Am I Happy Yet

“Most of my fantasies revolve around holding hands or laying in bed together sometime during the morning right after we wake up.” I say from the horizontal position of a therapist couch thing.

“And why is that?  Are you afraid of intimacy?” asks the so called doctor.

“To me those are the most intimate moments.  The closest you can be to a person.  Its all that really matters to me.”

I lose myself in the paint speckled ceiling above me.  Wishing it was a patch of blue sky with a cloud passing by every other minute.  But I’m here in a therapist office because I’ve lost control.  I’ve lost my thoughts.  And I’m losing the only thing that matters to me.

“Have you tried exorcise?” the therapist spits out, finally catching my attention.

“No, I’ve always looked this skinny.” I say rolling my eyes giving off the highest vibe of sarcasm I can send out.


“Yes, I’ve exorcised!  I still do.” I half yell out in reply.

“Oh.”  and here come the half responses and empty answers that I could give myself for less then $15 an hour.

“If I haven’t done everything I could to make this better I wouldn’t be here right now.  I would still be somewhere else trying to make it better.” I sigh.


And this is why I’m depressed as fuck.  No one has a fucking answer.  Even when its there job to have an answer.  There specialty they’ve trained for.  Just empty responses.

“I’m going now.”





She won’t say anything.  I already know that. I’ve instigated every conversation since-

“How’d it go?” she asks.

“Uhh, horrible to be honest.” this is odd.

“Why, what happened?” she asks again.


“Nothing happened.  If I wanted nothing to happened I would of just talked to a wall for $15 less an hour.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve already been doing that and it hasn’t been working.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I grimace at those words.  Those overly truth filled words.  You don’t even know but somehow you do.

“You’re not going to get better without putting in some effort.” she says, half demanding me to action.  Please stop acting like you care.

“You don’t see 80% of the effort I put in.”

“Why is that?”

Because your blind.  You ignore it.  All these things I do I consider effort.  Just talking to you is the hardest thing for me on most days.

I stare.

“Most things I do you don’t think take effort.” I finally reply.

“Like what?”

Please stop digging into me.  Soon I’ll say something stupid.

“Like just showing up I guess.” I spit out a shitty ass answer for her too deep of a question I wish I had the balls to answer.

“Really.” she says more as a statement then a question.

“Really.” I reply.


“Any better lately?” asks the therapist.

No, not really.  Everything feels worse.  And here you are making $15 an hour and all you have is this shitty cliche couch.

“Its a little better I guess.” I lie.

“Good, good.” the therapist says while taking a few notes.

This is stupid.  This whole idea.  Where did I even get this from.

Oh yeah…..

She suggested it.

I sit up on the cliche couch slowly.  The therapist stares me down.

“I know my problems.  I know my answers.” I say with a low voice.

“Oh really.” says the therapist with a tad bit of arrogance seeping from the mouth.

“Yeah, and these answers suck.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they hurt.  Because there not the answers I want.  Because I want-No, I need more from life then this.” I say while clenching my fist at my side.

“What is it that you want from life?” stupidly asks the therapist.

“Its what I need.”

“What is it that you need.” says the therapist with a nonverbal sigh.

I need acceptance.

“I don’t know.” I lie again.

“You just said you knew the answer.”

“Well, sometimes being the only one with the answers is a sad life that lacks all forms of validation.” I sigh.







I walk in with my deepest darkest mood.  No one says a thing to me.  An the hours pass on without conversation.  Working silently with the deadest possible look in my eyes.

I could monologue about depression and all that shit right now but I think we all get the idea.  I could describe the scene in great detail but it doesn’t actually add to this story.  I don’t feel anything so its pointless.  Everything, every face, every bit of scenery is just a blur of gray to my eyes.

And the day goes on.

And on.


“BOOM!” a loud smack against the table behind me makes my skin jump but not my body.  I remain still as I’m awaken from nothing for a split moment.

“Hey!” she shouts as she walks up from behind me.

I stare.

“What’s wrong with you?” she says while glaring at me.

I shrug.

“Talk.” she demands.

“What?” I ask glaring back hoping it will make her stop and walk away.

“What is your fucking problem today.” she half whispers/screams at me.

“Its not helping.”

“What isn’t helping?”

“The thing you told me to do.” I sigh because it should of been obvious.  But she only half remembers and holds half conversations with me.

“The therapist?” she stares.

I nod.

“Why, whats wrong?” she asks while looking concerned.

Don’t give me that look.  That false stare of caring.  I know the truth.  I know none of this really matters to you.  It annoys the living fuck out of me.


