I've come to the conclusion that if you don't have friends, or if you do have friends and just don't drink/smoke that Friday nights are useless when you hit 21. As you have probably figured out, I am not one for drinking or smoking or doing drugs. Let me elaborate on why I've decided to stay clean and sober to infinity and beyond.
I've never been one to judge people on their choices in life, but I know quite a few people who have had their teeth kicked down their throat by alcohol...and then they were beat within an inch of their life by it...some even further. I've known a few people who have been affected by alcohol indirectly as well. Very recently, I lost a friend who was murdered (hit isn't a strong enough word) by a drunk driver. He was crossing the street, during a walk light, in a crosswalk, in the middle of the day, and some sloshed douche-nozzle ran a reddy and hit and killed him instantly. The dickbag just kept on going too, after all, he was already late for work. This sorry excuse for a human being had 9 prior DUI's and still had a legal license (never revoked or even suspended), and had never served a day in jail or even done community service. Oh, by the way, that drunk bastard was (and still is to this day...even after this minor inconvenience to his happy hour) a cop. Yup, he was heading to work and was going to clock in while he was completely pissed sideways. I could go on for days, but I'll stop there for now.
I'm not sure why kids think alcohol is mandatory for a good time. If you need alcohol to have a good time, then I pity you. It disgusts me how many high school (sometimes even younger) kids putting pictures up online of them partying and drinking or playing beer pong/beirut/whatever these little punks call it so mommy and daddy don't find out. It doesn't make you look cool, bad-ass or more mature, it makes you look stupid. I love the kids that post pictures with the caption "Beirut champion"...To me that's the exact same as bragging about "McDonald's employee of the month!" meaning, you won...but did you really? Is that really something to be proud of? Disgusting...absolutely disgusting.
Drugs and tobacco make no sense to me, why would you pay all that money to just kill yourself slowly? Here's a better idea...buy a gun and one bullet...it'll be quicker. If you need to pay money to do these drugs and get high just to have fun and get through the day, you lead a sad life. I'm not going to go on and on about this now, but I may come back and update this if I decide to add more.
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Asante Samuel I wish you well.
Sox are looking good, and young Georgie Porgie had a very productive day hitting as well as behind the plate. Youkie hammered one out and Varitek decided that he'd like to join in on the fun too. In other news, Mr. Steinbrenner....Hahahahahaha. You are a sad little man...your father and brother are equally sad. I thank you for that great chuckle.
Friday, February 29, 2008
My Home
Here's one of my more current "poems". It's just a dumb little piece about trying to make sense of someone committing suicide. I think it's funny when people say that it's the coward's way out. I don't think it's fair to judge people like that. You have no clue what they're going through/have gone through. I find it sad that people try to say that they're better and they say that they'd face their problems "like a man" and gut it out. You don't know the half of it. I've been on the brink of suicide before. It's not a decision that's easy...
My Home
As the desperate man's problems got bigger and bigger
He kissed the barrel and pulled the trigger.
Analyze it all you want, it'll still never make sense.
Not unless you've lived on his side of the fence...
It's a scary darkened world, yet he called it home,
the population was one, yet he was never alone.
It's cold and raining everyday, yet he was always dry and warm
His demons stayed away and never showed their true form.
Clouds block the light, but he's always embraced by sunshine
Tears constantly cascade from his eyes, but he's still always fine
Maybe there's more to this world than we first thought,
It's a place where he went when he was distraught,
It's a place that he loved and to keep it he fought,
His war had ended, but this world hadn't faded,
It's a place he kept secret and patiently waited,
For the downfall of his home, for the end was near
and now that he's gone, the end is here, and his home is fading
with the presence of fear.
His life ended and he was still misunderstood, but what he did was for the greater good.
-------
I'm also going to include this piece I originally wrote for one of my few friends who cared, and was in the "I'm sorry/goodbye" stage. That person was apparently moments away from taking their life, and for some reason called to tell me goodbye personally. I was speechless, it was the last person I'd expect to hear it from. I bolted over to see them and on the way I jotted down a few thoughts, and this is what it became...
Suicide is nothing more than a last resort coping mechanism. It's the last ditch effort for coping with pain. It happens when you realize that the consequences of you dying are far less severe than when you're alive. It will hurt the people around you, but the pain you're feeling is not going to end. It's never an easy decision nor is it a decision you ever want to be faced with. When you've reached that point, you must decide if those consequences are a fair trade...
...are they?
To this day they still carry around that paper towel that I wrote it down on. Is it crazy to believe that a 5 minute thought and the presence of someone who cares could help a person make a recovery and be the successful person they've become. I think so, but I'm ecstatic to see them make it out alive. That person is one of the few people who I can call a friend and know that if a bullet is coming toward us, we'd fight to take it for the other.
-------
"Patriots always talk of dying for their country but never of killing for their country." - Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)
My Home
As the desperate man's problems got bigger and bigger
He kissed the barrel and pulled the trigger.
Analyze it all you want, it'll still never make sense.
Not unless you've lived on his side of the fence...
It's a scary darkened world, yet he called it home,
the population was one, yet he was never alone.
It's cold and raining everyday, yet he was always dry and warm
His demons stayed away and never showed their true form.
Clouds block the light, but he's always embraced by sunshine
Tears constantly cascade from his eyes, but he's still always fine
Maybe there's more to this world than we first thought,
It's a place where he went when he was distraught,
It's a place that he loved and to keep it he fought,
His war had ended, but this world hadn't faded,
It's a place he kept secret and patiently waited,
For the downfall of his home, for the end was near
and now that he's gone, the end is here, and his home is fading
with the presence of fear.
