Stop caring

It’s tough to figure out, but once you do your life will be so much easier. You can’t care so much about other peoples lives or about what other people think. If someone wants to be mad at you or hate you or call you names, so be it, fuck them. All you have to do is live for you and not give a damn about anybody else. You’ll learn really quick who your friends are if you stop giving a fuck about everyone. The ones who are your friends will stick around and everyone else will fade away.

I know it sounds harsh or unnecessary but once you live for you and no one else then life will be that much easier.

Drinking and meds

I stopped taking my meds every night because I like drinking too much. Too often am I sick of being sober and am looking for a brief escape from real life. I don’t like being sober, it’s depressing. As much as I hate life and don’t want to be here I’d rather not go out by mixing my meds and alcohol…unless that’s the way I chose.

I’ve gotten lazy and out of shape. I’ve gained weight and I hate it. I have to start working out. I’ve put on 20lbs recently. That’s a no go for me. Something else has to change.

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Serendipity

We are not friends. Not because we are incompatible, but because we are perhaps too compatible. I looked into your eyes and saw a replica of my recklessness, my inability to reconcile what my heart wants and what is right. I saw a flicker of who I used to be and I suddenly understood why they were afraid of me. You have a devilish smile, and I can’t look away. But you and I, we hold our friends in higher esteem than pleasant first impressions and a quick wit. I don’t know how to impress you, because no one impresses me anymore. It takes too many years for us to trust someone, and who has that kind of time? But it is loneliness that pushes us to share secrets and exchange stories without fear of judgment. I can read you like an open book, and I know the ending to…

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Still gone

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It’s only been a few weeks but it feels like it’s been closer to months that we haven’t talked. I want to be mad at you. I want to hate you. It’s the only way I can justify that we aren’t talking; anger and loneliness are to blame for the way I feel lately.

It really messes with you, having someone there for you from sun up to sun down every single day, to not having them anymore….at all.

Care

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I hate going to someone for help and telling them everything. Telling them how often I think about suicide. They tell me not to do anything and that they are there and blah blah blah, but the next day where are they? By the next day they’ve forgotten all about it, and if they haven’t yet then they don’t want to think about it. It’s only the people who have been there that are always there. The ones who don’t understand are only there briefly while they have you convinced that they understand, but once the conversation is over they immediately try to forget about the darkness that you just put on them. I know there are people out there who understand, but you have to sift through the ones who don’t to find them. Even if that means sifting away from your close friends. Now, I’m lucky and have a few close friends who understand, but I know how it feels to puke all your depression onto someone who doesn’t understand and the next time you need them or even the next day, it’s hard to see them not care as much as they pretended to the night before.

If you are having problems with suicide or depression find that one person who understands and go to them any time you need. If they truly understand then they won’t care how many times you come to them.  It helps much more than going to people who have no idea what you’re feeling.

Smoke and Coffee

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The taste of smoke and coffee take me back to a place I wish I never left. It was a stressful place, but I loved it. I miss feeling loved no matter where I was or who I was with. I didn’t know what to do with what I had, so I did what I knew how to do. I tore down everything I had and expected her to still love me. It wasn’t till after I left when we both realized how much of a mistake it was. But that doesn’t matter anymore.

The taste of smoke on her lips after our morning coffee. I hated it, but after each of my cigars all I can think of is sitting with her while she smoked. She knew how flawed I was and tried as hard as she could to help me but I was too immature to want to grow up. I could have had the world and I couldn’t see it.

Now smokey aftertaste and coffee is all I have left, and it reminds me daily of my mistakes.

If by some off chance you still read my blog, I still think about you.