A Glaring Lack of Syntax

Only one thing lately seems to shut off the thoughts in my head, and that is currently no longer having its desired effect.

I blare hip hop, rap, pop in my headphones. Anything that has a string of nonsensical words and a predictable beat to follow. This is the only thing that kept my tormenting mind at bay. It used to be that

Every day I make a choice. The choice is always the same and it always comes up more than once in a single cycle of the sun.

Do I continue to exist?

I could just as easily stop this all, at the risk of sounding bleak. (Ha.)

Do I choose to wake up every morning and repeat this cycle, again and again? Is there some sort of future where I can find enjoyment in living without struggling for every minute of it.  Believe you me, I'm sick of being a downer too. Brett the proverbial wet blanket in every situation. 

This is a choice that every free-thinking man has on this bustling blue rock. For some this choice doesn't ever enter the picture. You are blessed.

This music is terrible.

All my mind lets me think of is my short-comings. The relationships I've failed at, the friendships I've fumbled, the opportunities wasted and squandered. How much time do I waste in any given day not living? I've said it before, and I still feel this way. This is not living, only existing---barely existing at that.

I don't consume food for the taste, it has none.
This loathsome music is just buzzing white noise now.

I lack the energy to finish a cognitive thought.
It's easy to reason, it's easy to say what I should be doing and that I won't end up dying an old hermit. However, I can't summon the strength to be anything but a burden to those who once cared about me, or perhaps still do. I shake, I convulse. I talk to myself more frequently, the probable conversation of a postulate madman.

I can't make any sense of this. I feel like ugly incarnate. I don't deserve your attention. I don't deserve anyone's attention. The glaring lack of self-worth running rampant through my brain. No matter how many positive comments I fabricate to describe myself, I count myself a liar.

How can I trust anything that I've ever felt or experienced? Have I ever even been in love? Do I know what loss is? If everything is so fragile and nothing can be rationalized in my mind, how does any of this make any sense? You don't have the answer, nobody has the answer. I don't know if I'm even a subject to this disease, maybe I'm just making this all up in some way or fashion.

I don't deserve to be in any sort of relationship.

Surrounded by people and yet I'm so unavoidably alone.

Note to self, work on syntax. Mental illness is no excuse for sloppy grammar.

The Urge to be a Martyr*

 

 Everyday I wake up, much like everyone wakes up.

     Many people groan about having to go to work, some lucky few greet the day with a smile or some varying degree of jubilant position, some others hit the snooze button and procrastinate leaving the warm confines of bed for those last precious nine (or multiples thereof) minutes.

     Everyday I wake up, I become displeased. Displeased because I didn't miraculously become a happy individual. Displeased that I didn't cease to exist and that this whole cyclical notion of going through the motions of a normal person hasn't ended. I don't want to eat breakfast. I don't want to look in the mirror at this sad pathetic humanoid looking back with hollow blue eyes. I don't recognize it and I don't like it.

     It takes all of my mental strength to brush my teeth.

      Can you imagine? It doesn't even make sense to me. Being physically and emotionally drained by the simple act of preparing for the day. I stare at the bottle of HappyBrain™ pills next to the sink and usually have a four or six minute internal debate about if it's even worth it to keep taking these apparent placebos.

     Every single day I feel as though I'm wading into an unrelenting current. A torrent of melodramatic and extremely irrational disdain for living crashes ceaselessly against me in every step or action I take or attempt to take. There is no end to any of it. It is constant. It is infinite. It is sad. I am sad.

    ...I take that last bit back. I'm not sad. I'm emotionally numb, indifferent to everything. My brain won't shut off, it never shuts off, make it shut off. It's usually at this point that I find myself standing in the sun. Miraculously dressed and standing under the sky. It doesn't matter if it's overcast, raining, sunny, snowing. I take this moment to try and appreciate the beauty of the planet and life around me. Lately, nothing comes from this. I usually at this point ask God if he's still out there, if I could get sign from somewhere that this is worth enduring, a sign that would make this all worthwhile.

     I stare at my wrists all the time. I never buckle my seatbelt. I play it fast and loose with gravity and I don't respect the gut feeling of fight or flight. This isn't meant to sound melodramatic, it does, but I wish it didn't. It's the truth. I promised myself I'd be vulnerable in these words and here I am. Them's the bricks, it's what I fight with.

     Thousands of times a day I day dream about dying for something worthy. Giving this existence up to be remember in a harrowing act of heroism. Making something out of all this pain, something tangible, something real and lasting. I fabricate situations where I'd be caught in a gunfight with bankrobbers and I take a bullet for a little girl. I dream up scenarios that involve saving kittens from a fire.

     I want to stop feeling like I can be replaced by the next guy to come along with some equally rugged good looks and a cynical (ie: humorous) disposition towards things. I am, I am replaceable though, through and through. I at least want to see that this disposable life I have means something. I want to have my cake an eat it to. One last act of kindness or selflessness and simultaneously put this struggle to an end.

     I'm so tired, so very tired of swimming up these rapids. I guess I'll just keep hitting the proverbial snooze button until something changes or I finally break. I have to believe that the cosmos intends the former over the latter, there isn't another option.

(I continue to ramble, reek of melodrama, and become less coherent. I'm lonely, despite being surrounded by crowds of happy people.)