Need I Say More?

Yes Please!

Adolescents by incubus

The Few and Far Between

It's like I have this experience that nobody in my peer group can understand. I've battled for my life and come out on the other side stronger, wiser and with a whole new set of values. I don't have time to let anyone hurt me again. Tomorrow is most definitely not guaranteed and I can leave this earth just as fast as I was pushed into it. I always ask myself late at night, just before my eyelids become so heavy that I can't keep them open any longer, "Why do I set expectations that nobody can meet?" The thing is though, people can and have met them and I often wonder why I let the bad ones in and the good ones go. Is it me? Do I attract the kind of people that keep me around when it's convenient for them? Am I to blame for not running the other way as soon as I realize who they are or should I accept it for what it is? "Fair-Weather," that's the friendship characteristic I seem to attract.

Do they know what it must have been like to lie awake at night in the hospital when everyone else was sleeping, watching the chemicals run through my veins and think of death? Do they know how I laid in bed for days because I was too weak to move? Did they watch as my world got turned upside down in a moment's time? I'm scared, I'm always scared...to trust, to love, to...have nothing to improve upon. I set the bar in hopes that they will fail so I can be alone in my fear. There's no simple fix to the problem, no miracle pill or stress-relieving routine. I'm alone in my fear and so I live, I live my life and go through the motions and play the game of life. Snapshots in time often hit me and moments go by in slow motion. I stop and watch the raindrops hit the window while riding the bus to work and all of the sudden I'm back. I'm back in the hospital bed, hairless and cold, nauseous and scared, and I wonder when the feeling will go away.

I'm ok with death and I'm ok with disappointment. Most people in my life have disappointed me; my father disappointed me when he left us, my sister disappointed me when she chose the drugs over us and my mom disappointed me when she decided it was her turn to be happy. My lovers disappointed me when they kept me a dirty secret, my friends disappointed me when they found love and left me for it. My body disappointed me when it let the cancer take over and try to end my life. I live in disappointment and it comforts me, it's the only constant in my life and it's always there to count on.

Where do I go from here? Do I pick up and leave and try to start over, or will it just catch up with me wherever I go? Do I give up and relish in the disappointment and walk with my head down. For now, I push forward with hope, hope that tomorrow brings change and hope that there's something more than this.

I've got soul but I'm not a soldier...

What is it about the age of 23? There is some correlation, either cosmic or not, between 23 and misery. I mean, the 20's are hard in general: responsibility, real-life conceptualization, and work, oh yes I said it, WORK. The unfortunate age is notable as being "shitteous," just ask Blink 182 (If they say it then it must be true right?) "Nobody likes you when you're 23." So here's to the 7 months and 7 days till I inevitably turn 24 and this whole debacle is over...

I sometimes wonder if we go through our lives so fixed on an unreachable ideal that failure is inevitable and personal doubt consequential. I'm not necessarily talking about the whole "two kids and yard" principal, but rather the vision that we set out for ourselves when we are young; the storybook comic strip that plays out like a vintage vignette in our heads, containing what our life will be like "as an adult." Maybe a firefighter pulling struggling victims out of a burning apartment building, or a lawyer fighting for the pursuit of justice in the court of law. It's difficult to come to terms with the harsh realities of reality. I think we all like to go to this place in our minds where we are somewhere else, someone else. As inherently narcissistic as the human race proves itself to be, we need reassurance that we have purpose in society, that we, at least partially, subscribe to social norms. Is the Joe Schmo, middle-management, unhappily married guy with two resentful children and a heap full of debt really normal? All I know is that I want to leave a bigger footprint in this life than a URL history on my hard drive and performance evaluation at my place of employment.