Oh the irony in seeing nothing but, “quit smoking/smoking kills” commercials on the break room tv because all I can think right now is, “Man I could use a fucking cigarette.”
…Maybe I’ll go buy another bottle of Jack.
Every time, the day after I had so much fun, I end up so fucking depressed. I don’t know if I feel this way because when I enjoy myself I don’t feel like myself or if I just need to constantly enjoy myself. I knew this was going to happen after going to that concert. I fucking knew it. I need this to stop. I just can’t today.
I hate being the oldest of four brothers. I love my family, but I hate being the oldest. I have so much expectations, responsibilitied, I have to set the fucking example, and I am pathetic. I hate being who I fucking am. You would thing the oldest woild help at the little bros, give them advice, and put them on the right path. I can’t even do that shit for myself! Instead I am the one that my brother helps out, gives advice to, and feels bad for. I hate being the fucking one with “mental illness” in the fucking family. I hate being the one that “you should watch your words around.” I hate being the fucking black sheep. I hate being alone, and I hate fucking everything.
Finally I got myself out of my fucking room and did something. I made an appointment and went to see a doctor. Actually, I am currently waiting for the doctor to come see me. In the mean time I called my mom to let her know where i’m at and why I am here. She was actually supportive. I don’t know why I didn’t do this a long time ago. I am still trembling as I wait for the doctor, but I think I made good decision for the first. I made a decision and nobody is fucking mad at me. That is all I fucking needed.
I am tired of being a lonely fuck. I am tired of being a fucking failure. I am tired of being a fucking disappointment. I am tired of being the fucking one in the family who everyone has “given up all hope for.” I am fucking tired being looked down on. And I am fucking tired of no one giving a fuck.
Being the son of an old school gang member sucks. It brings up so many questions and it shows how pathetic I am. The son of a dead veterano. What would you expect me to be like? I am some player that can have any girl? I am this tough vato that nobody wants to fuck with? I am this highly respected man that everyone wants to be around? Do I have everything my father was to live up to? I’m not saying I should have joined a gang, but should I have been like my father? It’s sad when my family tells me stories about my father, who he was, what he did, and how I am like him. My family doesn’t even know me. I am nothing like him. I am not who he was. I am the complete opposite. I am a lonely sack of shit. The only thing we will have in common is the age we die(d).
I have no idea how fucking clear I have to make it that I need help. It seems like the few people I have told about how I feel care for a little bit. I hate being trapped inside my own head, thats why I seek out people who care, or people who I think give a fuck. Nope. Trapped in my own fucking head I will be. Fuck everyone, I’ll just stay trapped in my own head until I put a bullet through it.
P.s. these people exclude littlebread and kitkat (you know who you are). You two are the only ones who talk to me and care about me; thank you.
I have been feeling really good ever since I gave myself an expiration date. I felt more confident, took care of myself, I actually started conversatuons with people, and on top of that I kept the conversations going. This was a huge fucking difference and I liked it. I was actually feeling better about myself. Then of course I had to have a shitty day at work. I was feeling so good and then this happened. But why has it put me so down today?
I want to really thank Littlebread and Hazydaysunflower. I have been spending more time browsing SP lately and randomly thought of you two. You two usually comment on my stuff and help me move forward a bit. I hope you are doing well. I am not going anywhere anytime soon, I just wanted to really thank you.
Has anyone ever wondered where they would be right now had they made a different decision or hungout with a different group of people? I am not saying this to imagine a better or worse life today; it is just simply thought provoking how certain decisions or events in life shaped who you are. Because I hungout with the friends I hungout with, I was who I was. Because I moved a few years back, I am who I am.
Saturday, March 1st, 2025:
*LA Woman (The Doors) playing loudly in the background* I sit there staring at the picture of all the famous cinema italian gangsters my brother gifted me 8 christmas’s ago. I finish my beer as I wait for the acid to kick in. Time to drift away; I dont want to be home.
Sunday, March 2nd, 2025:
*Little Wing (Jimi Hendrix) playing loudly on repeat*
I hold the needle of the drug I have always feared. The drug I swore never to take. I prep the heroin in hopes I get it right. Live or die – I don’t care. I atleast wanted to numb myself after all the drinking I have been doing. This is what heroin feels like…
Monday, March 2nd, 2025:
*Miss Me (Kurt Cobain) plays in the background* I look at all the old pictures I have kept over the years. Remenisce over the good memories and remember the people that helped me to stay postive, at the very least. I finish my joint and crack open another beer. Why the fuck did I move out on my own.
Tuesday, March 4th, 2025:
*November Rain (Guns n Roses) has been on repeat all morning* I finish writing my last suicide letter. I neatly stack my letters addressed to each of my loved ones on the center of my desk. All that sits on my desk is the letters, an empty bottle of whiskey, and my first rifle I bought myself when I turned 20. This is finally it, my birthday; feels so poetic. I finally reached 27 and I am ready to go. I have been ready to go. I smoke my last and final joint. There is no such thing as failure now. Goodbye, beautiful world…
“Everybody is not supposed to be in our life forever. If you don’t get rid of the wrong friends you will never meet the right friends.”
I Like to tell myself that I should move on and forget about the friends I no longer have. I suck at keeping friends, I have a good relationship with my close friends and then eventually we become distant; I end up feeling too fucked up to do anything about it. Instead, I just call them the wrong friends. Fuck it.
I remember a couple of years back thinking I’ll be dead by nineteen. That by the time I turn nineteen I will have moved out, stop giving a fuck, and kill myself. I can’t live alone, man. I know if I move out I’d need roomates because I’d end up killing myself if I lived alone. No one to stop me. Made it to nineteen now im going to try and make it to twenty seven.
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