Sunday, April 5, 2009


"If you could go back to the happiest point in your life, would you?", right when those words were leaving her lips I knew what this was going to turn into. How do you lie to someone? Easy, you lie to them like you lie to your self. It's easier that way. No connection. No emotions. This person isn't a person, it's you. So I told her that when I was 5 I had the best birthday ever. On that day I had so many friends, so much family, so much to look forward to; even up to those last minutes leading up to my five year old face being smashed into a cake by my dad. I knew it was going to happen. It happened every year before that. I didn't mind. The world was mine that day. I still remember everything that happened on that day, what toys I got, the colors of the mess that I left on the ground from the gifts I had gotten. Littering? I couldn't even say that word. I didn't care. I needed to see what was inside those bright-well-wrapped gifts that seemed to take hours to open to me, to everyone else it was seconds. Smiles were being displayed, amazed by the speed of my hands as they ripped the tape, the ribbon, the paper, the packaging. Cards were last, always last. I remember this birthday specifically because I remember getting a lot of money. I thought it was 200, it was probably 50. I couldn't even count to 200. Regardless, it was gone before I could even buy anything with it. It had disappeared. That was the last birthday I cared to remember. That was the last time my entire family was together. That was the last time anyone seemed to care. That's it. That was the happiest point in my life. Innocence, still had it. Solid foundation, seemed intact. Sanity, check. "Then what happened?" cue you ruining some ones day. It's something I'm used to now. My life story. Total assault on all senses. You can smell the desperation in my breath. You can taste the disappointment in the air. It's a never ending story. Where can you hide it all? Somewhere in the back of my mind, it's all in there. Subconsciously, I have left over resentment from the past. "Maybe you need to talk to someone." Heard that before. Why should I? Why don't they just talk to me? Paranoia sinks in and you're wondering if this person hates you yet. You really don't care though. It's not enough to even worry about. So you keep going. Little do you know, you'll be spending the up coming months with this person. Seeing them every day. Smelling their morning breath. Hair grease in your face as you two tell each other your thoughts that morning. What you dreamt about; those feelings still resonating inside. Deciding what you're going to eat. What you're going to wear. When you're going to shower. It's not enough. Nothing's ever enough. You ask your self if this is what you really want. Phase 2: doubt. It will kill you. It's gone on long enough. And now you're just waiting for the crash. Why not pull the plug now? Fuck bracing your self. I want it to die now. Is this normal? You're not normal. Don't ask yourself. Ask someone else. You won't take your own advice. That's something to say about you. Self improvement: a harsh critique on your social skills, or lack thereof. It's miniscule compared to all the other problems in your head. You're still bitter about that money you lost when you were 5. Innocence, you never knew how fucked the world was going to be when you had it in your hands. How did you turn into this?

"If I speak, my pain is not lessened, and if I hold back, what has left me? But now he has exhausted me; thou hast laid waste all my company. And thou has shriveled me up, it has become a witness; and my leanness rises up against me, it testifies to my face. His anger has torn me and hunted me down, he has gnashed at me with His teeth; my adversary glares at me. They have gaped at me with their mouth, they have slapped my on the cheek with contempt; They have massed themselves against me. God hands me over to ruffians, and tosses me into the hands of the wicked. I was at ease, but he shattered me, and he grasped me by the neck and shaken me to pieces; he has also set me up as his target. His arrows surround me. Without mercy he splits my kidneys open; he pours out my gall on the ground. He breaks through me with breach after breach; he runs at me like a face is flushed from weeping, and my darkness is on my eyelids, although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure. O earth, do not cover my blood, and let there be no resting place for my spirit is broken, my days are extinguished, the grave is ready for me."

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