“…but words are meaningless…”

Misquoted from a song, but I don’t know which song.

Anyway, these are the misquotes lyrics that I really wanted to posted:
I’m still mad you kicked me out of bed
I’m still mad you gave me ultimatums?
I’m still mad you compared me to all your male friends?
I’m still mad you shared our problems with everybody
I’m still mad you had an emotional affair?
I’m still mad you tried to mold me into who you wanted me to be?
I’m still mad you didn’t trust my intentions?
of course I am, of course I am
of course I am, of course I am
I’m still mad that you flirted wildly?
I’m still mad you had a tendency to mother me?
I’m still mad that you had one foot out the door?
I’m still mad that we slept together even after we had ended it?
of course I am, of course I am
of course I am, of course I am
I’m still mad you wore the pants most of the time?
I’m still mad that you seemed to focus only on my potential?
I’m still mad that you threw in the towel?
I’m still mad that you gave up long before I did?
of course I am, of course I am
of course I am, of course I am

Taken from an Alanis Morrisette song.

My life is a 2nd grade class room. I goto theropy and we sit around in a circle and read the usual cliches that I have read before in other self help and depression books. I think I spent the whole hour in the group imagining where I would draw the lines to cut myself. One day, I’ll actually get the blade and slice away. I wonder if it really would ease the pain, even for a little while.

So it’s come to the point where the biggest accoplishment in my life is cleaning my room. I’ll get a cookie or some treat from my theropist. Well maybe, I was suppose to drink 8 glasses of water for the entire week, but I failed that one pretty quick. I feel like I’m a 2-3 year old and just did a poopie in the toilet for the first time. “YAY! Joe went poopie. What a BIG boy…”

My group is a sitcom just waiting to happen. I honestly couldn’t have casted better myself. I think every sitcom character and nationality is counted for. I, of course, play the smart-ass, from the street black kid who knows it all and doesn’t let his guard down for anyone. But then, in the 4th or 5th episode, I’ll break down and have my breakdown monalogue and finally become part of the group.

I’ve burned so many bridges and the smoke is so thick, I don’t know which bridges are still burning and which have crashed to the ground.

What else? I have some kind of fungus on my little toe, I’ve gained 20 pounds, have cooked a meal in a week, no sex drive, getting carpal tunnel, loosing my eyesite, teeth rotting away, and I felt a lump and thing that I might have testcular cancer.

I just need someone to barge in, grab me, and shake the shit out of me. Or better yet, just beat the shit out of me. I wonder how much it would cost to have someone do it for me. Guess, I could always just wander around 3rd street after work and look at someone the wrong way. Would also solve the ending my life problem. Something to midly think about…

That’s it. Just dancing on that manic-bipolar line, just waiting to fall off…