His life ended and he was still misunderstood, but what he did was for the greater good.
-------
I'm also going to include this piece I originally wrote for one of my few friends who cared, and was in the "I'm sorry/goodbye" stage. That person was apparently moments away from taking their life, and for some reason called to tell me goodbye personally. I was speechless, it was the last person I'd expect to hear it from. I bolted over to see them and on the way I jotted down a few thoughts, and this is what it became...
Suicide is nothing more than a last resort coping mechanism. It's the last ditch effort for coping with pain. It happens when you realize that the consequences of you dying are far less severe than when you're alive. It will hurt the people around you, but the pain you're feeling is not going to end. It's never an easy decision nor is it a decision you ever want to be faced with. When you've reached that point, you must decide if those consequences are a fair trade...
...are they?
To this day they still carry around that paper towel that I wrote it down on. Is it crazy to believe that a 5 minute thought and the presence of someone who cares could help a person make a recovery and be the successful person they've become. I think so, but I'm ecstatic to see them make it out alive. That person is one of the few people who I can call a friend and know that if a bullet is coming toward us, we'd fight to take it for the other.
-------
"Patriots always talk of dying for their country but never of killing for their country." - Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Set it off...
So, you've stumbled across the blog of one of the least interesting and most depressing people you'll probably never care to meet. Here's a little background story on myself. (Just to let you know, this blog is going to have thoughts scattered everywhere, and be in no particular order so I apologize if it seems I'm jumping around randomly, it's just how I write)
I'm 21 years old, and am the true definition of the word "loser". I still live with my parents, I have no car or even a driver's license, no steady job, no education, and a very small amount of people in my life who care about me. Now, let me assure you, I don't want pity or people feeling bad for me, I'm just writing this to share some of my writings and thoughts with anyone who cares.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder about 8 years ago. It was the start of a downward spiral into the depths of the lonely town of depression. It's an odd place because it has tons of residents, but you never see any of them. I dropped out of school at 16 because of my diagnosis, and it was the single biggest mistake of my life. Everyone that was close to me back then keeps telling me that it was what I had to do, that I couldn't possibly stay in school with the anxiety attacks I was having. To tell you the truth, I can't tell you if they're right or not. I honestly cannot remember back to those days or what I was going through.
Since I dropped out of school, I never got to experience any of the stuff normal teenagers go through. I never went to prom or parties, never got to go hang with friends or start the band that I'd always dreamed of. I never got the chance to walk across that stage, get my diploma and see all those people gathered in the stands and clapping for me. I'll never be able go back and do any of those things, and it sucks, what else can I say.
The only things that have kept me alive through all these years are music and my writings. I've always loved music, whether I'm listening to it, writing it, or playing it. I've also always written my thoughts down, just to stay [somewhat] sane. Some of them become songs, some become poems, some turn into sketches/drawings, and some just become rants and venting sessions such as you would find in a journal. This blog will hopefully be a mix of all of them (and if I sketch something of importance, I'll link to it).
Now you know most of my back story. I'll be updating this whenever I get a chance. I am currently in a flu-like state, so the updates may take a bit.
Most of the time I'll be updating it late at night because that's when I get to relax and let my thoughts out (plus I don't go to sleep 'til early morning anyways). If you've read this far, I thank and congratulate you for staying awake. The first bit was just a joke, I'm actually not that boring (or so I've been told), and I've been told I've got amazing wit and a great sense of humor. Maybe you'll get a chuckle or two out of what I'm writing. Thanks for reading an check back soon.
I'm 21 years old, and am the true definition of the word "loser". I still live with my parents, I have no car or even a driver's license, no steady job, no education, and a very small amount of people in my life who care about me. Now, let me assure you, I don't want pity or people feeling bad for me, I'm just writing this to share some of my writings and thoughts with anyone who cares.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder about 8 years ago. It was the start of a downward spiral into the depths of the lonely town of depression. It's an odd place because it has tons of residents, but you never see any of them. I dropped out of school at 16 because of my diagnosis, and it was the single biggest mistake of my life. Everyone that was close to me back then keeps telling me that it was what I had to do, that I couldn't possibly stay in school with the anxiety attacks I was having. To tell you the truth, I can't tell you if they're right or not. I honestly cannot remember back to those days or what I was going through.
Since I dropped out of school, I never got to experience any of the stuff normal teenagers go through. I never went to prom or parties, never got to go hang with friends or start the band that I'd always dreamed of. I never got the chance to walk across that stage, get my diploma and see all those people gathered in the stands and clapping for me. I'll never be able go back and do any of those things, and it sucks, what else can I say.
The only things that have kept me alive through all these years are music and my writings. I've always loved music, whether I'm listening to it, writing it, or playing it. I've also always written my thoughts down, just to stay [somewhat] sane. Some of them become songs, some become poems, some turn into sketches/drawings, and some just become rants and venting sessions such as you would find in a journal. This blog will hopefully be a mix of all of them (and if I sketch something of importance, I'll link to it).
Now you know most of my back story. I'll be updating this whenever I get a chance. I am currently in a flu-like state, so the updates may take a bit.
Most of the time I'll be updating it late at night because that's when I get to relax and let my thoughts out (plus I don't go to sleep 'til early morning anyways). If you've read this far, I thank and congratulate you for staying awake. The first bit was just a joke, I'm actually not that boring (or so I've been told), and I've been told I've got amazing wit and a great sense of humor. Maybe you'll get a chuckle or two out of what I'm writing. Thanks for reading an check back soon.
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