vicious cycle

i think i was good. but so what. i don’t know if this is what i really want. well i’m quite sure it isn’t. quite sure is an oxymoron. how can you be sure and then hesitate still. well that’s how messed up my mind is. you’d think you experience the same thing, but put the said oxymoron and imagine that it’s the theme of your life.

anyway am i really turning to be one of those people. depression really takes the life out of sexual life and leave you with well, being just that – sexual. sexual without a point is dangerous to the psyche. being sexual without a point is almost as good as prostitution isn’t it. and i don’t get money. normal people get mutual sexual benefits, but that kinda doesn’t work for me. i know that this tendency to want to give pleasure stems from the extremely slight but still present satisfaction i get knowing that even a down-and-out person like me is still able to give such desired effects. then again i don’t know if i enjoy sex anymore, if i ever really did. and there goes the burning question of what’s the fucking point (pun never intended). i am barely coping with the fact that i’m gonna have this shit with me for pretty much my whole life, well at least my youth would likely not be spared – and that’s sufficiently depressing as it is, and this fact trumps all the drugs any psychiatrist could prescribe. do i still hope for a miracle? if i continue living then that could be all i hope for. i miss familiarity in people. really, i don’t know anybody anymore. and this is what happens when you choose to be emotionally distant from your friends, even though it’s a way to keep them, it could really mean pointless when you no longer find them familiar. such a vicious, vicious cycle.

bitch

and now suddenly everyone wants to go. come on this is something. this is pity or guilt or something. nobody can be that fickle unless they’re fucking depressed or a fucking retard which aren’t that different from each other in the first place now is there. SO AM I THE ONLY MENTAL CASE IN THE VILLAGE? fuck i need a drink because pathetically being drunk will actually make me seem normal now. fuck laaaaaaaaaaa. why. yes we’re going out tonight because i needa get out of this mental craphole i’ve been hiding at for the past NINE MISERABLE GOD DAMNED YEARS. did you know. did you know that i’m scared to go to that club and that place because im scared to fucking see those fucking people who’s damaged me. do you know that i still do want to go there because that’s where i’ve been for so many fucking months and drinking is all i can ever do to get my mind out of itself for a few fucking hours because that’s how desperate i am. do you know that i’m still scared of the pain i could potentially feel if i see that person and that is why i need my friends those who know and i’m comfortable with to be there. NO. because I’M JUST IMPOSSIBLE TO PLEASE. yes i am. and no 3 prozacs don’t work. at least not now. and i’m runnning low ok. fuck this shit. fuck the psychiatrist for giving me less. fuck everyone living in this fucked up world.

hi i’m insane

why do you care. why do you people care about me. how can people care about me but i’m still like this. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. my fucking life is spinning out of my own control. i have none. i’ve just found too much familiarity in this filthy feeling. i don’t know what’s wrong and what’s right. i never have known. i really want to cry because it’ll make me release all this SHITHOLE feelings rather than letting it wait like a time bomb that’s just waiting to be be released. and i can’t. it’s like i’m meant to explode in a hysteric mental fit.

GO DIE

i think i will commit suicide. i think so. yes. it’s all too hard. it’s a battle too tough and i’ve surrendered long ago. it’s just a matter of suffering with the remainder of the limbs. i’ve been defaced by this disease. and YES I AM HAVING ANOTHER EPISODE GOD DAMN IT. fuck off FUCK OFF FUCK OFF. you can’t cure crazy you can only hide it. YES GO AROUND AND HAVE FUN THE BOTH OF YOU LYING BITCHES BECAUSE YOU SO DESERVE EACH OTHER. and i deserve this don’t i. this mental torture. this mania. god what’s wrong with me. every other fucker who’s fucked me up till this extent i will haunt the living daylights out of you and you will suffer in the mind like how i’m fucked up out of the birth factory.

fucked

it’s terrible i tell you. all this frustration inside. and all those surprises i’m supposed to be thankful for. and i truly am. but the side effects. yeah show me a big bunch of vague people who are there on my birthday and not even twenty four freaking hours after i’m back to asking people out like some desperate hobo for food. and as grateful as i’d like to be, i can’t help but think that everything was there just for the sake of it. call it pity. admit it. because it’s so obvious that’s what it is. honestly i appreciate everything done for me. i do. but the fact remains that nothing will revolve like that. twenty years of pain doesn’t dissolve and forget itself. you cannot cure my suffering. it’s a disease of the mind. fucking faggots sing along to it all the time. why can’t they take a moment to understand it. comprehend the meaning of disturbia and the utter fear it injects in the one who suffers from it. there are two of you every second of your life. one that tries the utmost to be normal and repel the problems and one that pulls you down and drag your body with your face down on a jagged floor. that’s how i’ve been marred by this disease. and the best thing, it’s gonna be there for the rest of my life.

paralysis

what do you do when the high goes away. the effects of booze and drugs running dry. the slight uplift of the spirit because people cared to rejoice the day i was born diminishes. the traces of pathetic giggles i could afford are paralysed yet again. and nobody wants to party. i guess the only logical thing to do is to swallow more prozac. when this becomes justifiable to the mind then it’s gotta be a solution. because i will not take anymore pain.

let it speak for itself

let me be in this lonesome suffocation. let me sink deeper to find familiarity in a frightful land. let the twilight consume me. let the pain linger in my veins. let me sleep through this failed night. let my body mourn under the sheets.

the day i took my 16th prozac pill

“Bernadette’s teenage son commits suicide just two weeks after having been proscribed Prozac by his GP.”

what is this shit. what now. that i’m suffering the side effects? that this sudden surge of wanting to end it all is not because of the constant influx of fucked up incidents happening? of my twenty fucking years of chronic heartache? WHAT WHAT WHAT? i feel like a primitive being who’s fucked because of the common flu before they created antibiotics. that i’m on this unstable drug that could condemn me to death. she never responded to me that shrink. when i said that the cause of my death would inevitably be some depression-related incidents and how unlikely it is to be old age. what happens when your life is fucked? what.

alcatraz

how could this happen to me. how could someone else’s happiness be at my expense. i am not a villain, i know i’m not. two days before my twentieth and i feel another episode coming. work was okay. i went to the crack house again for the third or fourth time alone and i was okay after that. and the new shrink somehow talked me out of a birthday suicide. now it’s only 730 and i’m already feeling the demons coming out. two days. and i have a bottle of alcohol and cigarettes at hand. they’re all i have. i’m only a revolver short of completing the picture.

time, she says. well time is what i don’t have. two days and i’ve been a fool too many times to believe anything good will come out on thursday. i forgot to tell her how much a birthday means to me. what it signifies. how i knew that i’ll crack if this year, it goes wrong again. it’s my benchmark of the year’s success. all my efforts. all the silent sufferings. it did nothing.

one day we’ll die

i foresee that one day i will get lost in the drugs that i take to combat this madness.

just like how the sex, alcohol and cigarettes will only lead to my further destruction. and already, i don’t see the use of these anymore.

i mean it’s hard for me to even climax now.