Anyway No One Fucks With Gymnopédie No. 1 Like I Do

I was talking to my sister about how awful I’ve been feeling lately and I started to get so upset. I know when I get upset it upsets her so I couldn’t bare to look up at her, but I was kind of joking about how I feel like if I was a dog they’d put me down because of my quality of life, and she didn’t laugh or anything. She just sat staring out the window, and then asked how that makes me feel.

Aughhhh I wish everything was gentler

thinking...

julianradwildlife

I don’t know if people actually read my posts anymore but I apologize to those who do

did it ever mean anything to you?

the adolescent kisses in the dark, the shared cigarettes, the late nights, the early mornings, the drunken words, the secrets only we knew, the gifts, the letters, the “i love you”s and shared wardrobes really meant nothing?

was i always that disposable?

i know i wasn’t what you wanted, but i thought that maybe i could be what you needed. i know that’s selfish, i’m sorry. you were everything to me. the light in the inescapable darkness, the sugar in my coffee, the luck of finding a $20 bill on the ground. you were everything valuable in my world. everything worth living for.

i know now that our legacy is nothing but tainted memories and forgotten polaroids, and i know i should shelf the image of you, but i can’t help but miss you. i miss my boyfriend, i miss my best friend. no one knows me like you did, and i’m terrified no one else ever will.

i know to you it was just one summer and some change, but to me it was the most idyllic period of my life. it was the summer of love, though later unrequited. did you ever mean it when you told me you loved me?

whatever i’m just rambling and stuff, no one really sees these posts anyway. i just miss the feeling of being special to someone.

I hate Christmas

tldr; i need to get the fuck out of my head

the idea of it is so liberating, quiet, and eternal; yet at the same time it is so horrifying, parlous, and uncertain.

i am a phony man, a paper tiger. sometimes i feel like i walk around with a plastic trophy of survival on display, presenting myself as some sort of phony symbol of courage, of survival. i walk around with glass skin, fractured and stained, and i know people see the cracks. i know i am breaking. you do not have to gaze upon me with such contempt. i am a sunbittern, flashing my wings, making myself look big. to protect myself? maybe, that’s what i like to tell myself, but i know it boils down to attention. it boils down to my sickening desire to be seen as something more than i really am. i make my trivial successes seem like home-runs, i make my words sound more significant than they really are, and i make my survival sound more epic than it really is. i am a liar, a con man, with my immaturity and pseudo-boy mentality. i was born a liar, and i will die one.

i guess there’s not much to tell that hasn’t already been told. i was forged in a broken household seemingly forgotten by god. i was raised by a broken man with skeletons, and bottles alike, in his closet, and a woman sipping whiskey and spitting violence between her prayers; both killed by their poisons. i used to take strikes at the hands of those who were supposed to protect me, with my body tallying the score. i still feel it, you know. that fear. i feel it all the time, like i’m just waiting for the next blow. i know this is odd, but sometimes i wish they were still around to hit me, i wish i had more proof than distant memories. i wish i had something more than a faded recollection of my mother’s venomous words and firm hand, and my father’s brutality. the only proof that’s substantial is buried in my flesh. however, i forgive my father, sometimes it seemed like he was just a scared boy in a worn man’s body. my mother on the other hand, is not so easily forgiven. her wrath and rage ran deep, and when it was fueled by the liquor, it was hard to believe a mother was supposed to love like that. but she was a girl too, alone and fatherless. i think about her as a girl and it makes it harder to believe she was so cruel.

i don’t really know the point i’m trying to drive home. i just feel so behind, and i’m constantly running out of time. every second that passes is a moment of time i’ve lost, and the overwhelming majority of them are wasted. i waste so much time smoking pot but it’s the only thing that makes me feel okay. i can’t do school, i can’t take care of myself, i can’t properly care for others, and i can’t seem to clean my room no matter how bad i want to. and i know it’s a whole mindset thing blah blah blah, i’ve heard it all before. i know i’m not getting much better at all, and i know the habits preventing me from doing so, yet it feels like i’m completely trapped in cycles. i am so tired. and this is a bunch of word vomit bullshit and i don’t think anyone will read this far. but i am just so fucking bad at being human dude. i am a complete failure. i have accomplished nothing, and i don’t know how to be alive. i don’t understand things that most people do, and i just can’t seem to do anything functionally these days.

i guess for now i won’t seek out what is beyond our existence, but the thought of doing so taps at the back of my skull to the tune of gymnopédie no. 1, a haunting constant in my mind.

i just wish i was normal so bad man

To want and be wanted

I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE