So what.There are millions of people who have abusive parents physicalverbalemotionalneglectfulreligious. Doesnt Matter. there are scores of people who have eating disorders donteateattoomucheattoolittlevomitbingepurgelaxativesexerciserunrunrun. Great Fantastic. And plenty of people with self destructive behavior runtoomuchdrinktoomuchcuttoomuchsmoketoomuchcrackheroinshoppingsexisolation. And there’s just not enough fingers on the hands of everyone in Los Angeles to count how many are depressedsuicidaltiredangryrepressedabused
bipolarschitsophrenicaxietyaffectedhurtblamedscarred.
Or what about all the people repressed by their society blamedfiredhuntedbeatenbulliedteasedhassledthreatened
disbelievedburiedliedtolockedupframeddecievedforgotten.
I’m not any different. I’m not any worse off than probably 1/3 of them and probably better off than 1/2 I’m probably more screwed up than 1/6 of them and probably more depressed than 1/4. Â So what’s my volatile gut wrenching tear dropping heart sobbing story? Was i not hugged enough as a child? Did i get bullied by Jr. Did daddy touch me.Did mommy forget me? Did sissy or bro tease me? or perhaps I grew up in Pollyhappyana family with mom dad annoying sibling and the family pet. Could have grown on the corners of the Bronx or on the playground of a side-street suburban Georgian driveway named after an obscure body of water or flower or both.
Maybe Maybe not who knows who cares whats true anyway? All that matters is I’m alive I’m here I’m breathing my heart pumps my neurons fire my fingers twitch i pee poop laugh cry curl up in the bed for hours. feel lonley feel empty feel depraved feel joyous feel invigorated feel delightful feel confident feel like shit feel like a million bucks found in a pile of shit. and sometimes i just want to be dead. So what?