Whatever the fuck I'd said yesterday I didn't want to remember.
I still remembered it anyways. It felt disgusting. I couldn't tell whether it was that or just the rest of all the things I regret that made my throat taste like constant bile.
I didn't mean most of it, but there had been truth in all of the words.
Had it been a Saturday? Yeah. It had.
Oh yeah, I hadn't gone to Church. That had blown me the wrong direction. As if it wasn't my fault. I could've drug myself somewhere else, but instead I did nothing.
I kept fighting the urge to vomit and I had no idea why.
One Xanax helped a little bit, but I still had to lie down.
The second got me back into a chair, and the third made me feel okay enough to not THINK about how sick I felt.
I finished watching God's Not Dead. Nice. I liked how he proved 'God Wasn't Dead'.
I found it weird though, how the priests reacted to the guy getting hit by a car.
Like, it reminded me of how junkies act when someone starts to OD or have a bad trip.
Instead of 'hit this fire' it was 'say you believe in Jesus'.
I'm not trying to mock anything but that scene had me rolling.
How did I feel about God? That's what the movie made me think about.
Then it made me think a little uncomfortably further.
How did I feel about anyone?
I didn't hate God. I didn't ever really hate him, at least I don't remember it. I hated Churches, but thats because I hated people.
It had been a couple days since I'd gotten to see a picture of Amelia again, and I fucking hated it.
I hated missing her. I hated not seeing her first, but hating missing her felt more real, like fuck.
I didn't know what the fuck I was supposed to do.
It had started sounding like Stefany wanted to be around me again for the wrong reasons.
The wrong reasons being anything that wasn't getting closer to God.
It sounded strict and I'm not going to lie to you, boring as fuck, but why did it have to be that way?
'Cause I was fucking malignant in all my intentions. Being around people who could be swayed was bad, bad, bad.
I missed my daughter.
Did I mention I missed my daughter?
I miss my daughter.
I felt like I was losing it. Shit wasn't making sense. I mean, hell, I'd been fantasizing about drugs and made myself throw up a slice of pizza the other day because I felt fat.
Stefany continued to leave me on read, I left Kristen (not the Kristen whose life I ruined) on read, all of my conversations felt meaningless and unfulfilling...
That was, until
JUST KIDDING
Everything was still unfulfilling.
Xanax was unfulfilling.
Well, at least it made feeling so empty not feel so dreadful.
I prayed a lot today, I prayed about everything. I prayed to God. I prayed myself to sleep. I suppose praying, or becoming addicted to prayer, was better than talking to myself. 'Cause I typically had bad ideas and liked bad ideas or made myself feel bad for having bad ideas.
It wasn't self harm, it was art. Harm actually hurt things. Art just looked nifty and sometimes painful.
I thought about jumping off of the bridge yesterday. I wouldn't have actually done it, because on the chance I didn't die (which was super likely) my phone probably would have (and then I'd have just been angry).
Thanks God, for the simple things, like not-being-a-pedophile and not-being-addicted-to-heroin or not-having-cancer.
Honestly, if I came down with a terminal illness, I'd probably be just as fucked and lonely as I am now. Not that it'd phase me, as long as they hooked me up to a Fentanyl IV with my Xanax and Adderall; (and Anti-depressant, Welbutrin, eventually) set me up on a lap top or with a pen and paper and let me write away. Stories upon stories. Lies upon lies. Tales upon tales. Its the only thing I loved and could not only escape into but express with as well.
I couldn't escape into music as well. I hadn't yet figured out how to put sarcasm into song.
Everything sucked. God was good. So was Christ. So everything didn't suck.
I just kind of, you know, wished I wasn't so poor.
Or crazy.
Next
Remember the first day you held Amelia.
It was better than addiction, it was better than any novelty, it was better than anything you'd ever felt in your entire life.
Yet it still hadn't measured up to how good you'd wanted it to feel.
The days after Stefany left had almost killed you. It could've been the drugs, it could've been the boundless amounts of liquor you drank, it could've been the sheer recklessness that you found you needed simply to get yourself out of bed in the morning.
God hadn't been there, you'd decided and even if he had, you wouldn't have noticed. You didn't notice anyone or anything. If it wouldn't have been for Max coming to get you out of your basement, you might've began to rot there.
After she left, you'd taken the 'dream box' she'd made you and sat by your parents fire pit and drank an entire bottle of bourbon while burning every last note. You cried. You cried because you felt like you'd been lied to, you'd felt like you'd put all your faith in something for the first time in your life and it had done nothing but bring you hurt.
