I got drunk and asked the hostess at Brewer's if she had a boyfriend before I left. Then, frantically scribbled something down on a piece of paper at home, and ran it back in to her. I think I left my name and number and some relatively short, but probably creepy message. I'm sure this girl is 16-18. I don't even know her name.

Whoops. Haha.

S.M.S.

Make me happy, make me sad, make me feel anything but empty.

It's funny how I can effortlessly write a ten-page paper and get an A on it, while being entirely incapable of expressing myself. Whenever anyone asks me how I'm doing lately, all I can seem to say is, "ummm, I don't know, okay, I guess.

I really don't care about myself anymore. I simply exist from day to day holding out for a glimmer of happiness. I hate feeling depressed. For the first time in my long battle with depression, I'm willing to admit that there's something wrong with me and that I need to seek treatment for it. I can't keep living like this any longer. I can't keep telling myself that I'm just having a bad day, when all I ever seem to have is bad days. I can't keep feeling empty, and I can't keep trying to recklessly fill myself up with temporary remedies (drugs, alcohol, etc.). I hate feeling like I can't be OK on my own, but damn, it's been a long time since I felt truly okay.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I've really grown to hate livejournal, mostly because of the sick, uneasy feeling I get whenever I read something that I wrote here. I don't like realizing that I'm always changing, and that I can't identify with the "me" of two or three years ago. I hate it. Now I'm only bothering to post this because I bothered to write it.

Always remember that there are phone numbers that you can call
24 hours a day, 7 days a week,
from any location in the United States:

(1-800-784-2433)





I am not doing well, my friends.

EDIT:

This was not a warning, but a reminder to myself, and anyone feeling as such. I hope you all understand that. I do look forward to the winter break, though. Don't hesitate to contact me.

Oh how the low the lows have to be for the highs to seem so high.

But alas, that's life I suppose. And I'm doing my best to enjoy the living.

People help. They always do. They take you out of yourself which, very often, is a good place to be. (or so I have found)

i have passed through so many starkly contrasting stages of emotion in the past two weeks, I feel i may explode.

Emotions.
exams.
comfort.
Rum.
christmas.
close friends.
old friends.
old habits.
tragedy.
anxiety.
cigarettes.
deep thoughts.
long talks.
parties.
pills.
(lots of pills).
movies.
ambitions.
art.
compassion.
longing.
the cold.
this place.
these people.
pretty boys in plaid shirts.


They'll all be the death of me. For sure.


I've come to the conclusion that I dwell too much on the past. As reliable as it is, it will never change and it can only help the present so much. The future isn't as scary as it seems. As much as there is an inevitable disappointment to any sort of venture that gets my hopes up, there are still those times that pop out of no where and surprise me in the best ways possible. And those times are great.


I am almost certain of what I want to do with my future. And I finally feel like I'm in the right place to do it. Big things are going to be happening within the next year. Very big things.


I have an absurd amount of studying and project-completing to do in the next few days before finals, but for tonight I'm heading down to baltimore to tear it up at the last party of the semester with these fuck faces that I've come to love. I finally have a place here, and it feels great.

But it's also just about time to leave it. It would be easy for me to get too caught up in this nonsensical world I seem to be apart of now.
Besides, I miss the warmth, the intimacy, the familiarity, the comfort, and the reality of Frederick.

And all of you guys, of course.



Everything is going to be alright, no matter what happens, and life is good.

I'll be home in less than a week.

I'm having a terribly hard time trying to kick start my life again. I don't know why it has taken me so long, or why whatever meek attempts at trying to find some redemption have failed. I'm pretty sure I'm not an awfully unattractive person. I may not have enough interesting things to say. I spend too much time drinking, I suppose, and too much money. But where else do I have to go but a bar? Maybe the fact that I only go to Brewer's and sit alone is a detriment. Everyone who comes into the pharmacy is either riddled with painkillers, or is trying to make a baby. I'm not funny, and that's really what first impressions are made of, I think. I've spent a lot of time trying to realize who I am, a spectator solely to myself and the choices I make. I haven't come to anything. I'm not incapable of understanding things about myself. I just don't think I ever had much of a misconception. I don't make myself happy. I have money now, and it doesn't change anything. I spend very little time thinking about things like this, nowadays, but the inescapable loneliness is still something very constantly palpable.

I don't know how to make this work.

postpostpostpost

post post post post post

still feelin' dat afterglow after the glow of a night glowin' glow worms. out da ears.

ya hear. jeers.

for a moment i looked out into the night air and traced the lines of every twisted branch on every knotted tree and at each point a star sat patiently waiting with radiant truth, light and warmth.

it may be the acid talking or the sleep deprivation but i can honestly say i want to make my peace with things.

i forgive you. i love you. i'm sorry.

so many things i wish i could say to so many people.

i'm almost done with the worst year i've known and i've found strength in myself and i've found ways to get along, to get by. now i want to find ways to thrive, to flourish brilliantly into the man i need to be.

i may or may not add more to this. (i will not add more to this)

and then remembered



It's funny how things can both hurt and be healing

Here's a fact: I am intoxicated.

Here's another fact: I had forgotten the details of his finely carved face, and then the other day I found this and recalled with perfect clarity precisely how painful it was to look at him, even before his death.

Posting on livejournal makes me feel trite and stupid, but sometimes, it's the only way I can say things without having to actually speak them. My heart is full of blood and totally alive, but I will never forget the moment it stopped.

Love never goes away, no matter how we might rationalize it out of our spheres of existence when we need to.

sometimes i forget just how fucking pretty it was there

in another life: i came home, learned their tongue, and returned to live a life of honest labor and peace