The Word

I made myself lonely. There, I said it, acknowledged it, pledged it for the world to know. I made my myself an alien. I did it meticulously, over the course of 3 short years. Sure, I can blame two people not in my life anymore on that bitch named death. But everyone else was me. My love for discourse and passion for self-hatred. I made myself lonely and bitter. Maybe it was the pills, the long, loathsome nights staring at a blank wall waiting for them to black me out. While my roommate and at that time, best friend, as well as others enjoyed each other's company. I filled my belly with whiskey and pills. Being high is a steadfast feeling, a temporary and ultimately grisly feeling, the loss of your own self-control and inhibitions into some sort of fantastical bliss only you can truly perceive. You know what trying to constantly achieve that got me? Nothing. Nothing but alienating those couple friends I did have left, after all, who really loves a drunk? These people I used ...

 Why is it so hard to tell you I’m way you deserve so much to hear? Why can I simply not convey these feelings for which I have held since the first day I met you, so that it becomes more clear crystal when doubt clouds your mind? Romance is such a perplexing thing, it is a wonderful bliss of rambling emotion and pure ecstasy wrapped all into one perfectly orchestrated bow. It is that small cherry on top of your sundae that compliments all the rich and delicious tastes contained within. Love has the great ability to iverserate and cripple a person, driving us to perform the most diabolical, outlandish actions, things we would never do in a sober state of mind. I say that, because this amazing and dreadful feeling is the best of both worlds, it is the universe’s most widely used mind altering substance, one that you cannot simply buy on the corner and a drug that has reached tens of millions of years’ worth of addiction. How can I become sober again? I continue to wrack and scra...

        Finding purpose is the most difficult challenge that is presented to us as people. It provides both this feeling of uselessness and a strive to be useful when in reality, are any of us truly useful? See there i go getting negative again, whining like some teenager fresh off a spree of angsty, punk-rock concerts and dying my hair two shades of red just to piss my seemingly conservative parents off.     Useful is the most useless feeling, it is really just a word of trickery because in the end you are only as useful as the person or process recognizing your usefulness, otherwise and in the true grand scheme, we are all useless. Our lives operate based on that sole need to feel like we are doing something that contributes to the reason behind the drive of achieving this feeling of usefulness. I feel like this an argument made only by sad people though, for what is useful sadness? Those who are happy know their purpose no matter how much someone else ...