Journal Entry #6

I expected to be over this, but apparently, I’m not.  A couple of days ago, I got into a cab, cane in hand and positioned myself in the seat accordingly. The cabbie proceeds to make small talk, however, in the most inappropriate way. He asks me if I was veteran from the war (due to the I guess). I told him that a strained a muscle in hopes that the Conversation would ne over, but considering the way my life has been this year, I should have known better.

The cab driver begins to emphasize my can informed me that I should be glad that its temporary and not a permanent disability.  I’m floored at this point and I hear my therapist’s voice telling me to breathe.  I was there seconds from busting this man’s head with cane.

I know he didn’t mean any harm, but how offensive can one person be; how ignorant do you have to be to say something like that.  My blood was boiling then and it is boiling now.

Confused Fury

   Confused Fury  


lies vanish at night’s beginning regret runs rapid
when only lonely can console me


caught in this hell storm
colored crimson
tears map out
the last years
of my life from what’s left
on this face I remember


courage pulled
from the cracks deep
inside the cement forming
around lungs breathing revenge


that barrel in my mouth
and pulled the trigger
why am I still here?

How Are You?

I loathe hearing this question asked of me, more so when I know the person asking really doesn’t give a shit about my answer.  Since I’m pretty honest, I typically don’t say I’m doing well  if I’m not.  If I don’t say that, I can see the expressions change in their faces as if I committed some type of crime.  If you don’t want know how I’m doing, DON’T ASK!  I’m not complaining or being negative or anything in that same vein if you ask me how I am.  I do not think my problems/life is worst or better than anyone elses–quite frankly, I could care less.  That comes from how I was brought up as a child.  I’m very unique in a lot of ways and share a lot of similarities within my dysfunctional family structure that I really opt not to discuss because of the mental blocks I have in place to prevent such discussion(s).  Anyway, a simple good morning will do if you don’t care about how I really truly am feeling.  There is no need to badger me about being negative or anything else. I can only be who I am and if the people that are around me, at home, at work, interacting with me in a roundabout way on a consistent basis don’t like who I am, they really don’t have to converse with me.  That’s fine.  Just don’t ask how are you? if you don’t really care to know.  Just simply say hey or good morning and trust me, I will be totally fine with that.  I have myself to love and more often than not, I really do–that’s all I’m really used to doing anyway.

Enough of This

Tonight I’m filled with sadness and anger. I’m tired of being judged on the way I feel. I can’t stop loving Veronica no more I can change the way I walk, yet I feel like if I bring her up in any sentimental way, I get crucified for it.  “oh she’s an ex, don’t talk to her and don’t listen to anything she has to say, she’s using you”. I am so tired of people trying to plant seeds of doubt in what’s mine and mine alone.  She is my ex so it makes her my problem.  If I want to say I worry about her safety, she is my soulmate, I love her and I want her to be happy, I will. If I want to cry over her I will.  If you people out in the world don’t want to hear about her, just walk away. You are not for me. I don’t need anyone to tell me that she doesn’t love me. Fuck that, she does and if I’m in denial then I will be in denial. You don’t know her like I do by Brantley Gilbert is a perfect representation of how I feel.  If you don’t like it, I do. Some days I will be miserable and others, I will be ok. I’m just trying to deal here. Give me some slack in regards to the woman I wanted to marry and have kids with.

Fuck everyone who thinks otherwise.

Officially On Meds

The last three days have garnered a slew of emotions out of me; due to getting and taking the meds.  This has been a long and delicate process for me to even admit I needed help–six to right months later, I’m being prescribed medicine by a psych doctor.  I don’t think I have fully wrapped my head around that concept yet; and it’s always amazing to me how the body interacts to foreign materiales entering the body for the first time. I’m so tired and loopy at times, but definitely very chill so that’s a good thing. As I take in the next couple of days to let the meds work in my system, I’m preparing myself whatever may come next.

What’s the Root of Hatred?

At what point does hatred:

1) make you lose your self-worth

2) belittle the ones you love

3) have sex with anyone that comes around

4) stop caring about the one you shared the most memories with

5) forget who you are as a human being

6) use boredom as an excuse

7) think others give a shit about your recklessness

8) allow you not to forgive

9) think you are better than those that built you up

10) allow you to lose focus on what’s most important

Afraid of Being Afraid

I don’t know why it is really important for me to make those I love and care about understand my feelings, the things I’m going through, etc., but it is. VERY IMPORTANT. Just the right amount of torture for me to lose sleep over. I can’t help the pain I caused so many people, but I can try to rectify and repair and that is what I have been trying to do. When I’m not focused on my ex, I’m focused on me and some of the recent connections I’ve made that I’ve let fall to the wayside. I’m trying to rebuild everything in my life and I realize how hard it has been to open new chapters when others preceding those, haven’t been ended yet. I need to close one book before I start a new one because I have the attention span of a five year old and I loose track. I’m hoping once I start researching these various medications that I will be provided with come Thursday, I will be able to gain some clarity inside my head. Right now, I feel as though I’m being pulled in every direction possible and I’m the one doing it. Sometimes, I just run out of my apartment, jump into my car and scream. Once that’s done, the tears just start flowing. I never thought I would be in this predicament–dealing with things I can’t explain for there are no words to describe them or actions to conceivably act them out. I feel like a scared little boy cowering under the covers once the lights go out. I just may be afraid of monster(s), but the monster is inside of me.