“Stop bullshitting me.” she says while leaning over the table in front of me.

I stare.  Dying every second she stands in front of me.

“Knock knock.” I say.


“Knock knock.” I repeat.

“Who’s there?” she asks cautiously.

“I don’t know.” and I start to laugh uncontrollably.

She starts to laugh a little with half the smile she usually has.


I don’t have the answers.  Sometimes I wonder if I even have the questions.

Nothing, absolutely nothing can make me alright.

But sometimes things happen that I can’t really explain.  Odd bits of reality that shouldn’t exist and they make me happy.  Happy is such a faint thought to me.  Life doesn’t make me happy.  Certain people do.

I must care somewhat about myself If I’m attempting to be around these people.


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If It Burns

I want to bleed out

I want to burn up

I find some kind of euphoria in my idiocy

Its tempting

It really is

The pleasure of pain

I want happiness

But I know I’ll never truly have it

It distracts me

I’ll sit and think about the different ways I can hurt

They seem less painful then of all the ways I could be happy

Its a cut and twist away

All these feelings at the tip of my fingertips

I cannot grant myself the pleasure of passion

The pleasure of acceptance

Or even the pleasure of you

But I can ruin myself again and again

Nobody can take that away from me

I can give myself nothing like no one else

Demise is my gift

I love these actions more then you



(P.S wow that was depressing but ultimately fun to write for some reason.  I guess in all the negatives I find myself feeling alive.  Never getting close enough to true happiness to feel the same.)

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All She Needed

All she needed was

Someone to smile at in the morning

All she needed was

Someone to say they can do it for her

All she needed was

A warm bed to come home to

All she needed was

Someone to make it work

All she needed was

Someone to share the day with

All she needed was

A real feeling of security

All she needed was

For it to be ok

All she needed was

Someone to say I love you

All she needed was you

Because you looked like someone she needed

All she needed

All she needed

All she really needed was you to be there

Its a real shame you never knew what to say

She needed you

But you couldn’t be the one she needed.

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Maybe Don’t Start A Riot

I’m going to steal some words I just read because I can.

“It is better to be hated for what you are.”

“Than be loved for something you are not.”

I love that far too much.

Getting lost is the best part of life.  Dreams that won’t come true.  We hope we don’t catch on fire but we already know.  Each word a match breaking against the skin.  You fuel me to jump or fail.  Late at night on the street with the other blowing pieces of trash.  Erratic, predictable in the sense that we won’t repeat.

I miss writing these stupid little things about nothing.

I don’t miss the daydreams.

They remind me of you.

Not you.

But the other person.

I get stuck easily.  My mind finds a focus.

God damn, I just hate you so much.  It was so easy to not care because I didn’t actually care.  Its not like you started looking different or changed your makeup.

You started talking and that was a mistake.

I don’t want to ignore it because I enjoy it.  It stimulates me like a part of my brain is falling asleep when you talk.  Its probably easy for you.  Probably easy for everyone.  But not everyone does the same.  Or speaks about anything worthwhile.

I don’t know.

I never really do.

That last person sucked.

That last person lied.

I mean you could be lying too.

But at this point I’m just lying to myself.

And lying to everyone else around me.

Sometimes I don’t tell the truth.

But I’m not stupid.

Wasting my time hoping I can waste a little more.

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Start A Riot

Part of me (a very large part) demands insanity.  I’ve grown used to falling, those midnight scars from stepping on bottle caps and pieces of metal sticking out of the ground.

I was desensitized to death at a young age and I hate it.  When people die I just don’t feel.  My heart keeps beating and my body keeps moving.  I can’t stop and fathom the horrible situation of death.  I don’t understand what it means anymore to lose someone.

But a caring person would call me over dramatic.

A non-caring person would also call me over dramatic. You really have to pick out who cares and doesn’t care these days.  Force them into a stupid conversation and see how much attention they give you.

But if I fall one more time maybe she’s right.

I’ve grown to like the taste of water.

I don’t understand how you drink coffee.  Not the taste, but the process in itself.  (also had hot cocoa to this list of hot things that I’m not physically capable of drinking safely)

I’m diving into the world with a huge safety net at the bottom.  And if it fails I’ll just pick myself off the ground.  Shake out my arms and check for any broken bones.

I almost have a sick attitude to acting depressed lately.  Its easy and fun to me.  I’ve only used it as an actual escape once so far.  But my body refused and healed back up within hours.  I don’t know where all the marks went.

Don’t read it out loud because the sound of my words scare me.  You should never hear yourself talk and the echoes are only a lie.  (cliche cliche its just a matter of time before we run out of line.)

