“Molding pillows to your shape in hopes of catching rest.”

Alone? I know alone.
People? I know fewer of those
As the days drag on into nights
Where the lights to the East
Coat the skyline like stars
That have yet to die

It’s lonely here, between these ears. From my patio, there is a car parked between two empty spots: numbers 9 and 11. These numerals are spray painted in stencil on the pavement so that every time I step out onto the patio, I’m one space away from being stuck in an emergency, so I stay between the lines and let the nicotine buzz.

There’s solitude in the songs that hit me like hammer hits nail. I don’t bend to its will but it makes me malleable in my introspectie space where, in the dark, there is no one but me and the background noise of my TV as I play the same song over and over again. I’m trying to make sense of this heavy burning in my chest; sometimes my emotional state escapes the rate of my cognitive abilities and so, sometimes I dwell in the miasma a moment to soak up the scent, to plug myself into that outlet. Or maybe an inlet. Depends on your perspective, I guess.

There are songs that make me miss people even though people aren’t exactly on my radar. When I’m running low on sleep, which I have been for days it seems, I think the doors open a little bit easier and I’m a little more susceptible to being set loose, but not set free. Emotions are sometimes an escape but, more often than not, a ball and chain and I’m chipping away at the stone around my brain to see what I actually think.

Tonight, I struggle to keep my eyes open and my heart steady.
These nighttime hours are the times when I miss people
When they’re the most inaccessible.
Maybe I miss them for the very reason that they are.
If that’s the case I would miss them all the time, though.
It’s the magic and solitude found only under the spell of night
Where I wander.
I wonder.

Now playing:

Artist: Sixo feat. Ceschi
Song: Christmas Past
Album: The Odds of Free Will
Fake Four Records

Lyrics:

Grind my bones up,
snort ’em through your pretty, big nostrils
’till your stomach expands from cuts to your guts.
I wrote a lot of bad from the depths of your insides
To sing you sweetly to sleep as you cried at night.

I’ll be your ghost of Christmas past
On a pillow of feathers all soaked as rags.
In a thunderstorm over skid row we’ve danced in dreams.
But in reality, I don’t dance or dream.
In reality, all my laughs are screams, emotionless,
And half the man I’d ever hope to be.

So, promise me you’ll pawn my guitar on a Fair Haven Street
And buy yourself a diamond ring with the hundred bucks you recieve
Near the crack spot near the bail-bondsmen there’s a gas station hest.
I swear to fucking God I tried my best.
But my best will never be good enough for a perfect guy that’s mess.
But as long as I’m alive I will be drenched in my regrets.
Tonight I’ll sleep in sweat in another bed
Without the warmth of your flesh
Molding pillows to your shape in hopes of catching rest.

Let’s make it through the winter
Without peeling off each other’s skin.
Let’s grow our hair and learn to live again
‘Cause spring is right around the bend
It’ll melt away the bitterness
It’ll grow new trees and pollinate the land

The king and prince are both dead
Drift away quick as snowmen
With frosty powder still in noses
Nobody left to hold them
Through the blizzard that left them frozen
I’m hoping that I meet a better end.

They’ll be our ghost of Christmas past.

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Gunshot for an Alarm Clock

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Born as a son of a waitress and a railroad worker
who rode the rails out of here
and left her doing her best to serve me
when she married the a truck driving son of a truck driver.
Hard to persist against the blowback of that.
It stunted growth and twisted new wrinkles
programmed with pattern recognition.
It sees when the past is about to hit
point B from point A to loop back to the front again,
reincarnating the past into different forms of
ways to incur battle wounds that bloom into scars.

Trust exists outside a cage
and, so, I know why the bird flies against the wires;
it wants to believe the outside is embracing
while I embrace my perch and linger within my bars.
I am filled to the brim
my cup is full of anxiety
and it rattles, shakes, and spills all over
Truth be told,
I’m afraid of almost everything.
My forays into leaning into the wind
has left me sprawled across the dirt
and when I dust myself off
I’m ankle-deep in salt water;
it must have fallen out of my pocket
when gravity grasped my collar and pulled.

