Here we start. So many words wish to gush out at once from my mind: words of healing, words of help, words of warning, words of promise, but this is all for the fact that I wish to aid my fellow being. This blog isn't for anyone to demonize me, to berate me, to demoralize me. This blog is myself, uncut and unfiltered. As I am typing this out, I am sitting in nothing more than boxers and a tee-shirt and a blanket over my legs. Anyway, here we go.
Ever since I was young, I have struggled with depression. Forms of which involved being berated by my parents. I know that they only wanted the best from, and for, me, but I felt like I wasn't me. Constant comparison to my brothers seemed to be a daily event, saying how they were successful, or how I should do what I love for a living and not get stuck with a bad hand. Truth is, with being constantly compared, and barely being able to get a word in, edge-wise, I bottled it up, and eventually forgot about it. I don't blame my parents for any of the depression I contend with today, but I blame myself. Though, with my self-esteem being shot, I can't see myself as more than a pathetic, fat, sheltered idiot whom has no prospects of being able to make a name for himself. Every bit of joy must be choked down with a lump of mental whipping, telling myself "You really think that you, of all people, would be able to do that?", and that, more often than not, I am capable of doing, or saying "You are really a moron if you think that that girl even would look at you in that light?" or "You are a guy with two jobs, who sucks at them both, have no prospects of making anything of yourself, and live at your friend's parent's house. How spectacular!" The bitter words slicing deep into my skin. Being the youngest of 3 has benefits, as well as it's share of hang-ups. I seem to focus more on the latter. I have been hurting for so long, I haven't a clue how it feels like aside. The pain feels like normality, and the second something good happens, the bitterness and "the voice of reality" steps in and says "you stupid kid, that won't ever work." Time and again, I feel the pain deep inside, tearing away at my spirit. It feels like my fortitude has been put a through a wood chipper, and just begs for the end., but the end never comes. Days that I have to relax are being spent in fear of the following day's sickening flavor of life. The days of care-free fun are kept in my memories like black and white images, being slightly corrupted with each day that passes with the profane, the sick, the demented, and the sadistic images that have been given to us by so many others. In time, my brain will completely forget the kid I was, making the memories disappear for new information to be let in. Forget all the days I had that were fun, exciting, and seemingly law-free.
In short,, Life is a bitch, and then you die.