If I had a wish.

If I had some desire.

It would be to see you smile every day.

I want to you see you fully understand how amazing you are.

And I want you to live up to your abilities and be happy with yourself.

Those are about three different people.

Would you ever take a bullet for someone? I would.  I have a list of people I would jump in front of a car for.  I don’t see a problem with taking the hit, taking the shot, all that pain.  A lot of people are worth that fleeting moment of decision.  I wouldn’t hesitate.

I don’t know.  I feel different.  I feel (not older) but awake.  I feel content to an extent.  I’m not hidden and that makes me happy.  The right people know how fucked up I was (I prefer was because I feel better now).  And every day with my thoughts is a happy day.  I can still be toppled and shoved down.  But I’m separating pain from life now and not letting it control my every waking action.

Every morning you smile.

Every night a kiss.

Knowing you’re loved is enough.

I wish it was me.

I really do.

But its not something I dwell on.

I know who I am.

Its not worth the thought.

That kind of hope it what kills you.

I don’t want to die when someone like you is so beautiful.

Knowing you is the best part of my adulthood.

I know its stupid.

I know its simple and I’m overreacting (again).

I guess you don’t understand the silence (even though you probably do).

I could get up and overcome.

But time has come and gone and I’m still here.

Pictures are pretty.

The sun is setting again.

I can whisper stupid things.

You don’t hate me so life is ok.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to be happy.

Its coming closer.

I don’t care if I’m over the top depressingly crazy.

Its good to talk to people and share dumb things for no other reason then to vent secrets.

Thank you for listening.

It makes me better.

I feel like the target audience for “Friendship is Magic” after writing that.  I also feel like calling myself a nerd for reacting like some fucking angel dropped from the sky and saved me by just knowing me.  This is stupid (I’m stupid by relation).  Feelings suck and I could write 1,000 words about how knowing people make me happy.  Man, fuck you guys.

P.S Had to counteract the overreaction with an opposite opposing overreaction to the subject at hand.  Don’t you think I’m soft.  I just think flowers are badass.  Get over it.

P.P.S I’m probably not allowed to call some of these people friends and here I am being a special magical unicorn about them.

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Normal Baseball

Her words stuck to me, clang to me, and held me close like a lover.

“I played softball up and to the point my older brother took out to the backyard and proceeded to pitch and hit me with a baseball on purpose.” she said

“That’s what older brothers are for.” he simply replied.  And that was the last level of the conversation.

Why, why did it end so simply for them.  Were we not born of the same parents, the same fucking family. They ease from past trauma like lowering an umbrella after the rain has passed.  Just a storm passing through.  They forget it so easily.

“I’m going to teach you how to hit a baseball.” he said.

I don’t think I ever hit a baseball again after that.   I only remember the pain in my leg and refusing to bat again.  His promises that the pain would help me learn to hit.

I was lied to.

Why does it stick to me more.  Why do I remember it all on my own.  Why can the rest of my siblings just move on while I sit in the same place contemplating all this pain.  We’re from the same parents.  The same family.  Lived in the same house.  But why are we so different.

I hate it.


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Road Trip

It was a warm summer day, or was it winter?  Well now its raining and all I can think about is wild flowers, road trips that never end, and melted candy.  A warm rain washing away the thoughts of yesterday.

“And taking me away the places I once knew.” I say while reclining my passenger seat back.   Kicking my feet up onto the dashboard.

“You know, your smelly feet make it hard for me to focus on the road.” she says while turning the radio on.

“I hate this song as much as I hate you.” I say while putting my hands behind my head and closing my eyes.

Excuse me.” she says while trying not to swerve.

“Yes, I agreed to a 4 hour car trip with you and the first thing I say is an insult.  Because I obviously hate you so much I’ll seriously tell you how much I hate you.” I say while trying to fall asleep.

“Why do you always have to be so rude.” she says while finally calming down.

The passing cars put a numbing sound in the back of my head.  Each oncoming forest of trees and bare farm land.  Another overcast in Michigan.  It looks cold but feels warm.  Or does it look warm and feel cold.  Silence is deafening and I can’t hear a thing.

“No one ever talks.  No one ever says anything.  If I don’t fill the air with nonsense the silence will kill me.”

The emptiness, the void, the pure silence of it all fell from her like an avalanche of purposelessness.  Its beating on my head, its beating on my chest, its digging into the heart.  The thump of highway as we drive along.  The numbing cars as they pass by.  Another semi truck, another minute.  When will it end.  When will it begin.  Its pushing on the inside of my skull.  Pushing, pushing, pushing.

