Twenty four. old wounds

I used to be a pretty good writer. At least I thought I was alright, When I was really down on myself, and well versed in the arts of self loathing and deprecation I would write endlessly. I would never stop, I would take the time to notate every single nuance and feeling that would pass through my mind but never have the courage to exit my mouth. I would re crate entire scenes in my mind and translate it to the screen. There was a period of time where I thought I could write short stories in my livejournal and convince myself that they were semi- palatable. They were okay but they had no consistency. This is one of the only excerpts from that series that I liked writing and found to be cohesive So I thought I would put it here:

Sep. 9th, 2007 | 02:01 am

He returned home briefly,
in the dead of night when the house was asleep.
Sitting quietly on the porch in his usual spot,
he softly whispered to himself.
"I know I'm unlovable,
you don't have to tell me."
He didn't feel a need to run anymore,
nor did he get the slightest urge to escape.
He just wanted to hide,
for now hiding from everything that troubled him was the best solution.
That is of course until he convinced himself of an even better one,
his mood usually determined the length of time.
Knowing where she always kept a spare key,
for he had disposed of his some time ago.
He let himself in,
it made it easier because she always left the porch light on.
Closing the door behind him he put his small pack down,
message received loud and clear.

This time last year was the shittiest point in my early twenties and some days I'm still reeling from the effects of my self loathing, Isolation, and shitty attitude. I still feel those feelings, and sometimes I don't think I'll ever find a solution. I also still don't know if it's good or detrimental. It's something I suppose I'll be handling for the rest of my days.

Twenty three. safety net

I have been inside for far too many nights, and if I don't leave the house soon I'm afraid I never will. My safety net, my band, my best friends are out doing fun things with each other. I'm the one that is never called because I have work and they figure I'll be too tired. I still wish I would have the option to say no or yes.

My ability to feel young and care free is dwindling with each minute and I just feel that in order for me to keep what shed of mental stability I have left  I need to hang out with them on some kind of daily basis.  I feel like I'm losing touch, and turning into something obsolete as far as friendship goes. Someone they don't need or want around and I don't want to become anything that closely resembles that description.

If that happens then I have nothing, and although I may act like like I want nothing it's simply not true. I want and need that safety net they so excellently provide for me and my stupid brain

twenty two. rack em up rack em up

I will never get tired of this movie

21. Bend and you wave

There is rotten produce in the refrigerator, and little to nothing to defrost and cook in the freezer. All the cereal is close to being finished, were out of sugar, and almost out of coffee. If I didn't have tea I'd say I'm facing a serious problem; I however have plenty and am on my third cup. The house is quiet and all the lights were off when I got home. I've been online since then, looking for something to slowly murder my time. So I'm updating. I've been itching to write so I figure its only appropriate. 

I've been in a slightly steady frame of mind which once again I can't tell if its helpful or detrimental to my mental health. Fuck it I've lost interest I'll come back to this another time

"Start over, it's no way to begin"

Twenty. Acquiescence

I have been blindingly busy, There hasn't really been much time for me to monitor my focus on something for more than five minutes. I write a lot in my private journal on my fancy commuter train, I eat well, I read, I started exercising again, I work too fucking much at a job that I'm really good at pretending to care about, and I allow my mind to wander to deep recesses I never thought possible. It's all the same trivial bullshit that I have been writing for twenty or so journal entries, I'm sick of writing it, and I'm sure whoever reads this shit is sick of reading it. This bit is no fucking different. I need coherent passion and be able to focus on something for more than five minutes.  Music does it for me, I love kassi and I love my dog, I just allow myself to get paranoid because of my inability to focus. Thats the other constant Paranoia, and inabilities. A Horrible way t conduct your daily life if you ask me, but you get used to it after a while.

nineteen. unfit

I am unfit to love and unfit for commitment.

In my own mind

Despite all your efforts for love and affection, I convince myself I'll never be good enough.

But I'll always love you

eighteen. lost a lifetime ago it seems

I'm falling into a routine, something that I've always hated.

I miss my sense of responsibility to my loved ones.

I miss the feeling of being young.

I miss my band.

I miss not being worried about anything.

Youth is wasted on the young and it always will be.