Tag Archives: mental-health

The Hamster Wheel of Obsession

Sometimes I think

This is as good as it will ever get
I talk too much
I don’t listen
I am not worthy
I am underappreciated
I could lose some weight
I look just fine
I am not smart enough
I am not talented enough
I am wasting everyone’s time
People secretly feel sorry for me
That I am a terrible friend
I am a lousy husband
I am lacking the tools
I am successful
I am not successful at all

Sometimes I think

I don’t get it
My genius is lost in a sea of screaming voices
I will never learn
I have made a serious of bad choices
I have painted myself into a corner
It will never get any easier
I will never fill the hole
I will always want what I can’t have
I want too much
I want too little
I don’t work hard
I’m not reaching my potential

Sometimes I think
I should have done more
I should have said more
It’s too late
I am tired
I missed the boat
Or bus or train or whatever
It could end today and that would be fine
There’s more to do than I have time for
I’m broken
I’m damaged freight
It’s time to suck it up
It’s time to grow up
Victims create their situation
It’s beyond my control
That my list of worries will only grow

Then

Sometimes I think

I think too much

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A Reasonable Notion

Flashback Fridays! This short piece was found written on the back of a cocktail napkin. Figures.

 

If I must do somethingblah

It might as well be this

I enjoy it mostly

It helps iron the wrinkles

 

I could write my own ticket

Open my own doors

Kick life in the teeth

 

With these words or others.

 
Photo Credit: _Hadock_ via Compfight cc

They Might Only be Words.

Disconnected

Isolated

Depressed

Stressed

Angry

Frustrated

Lonely

Ungrateful

Obsessed

Fearful

Frightened

Regretful

Trapped

Lost

Jealous

Silent

But strangely blessed.

Putting my Head Through a Wall Sounds Good

Although it sometimes brings mitigating results, I like to dig through the old notebooks from time to time. I have never knowingly thrown away anything I have written. I have boxes of old notebooks. I try to spare you most of my overwrought writing from my youth, but occasionally something will speak to me, and I just have to share.

I didn’t always make the best choices for myself, and although the effects weren’t pretty, those bad choices inspired a shitton of writing. Here’s something from the way back, and hell, it might just speak to you as well.

It’s beyond my reach
But in my grasp
I’ve never gone as far
But yet here I am

It isn’t because of
Lack of will
Lack of code
Lack of policy enforced

I don’t know why
But here I am

Spinning, reeling
Self-abused, self-effaced
Admitted loser
By my own hand

Aware. I am aware
Of my state
Of my status
Of my lost battle of the will

I am scrambling for an answer
But my hands remain empty

If I peer inside
I find little worth
Only instinct, desire, reaction
No true revealing clues

My mind a dusty attic
A rotten basement
Of mold and rot
Collapsing beams

I am such an asshole to myself
And to any that choose to be involved

Still I persist
Pulling on my leash
Ignoring the damage
As strap rips through flesh

A dumb animal
Vicious and troubling
It won’t end until it stops
As idiotic as that sounds

For the unstoppable force
Seeks the immovable object

How the Hell Did This Happen?

I looked in the mirror today, and I was really quite surprised.

Turns out my head is a little pumpkin with small coils of wire protruding out, conducting purple electricity like veins pump blood.

How have I never noticed this before? How could I possibly have a small pumpkin head?

Clearly evolution will not provide any illumination in this matter. Experts might study me, but they will merely mumble and hedge about, unable to make any conclusions.

My head is simply a little pumpkin.

Debates could rage, courts could hold trials and testimony would establish nothing but the most minimal facts in this case.

Simply put, my head is a little pumpkin.
Not a squash.
Not a tuber.
Definitely not a legume.
Not like any other fruit, vegetable, or flower.

Only a pumpkin, which I think makes it a gourd. If you want to be technical about it.

That’s my head.

And all these wires sprouting out from it in a Medusa-like fashion? What the hell are they there for? This is starting to stress me out. I’ll probably get hives.