“Everyone is the same and the silence never ends unless I make it end.” I finally say after what seems like hours.

“You’re just over-” she begins to say but I cut her off like the truck ahead of us just did.

“You only spoke after being forced into an awkward situations.  Don’t argue back, that’s worse.  Just say something off the top of your head.”

“I don’t know.” she quietly replies while putting her focus on the road ahead.

“No one ever does.”  I say before falling asleep.


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Well Hello

“I’ll take this gun and disappear.” I say while tapping a gun against the side of the table.  “I’ll leave.  I’ll be gone.  There will be a little mess, sorry.  Here’s the $20 for the meal.” I say while laying a $20 bill on the table.

A cool breeze passed through the open windows in the room.  Chilling the air to better fit in with the time of night (11 PM).  I hate scenes that are set so easily.  Putting feelings I don’t already have into my body.  Artificial dread.

“My dread is real without the help.” I say while pressing the tip of the gun against the side of my head.

“My dread is this night.”

“My dread is that it will come back for me.” I say quietly while letting my hand and gun fall slowly to my side.

“I am trapped in my soul.”

I slowly tap the gun against the ground before letting it drop to the ground with a clank.  The breeze has long passed but the room is already chilled.  My heart has come to a rest.  The night has finally ended.

“I won’t escape.  I’ll leave on my own free will.”

I take one last long look at the room while I leave everything the same.

“I’ll probably be back.  But this is only a playroom now.”  I say while kicking a piece of a broken chair around.

“I think I’ll go now.” I say while exiting through the door that was always open.

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This is Life: Update

I’ve been reading a book a day when I have a book to read.  Its a little annoying to read on days that I work but I just read them after work and finish them when I wake up.  In some way I feel like I’m trading distractions for more distractions but I’m not completely sure yet.  I feel different.

I still can’t/won’t cross the boundary from good acquaintance to good friend with people I know.  I mean I’m trying its just the whole life style difference.  I feel like a religious nut who has no religion to back it up.  I’m sure people would be nice enough to do it but I wouldn’t want to join them.  I still blame my depression/abuse filled developmental years for this.  But its whatever because I’m happy with who I am.  I just don’t know anyone who wants to do the same things I do.

I wouldn’t say my standards are low or high, just stupid.  I have stupid standards.  And I still can’t get over this feeling.  I feel awake for the first time in years.  I feel alive.  I feel in control of my own life.

With that being said, I bought a long sleeve t-shirt 2 week ago and just realized it last night.  So about as much control as I’m capable of being in.

I should buy pants/shorts.

I should escape my current home life for adulthood at some point in the future.

I should start less sentences with the letter “I”.

What would it take for me to escape.  A federal change in minimum wage for the entire country?

Or would the inability of corporate leaders defeat the purpose of correctly paying employees. If you cannot exist within a country because of laws you probably shouldn’t be running the company.  Its like being incapable of making hot dogs without wood chips.  You’re in charge for a reason.  Make it work or get out of the way so someone who can make it work has your job.

I oddly love people, like most people.  Its really stupid but I do.  Throw something in the trash can, I love you.  Say thank you, I love you.  Be generally nice just because, I love you.  I think a lot of people are just flat out amazing.

If you read this far, well I love you too.

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“I found it! I found the key!” I screamed lifting the key to everything into the air.

“We can finally escape!” She screamed back running toward me.  Escape all the torment and torture.

“But why?.” I say while pulling the key back to my body.  “Why leave when this is all we know?”

“Because we’re dying!  We are slowly dying because of you!” she shouted while stepping toward me defiantly.  “We need escape like we need air.  I need release.”  she says while reading toward me.

I drop to my knees.  “I need love.  I need validation.  I need proven existence to waste away my days.” I say from the cold hard ground of my youth.  “I am nothing without something.”

The girl in front of me fades away again.  The dim light darkens and my room disappears.  The ground becomes wet with over dramatic tears.  Overly serious words spoken for no reason.

A door that can be simply opened appears before me.  No lock for the key I hold.  I may leave at my own free will.  But I don’t.  I stay inside a little longer.  Visiting one last time with my demons.  Saying goodbye to my nightmares.  Graduating from my ignorance.

“I think its about time I grow up.” I say while opening the door.  “I can forget all of this and move on.  Its no longer important. ” and with that I walk through the door.  Leaving the key on the ground behind me.

If I ever fall back inside this dark room I’ll pick up the key from the ground.  And leave the same way I came in.

“I won’t miss you.”

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