No one person can begin to comprehend the purpose of life. Some say we're here to appease some "almighty" God - though in my personal opinion this "god" of which you speak is nothing more than a hypocritical tyrant using our lives as toys in a universal game of cat and mouse. Some say we're here just for the "ride." Ok - let's explore this possibility for a moment. We are here for the ride - first topic is what ride? What exactly are we riding? And if this ride is going somewhere where does it intend to take us? Is there a purpose; and if so transitively meaning there would be some omniscient, enlightening outcome. Where is this outcome? If my life is a "ride" - I'm done with the fucking loops, turns, and sharp corners and I want to find this so called "outcome". But so far, I've found nothing but emotional distress and immaturity on in all retrospects of bipartisan.
I've slept with 11 people, all but 2 of which were cheating.
I've had an affair with a married man.
I was anorexic.
I cut.
I've made myself throw up.
I've done drugs.
I've been wasted and stupid.
I've had a miscarriage.
I've lied to the people I love.
I've attempted suicide.
I've betrayed my best friends.
I broke the heart of the man I loved.
The purpose of life isn't some enlightened ending. It's the journey of mistakes, trials, and tribulations that allow us to learn what really matters IN life. Life is not what matters, but those who love you. I'm done hurting those people. I want to be proud of myself. Fuck these excuses I've been making. Fuck them all to hell. I'm done. Time for me to be happy. The ashes of the old me I will let fall in the ocean; washed away by the waves carrying me to a place I'll be proud of. That list above - a list of all my demons. All the secrets I've lied about to everyone are out for the world to know. Accept me for my demons, I am learning. I have learned. And who I am, I deserve better. No more running. No more hiding. I'm so sorry I had to hurt people in the journey of getting here. I'm sorry..
10 November 2012
15 October 2012
Fuck Morality...
What delineates the difference between ethical and amoral? What standards can a single human being place on the morality of a decision when the same exact decision can be influenced by different catalysts in different situations every single time? A husband cheats on his wife: an ever so loving wife who has devoted her entire corroboration to the well-being and emotional fortitude of her family. A husband cheats on his wife: an ever so vindictive bitch who controls his every move and castigates any attempt at thoughtfulness because it just quite "isn't good enough." Where is the line drawn? Such decisions can be so placid yet so elusive in meaning. I can sit here in this booth, type this piece and attempt to justify my decisions by using my past experiences as a "legitimate" excuse. Though, if I truly were as smart as I attempt to seem through these empty words then I would use my past as a substratum for emotional growth; not emotional justification. If I truly were a moral person, I would not have to justify: I would have reasons for my decisions and those reasons should, and would, quintessentially be enough.
I look at myself in the mirror and I tell myself "I am proud of who I am." Today shall be a new day and any past indiscretions in moral sanctity will never again entangle my purity of mind and soul. But yet, I think of my actions just two days ago, and wonder whether or not God would approve of such antics. The ironic thing is that my faith in this deity that most of the world surprisingly clings to is abysmal to extant; and yet, his approval is what remains racing through my inner conscience as if I know deep down, he is watching. In all honesty, I believe this "deity" is really metaphorical for the inner shame everyone bears in their hearts. Most can maintain it within though mine seems to bleed through and trickles down my shirt, dripping along the floor with every step so as to remind me that yet again, I will fuck up. God is not a floating man in the sky who created the earth and heavens - he is the symbolic conscience that we humans pray we have because the only person who knows absolutely everything about ourselves is us. No one can run from their past. No one can hide from it. All we can menially attempt to do is learn from it and not reenact the same actions that influenced such a self-loathing. Me, I can't seem to do that. I constantly find myself making the same mistakes over and over and yet, I enjoy myself. I enjoy knowing I can get anyone I want. Every single man I've ever met has not only been willing but has cheated to spend just one erotic night with me. And I fucking love it. The only thing anyone has ever wanted from me is a sexual liaison, and for the longest this "niche" in society, this pathetic, whorish, disgusting role "God" seems to have deemed me ashamed me to the point of emotional insanity. But I have learned to accept it. I will be proud of my "enticing" skills. If it's the role I was born to play why not play it right?
So this is all I have to say to anybody out there who wants to criticize, castigate, and ostracize anyone who is "morally" different. Go fuck yourself. No one person has the authority, nor the emotional right, to label that which is approved and that which is degraded in regards of ethical integrity. All that matters is that you can live with yourself and the decisions you have made. The life you live is the result of every decision you yourself have made. Do not blame your family, or your illness, or your "inexplicable" shit hole of a life. It's your own damn fault. Accept it, love it, and just go with it. And if not, don't make me sit here and feel guilty for something that I fucking enjoyed every second of.
