I see a wretch.
The wretch who stole Vicodin from the medicine cabinet.
The villain who unleashed anger on the undeserving.
The dog that bites the mouth that feeds it.
The outcast to his former friends.
The knave that robbed women of their virtue.
The assassin that killed the spirit of God within him.
The reckless young man, mixing substances.
The Vagabond in the van.
The nihilist who sees no purpose in any life.
The junkie who would sell his brothers for another fix.
The black sheep who rebukes himself.
The butcher to his own living hide.
The furnace of unrelenting desire and lust.
The drunk at the side of the highway.
The lepper cast far away.
The Undertaker preparing his soul for hell.
The dissenter to his faith.
The skinwalker under the moon.
The false prophet.
Whether its the false woman's touch, the relief of letting my crimson humours balance, the Eagles burning through my lungs, or the ethanol on my breath, vice will always have its grip on my hands.
Loyalty: When she says to drink the hemlock, drink it.
My heart beats, I know this, I'm just unsure that it matters.
I've never, not even once, been told I was a good person.
Not from others...
but certainly not from myself.
No lack of esteem.
Just the quiet realization that repentance is just another word that doesn't change anything.
Excerpts of paranoia
I miss my home. Whenever I enter this valley, my life becomes instantly complicated again. Sitting in the UVU library with a friend I understood how well I reciprocated with my home, and how much I miss it. I miss having my memories of you being shut by the sanctity of my city. My sweet solace.
--
My family and friends seem to understand me less and less. They are drifting away from me. Every time I visit this place, I long again to be back on my own. They make me feel like a black sheep. Every word from my mouth is rebuked. Every move I make is under judgment. Every step I take is sick to them. My once closest people are slowly racking me out of their equations. I don't feel missed. I've never felt like this with these people until now. I wonder how things would have differed if I had served a mission. Would they then accept me? Am I so currently reprehensible to my tribe? I feel reprehensible. I see my father's eyes, and how they reflect his disappointment in everything I've ever tried to succeed at. My best friends didn't say goodbye to me when I left. They told me I wasn't Christlike enough. I heard my brother argue for my fitness in serving a mission as if he knew the multitude of disqualifications.
I see it in their eyes.
I hear it in their words.
I feel it in my chest.
I'm the outcast.
--
Driving into this valley, my sanity seems to slip. Since arrival, I have heard voices, flashed back, and seen things. It set me on edge today when I was just out buying some eggs for my family, I felt eyes peering from behind each aisle. I feel like the ghost of my past is walking behind me. Close behind me. I fear her memory and how it lingers behind me. I'm afraid of how deeply I miss something so detrimental. She told me once how unstable I was. Truth really hurts.
--
I've been fighting a panic attack tonight, the meds are about to be trippled down. I've been convulsing in this panic for an hour. I can't calm myself down.
--
Since I have left Logan, these people, these memories, and these ghosts have crushed me. I can't handle this conditional love coupled with unconditional pressure. I can't take it anymore.
--
I'm unsure that I'll remember writing this by the morning, assuming I wake up. I was in nirvana before I left Logan.
--
I once had a heart of gold. Now I'm too far charred over to be worth any more time in this body.
"Don't paint me black when I used to be golden."
--
I'm sorry.
--
My family and friends seem to understand me less and less. They are drifting away from me. Every time I visit this place, I long again to be back on my own. They make me feel like a black sheep. Every word from my mouth is rebuked. Every move I make is under judgment. Every step I take is sick to them. My once closest people are slowly racking me out of their equations. I don't feel missed. I've never felt like this with these people until now. I wonder how things would have differed if I had served a mission. Would they then accept me? Am I so currently reprehensible to my tribe? I feel reprehensible. I see my father's eyes, and how they reflect his disappointment in everything I've ever tried to succeed at. My best friends didn't say goodbye to me when I left. They told me I wasn't Christlike enough. I heard my brother argue for my fitness in serving a mission as if he knew the multitude of disqualifications.
I see it in their eyes.
I hear it in their words.
I feel it in my chest.
I'm the outcast.
