I would probaby do to myself if I was sane in some way. And most of them are tired of me, the rest will come around and see the truth sooner or later.
Enough spending time in trying to find God. My knees have had more than enough punishment done to them, according to my doctor. He thought that they were callused and worn out from me being on my knees at work. If he only knew if was from being on my knees praying. Praying for nothing it seems. Well, maybe not nothing. God has thrown out the rope to me, otherwise I would have been locked up or dead a couple of months ago. But what is the point of throwing a rope to someone if you are not going to help pull them into the boat and save them? Well, fuck it, I should just let go and drown then. Drown and realize the fact that God is all knowing and he knows that my ass can’t be saved, or rather he won’t save me.
Enough spending time holding on to memories and having faith in a love that isn’t there. No matter how hard I hold on to the belief/delusion that I love Suzanne and that if I somehow hold on to that love, then I will be somehow rewarded with Suzanne comming back in my life. While that would work wonderfully in a Hollywood script or in a romance novel, this is real life. The power of my love will not bring back Suzanne to me. In fact, Suzanne has probably no given me a second thought (or a first thought) in over a year now…O.K. more like 9-10 months…That and the fact that I still don’t know why she broke up with me, that I am the only thing that makes her cry, and the promise that I made that I would not try to see her again. Enough.
Enough of me feeling sorry for myself and letting life pass me by. Enough hiding out in this room in Pacifica, hiding out from my roommates, who are hiding out from their own problems. Enough hurting myself inside and out, in order just to feel some kind of feeling to prove to myself that I am still alive.
Enough already. Kill it. End it already.
In two day I start my psychiatric theropy. I get to pay someone to listen to all of my “problems” and they get to analyze me, blame my parents and my ego (or is it my id; or the super ego) for the mess that I’m in, and then dope me up with pills, so I can become a happy, productive member of society. On Paxil, on Prozac; on welbutrin, on zoloft. Come turn me from a sad little blob hiding in my cave to a happy little blob, dancing in the field with the other blobs. Of course, there is that little list of side effects, but most of those can be cured with Pepto and Levetra (or Cexil (?); or Viagra)….
The point is that I have miserably failed at life, and in order to finish the journey, I need to be doped up for it. Who knows, if this doesn’t work, I could always upgrade to meth, coke, or herion. Or I could just pull a Bill Fergeson and become an alcoholic. Down a 6 pack (Or was it a 12 pack) before I go to a bar and then nightcap it with a 6 pack.