I wake up every morning startled as if being shaken out of my sleep. I head downstairs and I push myself as hard as I can, straining, growling, huffing, puffing, trying to break myself into a million pieces. I have destroyed myself over and over again smashing my body apart in a million ways in this ridiculous attempt to just be BETTER.
He was much more proud of me than I deserved for him to be. He saw things in me that just weren't there and I let him down so many times with my foolish, selfish, immature actions. I have dedicated my life to trying to be the man he saw in me, to be someone he could be proud of, to be an example of his ideals.
My heart has been torn out and shredded into a million pieces and I will never, ever be whole again. I miss him so much that sometimes I just have to stop moving, thinking, talking because I just cannot breathe. I would do anything, give up anything, just to hug him again and to hear him call me his pal one more time.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
I Am Broken
I am broken, irreparably so, this is something that I am acutely aware of. It is an undeniable fact, one I have known for quite some time. How did I break, who or what broke me, when did I first become broken? These are questions that I do not have the answer to. However I do know what is broken and I do know that it something that cannot possibly be fixed, ever. My psyche is quite literally a mess.
There have been several different opinions as to what is “wrong” with me. I put the word wrong in quotes because I feel that the description is incorrect, I feel that the word I used previously, broken, is the more correct term for my mental situation. However, society at large would probably consider wrong to be the correct word. Some have called it major depressive disorder, some have called it manic depression, and others have called me a mopey fuck. And still others have referred to me as being “whacky” or “strange.” The word irritable has been tossed around as well.
To me, the labels are just really superfluous, whichever one you decide to use. One way or another, the fact remains, I am broken. It is not something I can control or “work on” or rehabilitate. I often get sad for absolutely reason. Or a single e-mail or comment or action can sometimes send me spiraling down into an abyss of self loathing with omnipresent thoughts of self destruction.
And then there are times when I go on a tear and buy a ton of shit I do not need because I just absolutely had to have them. And I have become an absurd completist as far as some of my interests are concerned. Buying DVDs I do not have the time to watch or albums that I do not consider particularly good or essential just because I NEED to have them in my collection.
Then there is my propensity to become so totally and extremely frustrated with a person or situation seemingly instantaneously. One moment I am fine and the next a wrong sentence or look or reaction has me completely consumed with anger or frustration to the point where I have to immediately step away to avoid a potentially explosive event. Or there will be times when one moment I am completely fine and the next anything and everything irritates me so wholly and completely that I become absolutely impossible to be around.
I also find myself at times being completely unable to feel good about myself. Despite the huge strides I have made in improving my physical appearance I still find so many things to hate when I look in the mirror. And I cannot seem to stop picking myself apart and just wanting to destroy myself because I do not see what I want to see in that reflection.
Or I become so fixated and obsessed with completing a goal or task that failure to do so leaves me feeling completely crushed, hollow, and empty inside. As if I am not worth the dog shit stuck to someone’s shoe, that I am a complete and utter disappointment and failure to all those who were foolish enough to believe in me or count on me.
So yes, I am broken, I cannot be fixed or cured or rehabilitated. I am aware of this and it does not please nor am I looking to use it as an excuse. It is what it is as I am what I am. Broken.
There have been several different opinions as to what is “wrong” with me. I put the word wrong in quotes because I feel that the description is incorrect, I feel that the word I used previously, broken, is the more correct term for my mental situation. However, society at large would probably consider wrong to be the correct word. Some have called it major depressive disorder, some have called it manic depression, and others have called me a mopey fuck. And still others have referred to me as being “whacky” or “strange.” The word irritable has been tossed around as well.
To me, the labels are just really superfluous, whichever one you decide to use. One way or another, the fact remains, I am broken. It is not something I can control or “work on” or rehabilitate. I often get sad for absolutely reason. Or a single e-mail or comment or action can sometimes send me spiraling down into an abyss of self loathing with omnipresent thoughts of self destruction.
And then there are times when I go on a tear and buy a ton of shit I do not need because I just absolutely had to have them. And I have become an absurd completist as far as some of my interests are concerned. Buying DVDs I do not have the time to watch or albums that I do not consider particularly good or essential just because I NEED to have them in my collection.
Then there is my propensity to become so totally and extremely frustrated with a person or situation seemingly instantaneously. One moment I am fine and the next a wrong sentence or look or reaction has me completely consumed with anger or frustration to the point where I have to immediately step away to avoid a potentially explosive event. Or there will be times when one moment I am completely fine and the next anything and everything irritates me so wholly and completely that I become absolutely impossible to be around.
I also find myself at times being completely unable to feel good about myself. Despite the huge strides I have made in improving my physical appearance I still find so many things to hate when I look in the mirror. And I cannot seem to stop picking myself apart and just wanting to destroy myself because I do not see what I want to see in that reflection.
Or I become so fixated and obsessed with completing a goal or task that failure to do so leaves me feeling completely crushed, hollow, and empty inside. As if I am not worth the dog shit stuck to someone’s shoe, that I am a complete and utter disappointment and failure to all those who were foolish enough to believe in me or count on me.
So yes, I am broken, I cannot be fixed or cured or rehabilitated. I am aware of this and it does not please nor am I looking to use it as an excuse. It is what it is as I am what I am. Broken.
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