On depression

So the thing about depression is that you can never really leave it behind. No matter what you are doing there it is, no matter how hard you pretend there is always something hiding behind eyes that once ached to see the world which turns them towards the dark and only want to sleep. In fear of sounding like some over sensitive idiot I tend to stop writing mid sentence, but that's only because of a series of social stigmas implanted by schooling and television, ex's, people who often drift through your life, which dictate that expressing emotion is wrong and shouldn't be done. Well, sometimes we stop caring enough to actually put something down on paper, or a digital format to be viewed by others. Maybe to help, maybe to vent, or it could just be to help the ego.

It just hides back there, in the darkest little parts of the mind. Any moment and every moment you spend on your own is a moment it gets to reach out further into your soul(?) and pulls it apart. So far, 28 years have passed through me and each and every year since I recognized this, it keeps happening. Sometimes the happiness lasts enough to let me see some sort of opening ahead, but just then the depression comes back and drags me back into the bush, away from reason and the ability to contain one self. As of recent one thing had kept me going, and it was as selfish as it could be. Being selfish after all, is but a lingering string that lets us find the way out, or sometimes even deeper into the woods. It really does often feel as if there is nothing one can do, that this is an end of sorts.

Covering up the wounds has become second nature, smile at the passing professors, the fellow students. Every once in a while you run into others who are pretending just like you. Something calls you to them, there is an inherent need to be near them but... it's never going to go into fruition, damaged goods and damaged goods probably shouldn't be together. Then again, in the pit everything seems like a bad idea, even the best of things that could help one move forward in life. There is nothing like depression to bring you to a dead stop, literally.

Drugs. Never had any experience with anti-depressants except for one bout where a doctor prescribed some wellbutrin to help with the cigarettes. They didn't do very well, still smoked. Ended up dropping the meds, it just didn't feel right. Alcohol has always been a friend, although sometimes it seems like the kind of friend that is willing to stab you in the back at any moment, a real cunt. Cocaine and other "hard drugs" are just that, hard. It's like getting fucked in the ass by a large prison inmate. Feels great at the moment, you enjoy yourself and even cum a little, but afterwards you feel dirty, used, and like your ass is going to explode. It's a real fucking trip. Marijuana is the only thing that has helped to keep it leveled. It lets some happiness in, reminds you that it's alright. Too bad it's as illegal as it is around here, nothing like having the government tell you that you have to get their sanctioned anti-depressants which might kill you instead of smoking a plant which grows from the ground. And people wonder why I'm so fucking depressed.

I was about to write some great paragraph about how people can be there and help you but, it's all a fucking joke. People only make it worse, you start to depend on some cunt of a friend and next thing you know they are just another notch on the post of souls to be avoided. Real fucking hypocrites whose only need for you is to justify their existence, be it with words or my dick. There is nothing like fucking a corpse, someone you know is already dead or dying in the great scheme of your life. Good-bye, it was nice knowing you, don't mind the load I've left in your "tunnel of love." There is something wrong with me, and all I know is that I'm the only one who can deal with it. I'll stick to my drugs, to my loneliness, to a sort of conventional mind fuck trip, a trivial yet ergonomic existence with the way in which the world has treated me. A real fuck you to the stars and to the heavens. There is nothing holding me back, so I feel like I can do anything, even if it's writing about my sadness, depression, about the small moments that add up to nothing, about the love felt and ignored. Because no one is going to read this and thing "gee, he had a point." They'll only think "what a sap, glad he never made it."

FML (Inspired by Stitches)

You know, it's okay
life gets better
no need to
fornicate it

Because in the dark

Can't buy snack packs, as

they have two servings,

after one you are satisfied and

the rest might just spoil.

Couldn't go to the movies

because in the dark,

when it's cold and scary,

there is no one to hold on to.

Didn't celebrate anything,

because it always reminds of

how dull it all is when

there is no one to share with.

Laugh at a favorite comedy show

babble "Oh Liz Lemon, you're so funny!"

at a screen in an empty apartment full of cats,

neighbors think you are crazy.

Go to sleep with a pillow in your arms,

because it's a subtle reminder of the

softness and warmth once felt

from a gentle encounter.

Look into green eyes with wonder, and

loose the self in the swirls.

Those eyes are not for you,

leave empty handed.

