a silent entry tonight...
by FrozNic
(441 views) - 9/1/03
(recorded 8/31/03 @ 11:34:04 PM)
expressing my walls of pain in a narrow flat screen, can and will enumerate my senses into a grace period of 8 hours, as i await the time where i will monotonely express, in my ill-willed head.. my sorrow and regret for the stupidity of my self in the form of an email to a girl with whom i feel pain and sorrow in my heart, for the things that i said. i regret that my mind has played a hurtful deed upon a girl with whom i bore trust and solid profound witness, that i was going to give up so many of my harsh, environmental weakness'. oh what a wreck of a man i've become. i've considered prozac or some other depression med. i don't really get high's anymore.. i seem to be in my worste state. maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the lights. maybe it's my sense of running from everything i ever had and haveing nothing to run to. maybe it's waking up on those mornings in a cold dark room. remembering a girl whose scent elevated me into greener pastures.. whose eye's bore with them a love and trust inumerable and immeasrable.. whose simple touch whispered i love you and whose gentle passionate kisses sent my spine wizzing into the stars, bouncing off one after the other like a 60's pinball machine...

seems i had my turn. seems.. it happend too early for me. love wore me out. it's so cold tonight. so what now. in a slow quiet town, the kind where everybody knows your name. i await my dredful fate with a lustful craze to know what's next. more often then not, i feel embezzled by the compacting trouble i've caused myself. nothing even makes me feel better anymore. mountain dew compounds the problem.. drugs make it go away. that's it. i hate it. why do i beg like a child for everything that ever was good for me. i feel compelled to dream another night because it's when i sleep that time passes, that life passes. and yet. i know i don't deserve it. what has happend to me? why am i pushed into a never ending flood of flaws and error. sure, i've learned much. but, .. wait. what of all those people in the past? what did they do, when there was no anticeptic or any other trusted way to increase the dreadlock of fate and hatred in my heart. i'm like a raging furious bottle of liqour anticipating and awaiting the day when i can wreck havock on the poor soul who injects me. oh, but it's not that way at all. i fear it's much much more. i feel horrible about tonight. i really do. but, it's much more then tonight. it's so much more. good is something you hear .. about a prince or a knight whose good deed compelled them to follow a certain distress call. or to do something good. going good in that respect, is virtually finding a point you want to reach, and reaching it. however, here i sit, managing to keep my eyes open for another long night. i don't even deserve to go good. i don't deserve medication i don't deserve a heart to love me. i fear i'm too cold to touch. what is my problem! too many days have i sat in the cold. too many days have a waited. danielle.. i'm sorry. i truely am. i'm much more complicated then i make myself out to be. why? i don't know why. some say it's genetic, others a natural process in life.

i really started taking a liking to you.. i really did. but, i just .. tonight i felt like everything i ever was with you, wasn't who i really was. i don't know. it's who i wanted to be. this is so complicated to me. i know i probably shouldn't even email you this. this is a journal entry online at originalityisoverrated.com. pitiful really, that i'm so crazily inciduous. at least 2 personalities. why? i don't know. maybe it's so many nights passing me by. had i slept? i might as well get 2 jobs and never sleep again. let the days pass by like a subway car rattling along on the cold cut rails of the track over and over again. i fear death because, what then. i don't fear life, i just, the purpose almost isnt there. i've never really talked to anyone about this, always bottled it away. but, now, more than ever i'm feeling it. computers are almost an injection to iradicate at least a few hours off the day. i can't take it anymore. i have to find something else to pass the time. you see, home, is on the second story of a run down apartment. the cheapest rent in town. the guys i have to live with, sing their melodic tunes and rectify their own passing days with church activities and a waste of time they call school. i don't even know why i still exhist. i should have pulled the trigger at 14. but i didn't. so now i'm here. summoning ideas on where to go in life.

i've considered a novel. but, what's the point? there's so many there, it'd almost cost me more to write it then i'd make. a beginning author doesn't make his money until his fourth or fifth book. even then, it's struggling to make rent money when you are only making money off a few books sold. so that option is out. maybe find an old run down house. one for which is empty and abandoned. much like fight club. but why? seems to be the easiest idea. but what about something else.. let's think.. traveling doesn't work so good as i don't have the money. reading books only alleviates the pain for a time, it doesn't get rid of it. support groups maybe. you know, go into a lung cancer group.. where, we are all dieing.. where we have nothing left. seems like the place for me. nothing left. no, that's too simple. to smuggling.. problem solved. find people like you and the pain doesn't dissapear, it just become lighter. bearable. oh well.. the problem won't ever be solved so i just stay away from people if i bug them and try and get the day after day thing over with. goodnight for now.
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Notes:
Yeah. There are a lot of mistakes you've made. There are a million more you'll make. It's what life is. Don't worry about the condition of everything this present moment. You can't live life using the moment you're a part of, and only that moment, as a yardstick for your usefulness or for trying to identify your sense of purpose. Even if you *haven't* built up to anything for the past however many years of your life, it's irrelevent. Your life is what you make of it, and you have the ability to make so much more than you'd think at first glance. Temporaryism is the mother of most of these journal entries, including all of mine which revolve around angsty feelings of depression and lack of self-worth. This too shall pass.
   [disillusioned (J:: M) 9/1/03 2:23 AM]



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