I look at myself in the mirror and I tell myself "I am proud of who I am." Today shall be a new day and any past indiscretions in moral sanctity will never again entangle my purity of mind and soul. But yet, I think of my actions just two days ago, and wonder whether or not God would approve of such antics. The ironic thing is that my faith in this deity that most of the world surprisingly clings to is abysmal to extant; and yet, his approval is what remains racing through my inner conscience as if I know deep down, he is watching. In all honesty, I believe this "deity" is really metaphorical for the inner shame everyone bears in their hearts. Most can maintain it within though mine seems to bleed through and trickles down my shirt, dripping along the floor with every step so as to remind me that yet again, I will fuck up. God is not a floating man in the sky who created the earth and heavens - he is the symbolic conscience that we humans pray we have because the only person who knows absolutely everything about ourselves is us. No one can run from their past. No one can hide from it. All we can menially attempt to do is learn from it and not reenact the same actions that influenced such a self-loathing. Me, I can't seem to do that. I constantly find myself making the same mistakes over and over and yet, I enjoy myself. I enjoy knowing I can get anyone I want. Every single man I've ever met has not only been willing but has cheated to spend just one erotic night with me. And I fucking love it. The only thing anyone has ever wanted from me is a sexual liaison, and for the longest this "niche" in society, this pathetic, whorish, disgusting role "God" seems to have deemed me ashamed me to the point of emotional insanity. But I have learned to accept it. I will be proud of my "enticing" skills. If it's the role I was born to play why not play it right?
So this is all I have to say to anybody out there who wants to criticize, castigate, and ostracize anyone who is "morally" different. Go fuck yourself. No one person has the authority, nor the emotional right, to label that which is approved and that which is degraded in regards of ethical integrity. All that matters is that you can live with yourself and the decisions you have made. The life you live is the result of every decision you yourself have made. Do not blame your family, or your illness, or your "inexplicable" shit hole of a life. It's your own damn fault. Accept it, love it, and just go with it. And if not, don't make me sit here and feel guilty for something that I fucking enjoyed every second of.
03 September 2012
It's All Too Simple...
Life is too simple, yet so complicated. Such complexities can elicit illegitimate feelings and disconnected reflections based on what; silly conjectures and misread dialogue? My problems, when thought of purely logically and objectively, are so simple. I can write down each mental or even physical problem and know in my heart what caused the problems, what the problems are, and where I have fallen due to such indiscretions in emotional fortitude. And the irony that so lovingly taunts me is that this simplicity is so placid and translucent that it's so heterogeneous and convoluted in its makeup. I can't seem to outrun the mistaken words and misread gestures that lead me to assume only what one would call asinine and ridiculous. But the apparent satirical theme of my life is all too asinine and ridiculous. Every racing thought that rips through my inner conscience is quintessentially and, metaphorically, a parallel of the scars on my arm; all due to the emotional indiscretions that fucking taunt me straight to the alleged soul that I have, probably, already condemned to eternal damnation.
I cling to the idea of control: the more control the better. My whole life is one fiasco after another and this chaotic pattern is the derivation of both my anorexia and cutting. Both behaviors are merely hopes at controlling this sinuous, distorted, twisted mental illness I have: bipolar. And much to my avail, I have relied on these behaviors to such an extent that their effect on relieving those feelings I run from so arduously has degraded to practically nonexistent. It seems the only outlet that will never fail in a lasting effect is drugs; though, of course, that's just another crutch and problem to add to that fucking list. As I sit here and type this pathetic monologue of a personal reflection I can't help but succumb to the inevitable reality that I am, in fact, pathetic myself. The fact that I can't overcome my own issues and break through the inferno of burning regrets and doubts within my mind and soul is weakness.
I cling to the idea of control: the more control the better. My whole life is one fiasco after another and this chaotic pattern is the derivation of both my anorexia and cutting. Both behaviors are merely hopes at controlling this sinuous, distorted, twisted mental illness I have: bipolar. And much to my avail, I have relied on these behaviors to such an extent that their effect on relieving those feelings I run from so arduously has degraded to practically nonexistent. It seems the only outlet that will never fail in a lasting effect is drugs; though, of course, that's just another crutch and problem to add to that fucking list. As I sit here and type this pathetic monologue of a personal reflection I can't help but succumb to the inevitable reality that I am, in fact, pathetic myself. The fact that I can't overcome my own issues and break through the inferno of burning regrets and doubts within my mind and soul is weakness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)