Kochira wa Geinin.

we all play parts in the greatest play
parts we often choose
but more often than not
just happen to fall into.
it's not so easy to walk away
to pretend we never wanted them
being a savior
a lover
a simple person
or even that one to take care of you
because sometimes we need to be
in charge of something
even if it's just playing our part right.
congregations of actors
all meet on the stage
and life begins a new
each and every day
listen closely
and sometimes you can catch
the slip of a line here and there
not every play is perfect
but when it is some call it fate.
I tried to play a part once or twice
but my co-stars never seem to get it right
flawed that I am
it must rub off on them
or at least it seems to.
I will never know the truth of the matter
for they are elsewhere now
on another chapter
reading another line
to someone who is playing a part
willing to be that one
who makes believe
without missing a beat
on the stage of life.

Sometimes I can hardly help it

Would you chastise me
if I said I missed you
wished that your scent
still lingered on my clothes
that your kisses I still felt
upon my cheek
and soft caress upon my lips
it is true
and I do.

Internet bares fruit of knowledge

I wish I had seen this earlier in my life.

Sleepless nights

Can't sleep. I feel tired, yet when I lay down my mind awakens with thought. I can't shake her stink out of my memory, one thinks it's over and that moving on is at hand, but there is nothing there but more memories and realizations of the things that happened between us. Who thought that such short time of interaction would leave such a mark. I hate it, and it makes me realized that I loved you.

The Wrinkles on our Faces

No matter how I paint it
or how many times I lie to myself
she's a thousand miles away
in another's arms
raising the children
that should have been mine.

It's sad
to think of how we loved one another
only to end up like this.
You playing a part
pretending to enjoy
the words that I utter
as one drowns in remorse
that I didn't stay in your warmth
when there was nothing but cold
to come back here to.

Now it's too late,
a decade has passed
since that fateful day
when we first crossed paths
on a web spun foyer
meant for just you and I.

Now we are older
we thread carefully each step
weary from the backhands
that have come our way.
It's not your fault,
nor is it mine.
Sometimes people simply lie.

Once in a past life
we held each other close
loved one another
in your arms my repose.
Now lifetimes later
we find each other again
only to miss one another
by the hair of our necks.

It's been nice to know you
and hear your voice again,
just remember
my ethereal lips
kiss yours every day.
Maybe next life,
though this one seems to be it,
though we may never know
what was meant as our bliss.

Coming to terms with her allegorical death

I wish I could say I've learned something dire, an important tid bit of information, but the only thing that I keep exploring is my inner thoughts. Too lost within? Stuck in the muck and tangled in memories? Yes, but at least I know so.

I've been reminded about the way that I was treated by many, disposed of like a bad habit (mirrors can be ugly things I guess), made aware of the injustice of the just, the lust behind the calm blue eyes of yesterday, and the complicated situations that being "alive" really brings on.

Not without much effort do I find myself entangled in the conversations with a lover who will always be, at the same time pulling away from others who dilly dally back and fro without knowing just what it is that they want from life. Rather, finding the self away from overtly complicated states is best right now, but my lover will always be there and that is more than anyone else can say.

It's been years, and years it will be until I'm in the arms of someone that I really trust again. Last time I trusted all too easy, letting the snide remarks slide, the back handed comments and words packed with bullets bounce, all along all of her horrible manifestations came from within to barrage me (or any unlucky male found present at her grasp) as if I'd been the one to hurt her, but I let her go on because I knew her pain and I wanted to help; thus she gave of herself to me, but one cannot deny the hurt that she caused to herself or to me, it's all kept away in the state of memories or even coming back in dreams. It truly makes the past sour but reminds me not to fall for her again.

My lover, I do not have to worry about that with. We've shared the world and more, a bed, a kiss or two, and even the words "I love you" without anything forcing us to fear or worry about what tomorrow may bring because we know that whatever it is we will be there. She is nothing like sour girl, she will never be. That is good, it is great, my childhood friend and lover becomes more than just a memory but a living part of my life. Meanwhile the sour one is embedded into dreams and memories as a husk of a woman I do not wish to have a part of ever again, and so it becomes easier to read others like her, to keep away.

Both of them held the same space once, yet they are complete opposites. Within my heart they found warmth and appreciation, and only one of them knew what to do with it, my solemn lover. Sour Girl knew nothing of such things, her appreciation of life seems only superficial, childish at best (spread your legs for happiness). Playing back and fro from flower bed to flower bed like an earthworm, just eating and defecating while pretending to save the world. Sure, she helps flowers bloom much as she helped me, but the cost of the life led is so much higher than any price I'd be willing to pay, otherwise why would she want to run away from herself so badly with the drugs, sex, and alcohol? And run she does.

With one breath, she stitches together what is left of my heart. With a few words she pumps the eviscerated organs with life and brings me back to stature. She knows what to say to make me smile, to bring out the light within me. My solemn lover will always be there to stitch me back together when sour girls have their way.

This is what I've learned lately, I know it's not much, but to me it's a world.