What would happen if I, or a friend, an enemy, or a curious stranger were to pluck one of these wires from my pumpkin head?

Would I die?
Would I convulse?
Would I simply smile and say, “What was that for, dear chum?”

For all this conjecture, let’s not and say we did. I’m somewhat worried about the whole situation, and I should probably calm down a bit.

I think I told you, this is a recent development. At least I think so. No one has ever told me and I honestly never thought to look. Imagine my embarrassment. Imagine the feeling that you may have been going through life with a pumpkin head and no one has ever had the courage to say anything to you.

You would think someone might crack a joke at Halloween.
But NO.

What will the guys at work say? What sort of shame will my parents feel? How could I have never noticed this before? How will I get through this? What are the five stages?

Shock, Denial, Depression, Acceptance, and Thanksgiving? Is that how it goes? It’s going to take some time. Can you feel my pain? It’s OK, I don’t need your endless sympathy. I can figure this out.

I imagine that life with a pumpkin head will really not be all that different than life with a regular head. I bet that people won’t even notice, or be too afraid to say a thing.

Maybe at parties I’ll say, “I’ll bet the last thing you expected to see at the party was a guy with a pumpkin for a head.”

Or maybe I’ll say, “Go ahead and touch it. You know you want to.”

That’ll break the ice for sure!

I just don’t want people to see me as different. Pumpkin head, regular head – it’s all just the same.

I expect that some people will probably just burn in envy silently as they admire my pumpkin head, but I don’t want that. I want them to feel good about themselves. I might be a guy with a little pumpkin head, but really, I’m no different than anyone else.

Funny, I thought I would be much more upset about this whole thing, but writing it down made me feel a lot better about it.

Thank god I have a blog.

My Nemesis

You look me in the eyes
And say terrible things

You call me stupid
You call me worthless
You question my every decision
You make me feel LESS THAN

You laugh at me
As you recount

Every mistake I have made
Every lie I have told
Every accident I have caused
Every relationship I have destroyed

You analyze me
Noting that

My brain is damaged
My thoughts are unclear
My plans are foolish
My dreams are misguided

You shake your head
Warning me that

I have no talent
I have no friends
I have no future
I have no hope

And as I look you in the eyes and listen
I realize

I need to stop looking in the mirror.

My Gift, Your Torment

Hmmm, to give this one an intro or not? Best not, I think. This one is up to your personal interpretation, no context to provide. Message me and I will tell you why I wrote it.

I am your gunman
Trained to kill
By those who know best

Unlike the sniper
Eyes, I fill them
I am close to you

My breath is on your neck
My lips whisper
In your ear

About the world
This glorious world
We live within

My description is flawless
It’s beauty your beauty
I soothe and relax

My sweet words
Distract you from the
Clicking of my gun

For I was assigned
By fate to destroy you
To leave nothing behind

My weapon is undetectable
Almost impossible
And far from good intention

You smile I smile
Your eyes shine
Your lips mouth sincerities

That smile is frozen
In the moment
When I pull my trigger

And then it crashes
Like your body
To the floor

I stand over you
As you bleed
I watch you

I didn’t want the job
I didn’t want to kill
I never thought it would be you

Assigned for a terrible task
A job given for
Your destruction

Standing, watching
Your heaving form
Your torment so apparent

My feet are locked
As are my fists
My eyes dilated

My head so unclear
My hands so unclean
My heart so unsure

Immovable in my justice
Gun still smoking
Oh how you bleed

The gun is my hand
It cannot be removed
It is a part of me

The floor so wet
With blood and tears
A lake of pain and fire

I am Shiva
I am Armageddon
I am Destruction

Behold the end
Its clever disguise
And obsequious mask

You will always die by my bullet
My actions, faceless monsters
That hunt all that is meaningful to me

I will be taken out
I will be destroyed
1000 of my eyes
1000 of my teeth

To pay for each of yours.