--
Driving into this valley, my sanity seems to slip. Since arrival, I have heard voices, flashed back, and seen things. It set me on edge today when I was just out buying some eggs for my family, I felt eyes peering from behind each aisle. I feel like the ghost of my past is walking behind me. Close behind me. I fear her memory and how it lingers behind me. I'm afraid of how deeply I miss something so detrimental. She told me once how unstable I was. Truth really hurts.
--
I've been fighting a panic attack tonight, the meds are about to be trippled down. I've been convulsing in this panic for an hour. I can't calm myself down.
--
Since I have left Logan, these people, these memories, and these ghosts have crushed me. I can't handle this conditional love coupled with unconditional pressure. I can't take it anymore.
--
I'm unsure that I'll remember writing this by the morning, assuming I wake up. I was in nirvana before I left Logan.
--
I once had a heart of gold. Now I'm too far charred over to be worth any more time in this body.
"Don't paint me black when I used to be golden."
--
I'm sorry.
Forgetting where my keys are before I attempt a drive home.
The only reason the water hasn't frozen over here is that the rivers are moving
--
I'm alone out here...
It works.
I've lost every person that I've trusted everything to.
--
I'm alone out here...
and I know what I'm doing.
I know how much it takes to forget how much I was hurt.
I've found the only way to forget you... and all the memories.
I know what it takes to get the voices in my head to shut up.
It's such a simple recipe.
It works.
That's why I'm always on the medicine.
Because the only reason my heart hasn't frozen over is that the medicine keeps it moving.
Because if I remembered what has happened to me, I'd probably quit.
Parasites.
2 years ago today--
I remember being on the phone with her, she wanted me to see that movie with her. I knew this was my way into her life, but I was scared of her. I knew where things would have gone watching that movie on valentines.
So I said no.
The next morning, my newest best friend told me how he scored last night.... with guess who...
Spinning.
I was crazy about her, I just didn't want us to begin everything watching fifty shades of grey and being left alone with each other the rest of the night. I was too scared.
So I slashed my forearm in the shower. I was so confused. So angry. The scar still reminds me of the one time I chose the right, and everything fired back at me.
1 year ago today--
All I have to say about it is that I mistook my life with you for marriage.
I mistook you for a wife.
Today--
I was so close to asking her out. She has such a sweet smile. She said it was great to see me again before she walked past my knees to get off the bus.
In a moment of weakness, my mouth was granite, and I didn't ask her out. I watched her hair whip away from me as she got off at her stop.
Sinking into my seat on the empty bus, I was confronted with a final persistent understanding...
I have only been happy on my own. I have always been better off alone. The tradeoff I came to terms with on the bus today was this: That I'd rather fight feelings of loneliness for eternity than be tortured by another "relationship"--whatever those are anyways.
Parasites.
I remember being on the phone with her, she wanted me to see that movie with her. I knew this was my way into her life, but I was scared of her. I knew where things would have gone watching that movie on valentines.
So I said no.
The next morning, my newest best friend told me how he scored last night.... with guess who...
Spinning.
I was crazy about her, I just didn't want us to begin everything watching fifty shades of grey and being left alone with each other the rest of the night. I was too scared.
So I slashed my forearm in the shower. I was so confused. So angry. The scar still reminds me of the one time I chose the right, and everything fired back at me.
1 year ago today--
All I have to say about it is that I mistook my life with you for marriage.
I mistook you for a wife.
Today--
I was so close to asking her out. She has such a sweet smile. She said it was great to see me again before she walked past my knees to get off the bus.
In a moment of weakness, my mouth was granite, and I didn't ask her out. I watched her hair whip away from me as she got off at her stop.
Sinking into my seat on the empty bus, I was confronted with a final persistent understanding...
I have only been happy on my own. I have always been better off alone. The tradeoff I came to terms with on the bus today was this: That I'd rather fight feelings of loneliness for eternity than be tortured by another "relationship"--whatever those are anyways.
Parasites.
So fucked
Every weekend it comes back to me
When the wee hours slip in.
The trauma.
Wishing I could drown myself in whatever will make one forget.
Forget the trauma.
--. .... ...--
--. .... ... ...--
Watching crimson go down the shower drain
Being so fatigued from losing too much
Constructing some sort of train track in each leg
Raking back and forth to open up old scabs
back and forth
back and forth
back and forth
So fucked
Sometime September 2016
Making a toast to the valley by the window in my room
Choking down burning liquor with such hatred that it didn't stand a chance.