The pills are meant to keep me gripping
the lighter side but I still sink deep
and in the abyss I sit and wait and watch
life pass me by, year by year.

I’m terrified of you. Whoever you are.
Because ‘you’ have stepped into and out of this cage
and slammed the door in my face because I
was enamored by the glitter in your tail feathers,
the impossible beauty in your plumage,
And ‘you’ turned out to be someone I knew
So, I don’t know the you that is yet to come
or if you’re even on your way.
It’s just getting harder to burn down the world
when everyone has had an easier time than I.
I still feel like the child that grew into
the live wire of anxiety and the cold water of depression.
The door to the cage is almost too much to overcome these days.

Everyday strikes me like the same tuning fork;
the vibration igniting my nerves.
I’ve got a gunshot for an alarm clock
And the pills are easier to swallow
than the rest of my day.
I’m okay with being alone.
Loneliness is another story.

The Rare Occasion When Affect is a Noun

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He knows no one shines forever; they change with the weather.

– AFI “On the Arrow”

I can’t remember a time when the coming of the winter season didn’t bring with it the heavy weight of depression. Since I was in my early teens I have struggled with this time of year and the lows it evokes for reasons I have never been able to comprehend. This condition has an actual clinical term: Seasonal Affective Disorder, the condition with the unbelievably appropriate acronym, SAD. Those who are familiar with struggles of depression know, however, this feeling goes well beyond a simple feeling of sadness. It’s a weight that roots you to the ground, strips you of your willpower, and fills your mind with darkness. It strips away your ability to be human and to function around other people. This, at least, has been my experience. Over the years I have simply come to deal with it because, so far, it has proven to be extremely resistant to any drug I’ve been prescribed.

There was a great amount of hope this year, though. There was a glimmer on the horizon that I may have started to escape this weight I’ve carried for at least 15 years. I was working out, I was eating decently and regularly; I was taking care of myself which is key when one struggles with depression. I’ve learned to not sit in it or it will only tie more stones around my ankle and cause me to sink further into the abyss of my own thoughts. However, after a session with my therapist I discovered, these measures seemed to only be masking the symptoms rather than getting rid of them. It struck me like a brick while we were discussing my moods that I have been depressed the entire time I was doing well. My affect was flat and I had no energy. Over the years, I’ve learned to fake being in a good mood but, “fake it until you make it,” only works for so long. Especially for an introvert who bleeds energy when he’s around people like me. It only picks away at what little barrier I have left to guard my lows from the outside world.

I can feel myself going down again…

– Sage Francis “Eviction Notice”

Those who don’t live with depression have a very difficult time understanding what it’s like to have to live with the shifting winds of moods. Depression doesn’t, at least for me, exist as one feeling but more of varying degrees of lows with different temperaments. I’m used to the bottom end of the spectrum where it’s impossible for me to get out of bed and I can’t think of anything to do or any good reason to peel off the blankets and do something. It’s crucial to learn how to take care of yourself in these instances as impossible as it may seem. These are the days I don’t make it into work and I spend most of my day watching movies – if I can get out of bed to my DVD collection – or marathon-watching something on Netflix. These days I usually don’t really bother to eat and I ignore anyone and everyone. The irony of this is that, in this state of mind, having someone around to treat you as they normally would is actually really helpful. Of course, there is always the fear of letting someone too close and the fear they may later use the information they gather against you. I’ve been there. It makes trusting people with anything difficult.

Lately, I’ve been barely falling just under the surface of the water. I can feel the ache in my chest and stomach that I’m used to when I’m feeling everything full force but it’s more like background noise. It’s not bad enough that it completely affects how I function so I’m able to do everything I normally do but there’s this subtle bell in the background ringing to the tones of melancholy. It sits just below the surface and just scratches underneath my skin to let me know its there. My energy is still pretty low and it comes with sudden bursts of irritation and anger, at one point turned inward, forcing me to control or sequester myself. I have to find something to take my mind off of it. Writing is the biggest help and, while not many people understand, it helps me manage and that’s all I really care about. Some people might see it as selfish and that’s okay but, if there’s anything I’ve learned from two years of therapy and 15 years of dealing with myself, I have to take care of myself first and people who expect me to take care of them are poison to my soul. It’s one of the reasons I keep so few friends.