But you hadn't put your faith in God.
I still remembered it anyways. It felt disgusting. I couldn't tell whether it was that or just the rest of all the things I regret that made my throat taste like constant bile.
I didn't mean most of it, but there had been truth in all of the words.
Had it been a Saturday? Yeah. It had.
Oh yeah, I hadn't gone to Church. That had blown me the wrong direction. As if it wasn't my fault. I could've drug myself somewhere else, but instead I did nothing.
I kept fighting the urge to vomit and I had no idea why.
One Xanax helped a little bit, but I still had to lie down.
The second got me back into a chair, and the third made me feel okay enough to not THINK about how sick I felt.
I finished watching God's Not Dead. Nice. I liked how he proved 'God Wasn't Dead'.
I found it weird though, how the priests reacted to the guy getting hit by a car.
Like, it reminded me of how junkies act when someone starts to OD or have a bad trip.
Instead of 'hit this fire' it was 'say you believe in Jesus'.
I'm not trying to mock anything but that scene had me rolling.
How did I feel about God? That's what the movie made me think about.
Then it made me think a little uncomfortably further.
How did I feel about anyone?
I didn't hate God. I didn't ever really hate him, at least I don't remember it. I hated Churches, but thats because I hated people.
It had been a couple days since I'd gotten to see a picture of Amelia again, and I fucking hated it.
I hated missing her. I hated not seeing her first, but hating missing her felt more real, like fuck.
I didn't know what the fuck I was supposed to do.
It had started sounding like Stefany wanted to be around me again for the wrong reasons.
The wrong reasons being anything that wasn't getting closer to God.
It sounded strict and I'm not going to lie to you, boring as fuck, but why did it have to be that way?
'Cause I was fucking malignant in all my intentions. Being around people who could be swayed was bad, bad, bad.
I missed my daughter.
Did I mention I missed my daughter?
I miss my daughter.
I felt like I was losing it. Shit wasn't making sense. I mean, hell, I'd been fantasizing about drugs and made myself throw up a slice of pizza the other day because I felt fat.
Stefany continued to leave me on read, I left Kristen (not the Kristen whose life I ruined) on read, all of my conversations felt meaningless and unfulfilling...
That was, until
JUST KIDDING
Everything was still unfulfilling.
Xanax was unfulfilling.
Well, at least it made feeling so empty not feel so dreadful.
I prayed a lot today, I prayed about everything. I prayed to God. I prayed myself to sleep. I suppose praying, or becoming addicted to prayer, was better than talking to myself. 'Cause I typically had bad ideas and liked bad ideas or made myself feel bad for having bad ideas.
It wasn't self harm, it was art. Harm actually hurt things. Art just looked nifty and sometimes painful.
I thought about jumping off of the bridge yesterday. I wouldn't have actually done it, because on the chance I didn't die (which was super likely) my phone probably would have (and then I'd have just been angry).
Thanks God, for the simple things, like not-being-a-pedophile and not-being-addicted-to-heroin or not-having-cancer.
Honestly, if I came down with a terminal illness, I'd probably be just as fucked and lonely as I am now. Not that it'd phase me, as long as they hooked me up to a Fentanyl IV with my Xanax and Adderall; (and Anti-depressant, Welbutrin, eventually) set me up on a lap top or with a pen and paper and let me write away. Stories upon stories. Lies upon lies. Tales upon tales. Its the only thing I loved and could not only escape into but express with as well.
I couldn't escape into music as well. I hadn't yet figured out how to put sarcasm into song.
Everything sucked. God was good. So was Christ. So everything didn't suck.
I just kind of, you know, wished I wasn't so poor.
Or crazy.
Next
Remember the first day you held Amelia.
It was better than addiction, it was better than any novelty, it was better than anything you'd ever felt in your entire life.
Yet it still hadn't measured up to how good you'd wanted it to feel.
The days after Stefany left had almost killed you. It could've been the drugs, it could've been the boundless amounts of liquor you drank, it could've been the sheer recklessness that you found you needed simply to get yourself out of bed in the morning.
God hadn't been there, you'd decided and even if he had, you wouldn't have noticed. You didn't notice anyone or anything. If it wouldn't have been for Max coming to get you out of your basement, you might've began to rot there.
After she left, you'd taken the 'dream box' she'd made you and sat by your parents fire pit and drank an entire bottle of bourbon while burning every last note. You cried. You cried because you felt like you'd been lied to, you'd felt like you'd put all your faith in something for the first time in your life and it had done nothing but bring you hurt.
But you hadn't put your faith in God.
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