Another one
Another one
Another one
Until I found out what it meant to truly forget someone's face for the first time
How well it worked
So fucked
Sometime New Years Eve 2016
Laying in a dark red bath on the morning of...
Hearing beach baby
over
and
over again.....
I remember
surviving just enough to make it out of the tub...
to smolder a death stick alone in the air of a quiet park
--montage--
That night
After the homeless man discreetly placed a death sentence into my hand
I woke up hours later, spinning into the most indescribable drug-fueled rage
Twisted up in my favorite tent, the tent I'd never see another night in.
My brain never healed.
Never the same.
So fucked
sometime June 2017
A brand new blade in my hand sent so deep into my forearm
There was no blood at first.
It was the cleanest cut.
The deepest cut.
The muscle I was looking into started seeping out droplets of blood
I was instantly in shock
Seeing that...
feeling that...
you never come back...
So angry at her
So angry at myself
I remember being so far gone I tried to pull my skin back together with my other hand
The inch of clearance between skin meant stitches
It meant an ugly scar
The pain is still residual
Every time those muscles move, it reminds me
So fucked
Sometime July 2018
Sitting quietly on the back bumper of the van
Addressing my first encounter with the sun that day
only to see it setting in the west
burning another American Spirit
feeling so numb...
so much so that when the cinder reached the end
eyes heavy again with tears
I planted the ember into the back of my hand
not even flinching
I sat in silence and twisted the cigarette straight into my nerves
the most searing sting
I remember pulling it away and seeing my skin, black and somehow melting away
So odd...
So fucked
Sometime November 2018
So fucked.
Every day since May 2016
When the wee hours slip in.
The trauma.
Wishing I could drown myself in whatever will make one forget.
Forget the trauma.
--. .... ...--
--. .... ... ...--
Watching crimson go down the shower drain
Being so fatigued from losing too much
Constructing some sort of train track in each leg
Raking back and forth to open up old scabs
back and forth
back and forth
back and forth
So fucked
Sometime September 2016
Making a toast to the valley by the window in my room
Choking down burning liquor with such hatred that it didn't stand a chance.
Another one
Another one
Another one
Until I found out what it meant to truly forget someone's face for the first time
How well it worked
So fucked
Sometime New Years Eve 2016
Laying in a dark red bath on the morning of...
Hearing beach baby
over
and
over again.....
I remember
surviving just enough to make it out of the tub...
to smolder a death stick alone in the air of a quiet park
--montage--
That night
After the homeless man discreetly placed a death sentence into my hand
I woke up hours later, spinning into the most indescribable drug-fueled rage
Twisted up in my favorite tent, the tent I'd never see another night in.
My brain never healed.
Never the same.
So fucked
sometime June 2017
A brand new blade in my hand sent so deep into my forearm
There was no blood at first.
It was the cleanest cut.
The deepest cut.
The muscle I was looking into started seeping out droplets of blood
I was instantly in shock
Seeing that...
feeling that...
you never come back...
So angry at her
So angry at myself
I remember being so far gone I tried to pull my skin back together with my other hand
The inch of clearance between skin meant stitches
It meant an ugly scar
The pain is still residual
Every time those muscles move, it reminds me
So fucked
Sometime July 2018
Sitting quietly on the back bumper of the van
Addressing my first encounter with the sun that day
only to see it setting in the west
burning another American Spirit
feeling so numb...
so much so that when the cinder reached the end
eyes heavy again with tears
I planted the ember into the back of my hand
not even flinching
I sat in silence and twisted the cigarette straight into my nerves
the most searing sting
I remember pulling it away and seeing my skin, black and somehow melting away
So odd...
So fucked
Sometime November 2018
So fucked.
Every day since May 2016
Back to my plow
Exactly 2 years ago I arrived at spring semester excited, nervous, and completely unprepared.
I am now the tired young man I've come to know from two years gone by.
The days will surely never get better.
That's the first law:
Life is suffering.
I am now the tired young man I've come to know from two years gone by.
The days will surely never get better.
That's the first law:
Life is suffering.
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