So, I’m continuing to fight with myself as I try to find ways to keep from losing it completely. It’s difficult sometimes to see faces of people you used to know who have now become people you knew. It’s hard to see people make connections and meet people and wonder why it’s so hard for me to do that. I’d like to think of myself as a decent person with good values and a good heart, though cracked and bandaged it may be. Yet I find more people exiting my life then entering and this just adds more weight to my shoulders. Depression makes you constantly ask yourself if there’s something wrong with you, if you’re defective. I have to believe God made me this way and he doesn’t make mistakes. I am who I am for a reason and I have to deal with things the best I can and lean on him to get me through it. I have connected with God more lately than I have in a long time which has been fantastic.

There are days I wish I didn’t feel so alone, even though there are days I thrive on my own. I wish I didn’t have to see the bottom of the barrel so often but I am thankful I can still breathe despite the weight on my chest. These lows will come and go just like people come and go.

“PLEASE. BELIEVE ME. I’M REAL. IT HURTS.” – The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer

μισάνθροπος

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There are days where I lose just a little more faith in humanity and, most times, I could not tell you why. My experience with the general populace as well as at the individual level has not gone a long way to prove to me otherwise. At the same time, I must lose faith in myself because I am part of the mass of humanity I learning to like less and less. Drawn from the same dust as the rest, I find I am trying to mentally scrub myself clean of all the things I see in other people I don’t want to see in the mirror every day as I prepare to join them in the daily grind where people share the poison of other peoples’ lives; they gossip, they lie, and they treat each other like dirt under the ruse of friendly alliance.

I find myself growing tired of this consistently nagging idea in my head that says my view on the world is wrong. It’s not Biblical, it’s not Christ-like, it’s not something else completely good and altruistic. It does not feel like there are a lot of people out there who are for me. I have been betrayed too many times in too many ways to believe I’ll ever fall in love again. I’ve seen too many people fall from the pedestal they’ve been put on (not necessarily self-imposed) to believe in heroes. I’m a cynic with trust issues which manifests itself in personality traits I’ve found most people do not understand or are somehow offended by it. Maybe it’s a subconscious method of keeping people at a distance; if that’s true, I think I have built up a curriculum vitae of experiences that warrant such behavior. Only fools fail to learn from experience.

What’s been my experience? I’ve been deemed unworthy of being part of peoples’ lives more than once. I’ve been abandoned by people who should have cared about me. This is not pity-seeking. The biggest trigger of my aggression and anger is no one takes the time to understand, no one seeks an explanation, no one wants to know, because when you look long into the abyss, the abyss looks back into you. I am sick and tired of fighting with myself, with other people because it only fuels my misanthropy; it brings out the worst in me and I already live with enough depravity so I’m trying my best to keep these sentences clear and coherent because I can feel it.

The burning coal in the pit of my stomach is rising up into my chest as I think of all the banal and pointless things people go on and on about. I’m sick of hearing about drunken weekends and stupid, narrow-minded opinions. I am, honestly, so bereft of heart lately that I can lock myself up in my apartment and shut out the world. Two doors, two locks, and a whole lot of books can keep me occupied.

On the other side of the coin, I am alone most of the time, anyway. Even with people around me, I find it difficult to relate. Ever felt alone in a crowd? That’s me. Then a sliver of doubt slips under my skin and I start feeling that aching loneliness that only comes from having experienced relationships. I have friends but they’re all married, moved away, and have schedules to keep. I do not have such burdens. I answer to no one but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could share it with someone other than a blog or a notebook.

But if I speak will you judge? I did not come here to care what you think about me. Not anymore. Most peoples’ opinions aren’t worth shit anymore because there’s no mileage behind them.

If only I could rewire everything to make it more clear.