No point

There is no longer a point to my existence. I give nothing to this world I just seem to take from it. Space. Air. Commodities. Necessities. I am nothing more than a cancerous tumour and there has yet to be something in this world to prove otherwise. 

And feeling this way only makes me feel worse, because I feel like I'm feeling this way for no reason. Logically I know there is nothing to be sad about. Logically I know there are people worse off than me. Logically I know I have a pretty decent life. 

Ha! Me using the word 'logic' to describe my way of thinking is almost too humorous. Do you not have to be smart to be logical? It has been proved to me more often enough in life that I have little intellectual value. 

I am good for listening and doing simple tasks. Just like a dumb animal. There are more like me out there and I am easily replaced. Just like a broken part in a machine. 

Rusty and outdated. 

And I have to pretend I don't know how useless I am, and how sad I am, because I can't be anymore of a burden on other people. People like better when I'm happy, I'm easier to work with. I have to keep myself oiled and keep pretended that I'm still relivent. 

But dogs and technology don't have that long a life span.  

And I'm just so sick of working so hard to keep up with everyone and everything else because all I want to do is sleep and never wake up. I hate that the fact that my only reason for living is other people. I wish I could live for me. For myself. But I can't validate living unless I hear it from someone else. 

All I do is take. 

Drink

I drink because maybe if the lines are blurred enough, I'll see something I like. 

Medication

Over the last couple of days I have between told I was basically worthless at work, found out my stepmom has cancer and been shar upon by every fucking prick in my city. Now, instead of asking if I'm okay, she thinks I should be medicated. 

Is that what's coming down to? Every time people get stressed we automatically go on the defensive and medicate the person who's having a bad day? While we're at it, why don't we just put everyone  in a medicated coma. 

My step dad's opinion of Gays

So, while I understand a person's opinion and for the most part respect the right to have one; there is one time when I will loose all respect for a person and their opinion. That is when you wish death upon people for being different.

My day was going completely fine until about a half hour ago when I was watching survivor with my mom and step dad. We were nearing the end of the show when it cut to commercial to "Doughnut Wars" or something. A rather flamboyant male was shown- freaking out about doughnuts- when my step dad stated that "all these gays should be taken off TV." While not really surprised, my mother and I exchanged looks of annoyance and then 'why'. My step dad's answer? "Because it's a bad influence".

This- of course- lead to an argument between the two of us, and left my poor mother is stuck in the middle (as usual). Most of these arguments go about the same when it comes to other people's sexuality; he says it's wrong; I say nothing's wrong with it; he quotes any and all religious text he can think of (despite being an Atheist); and I rebuttal saying pointing out that he isn't religious and (him) using religious text in an argument is just stupid.

Just to clarify, I'm not saying that religion is stupid.

Anyway, he then starts off again with "it's my opinion blahblahblah and in my opinion all gays should be put on a remote island an nuked."

Well... the room went silent and before my mother co stop me I yelled "so you're saying that all my gay friends should be killed."

My step dad shrugged and nodded "yes. That is my opinion."

"Well, you know what? FUCK YOU!"

"Don't talk to me that way."

"Don't give death threats to my friends!"

"I wasn't"

"You were! You said that all gays should be put on an island and NUKED!"

"That's my opinion!"

"And you're opinion is that my friends should be Nuked!"

This went on for a bit until I finally had enough and left the room, but before I left... I asked what he would do if my brother or I were gay? Would he kill us? His answer to that was "No, I wouldn't live with it." Which was explained as he would divorce my mom or kick me out (since my brother doesn't live with us, I guessed he just wouldn't be aloud in the house).

That was my evening and after the show ended (I missed it, anyone know who got voted off?) my mom came up and asked if I was okay and hugged me. She said that my step dad wanted to apologize to me for being an ass and was checking to make sure I wouldn't beat him to death with a blunt object. I said I was angry and that I had lost all respect for him.

I feel bad that my mom was (again) put in the middle of the fight... like she always is... But my step dad did apologize for not thinking before he spoke and that he didn't mean it to come across like a death threat. So... that's the end of that... until next week.

Seriously this is a weekly thing almost.  


    

Numbness

It used to be that the slightest thing would set me falling into the darkness of my thoughts. But now I always seem to be there and I'm growing numb to everything. I guess it's a good thing in some respects; if I get use to the sadness and hate for myself, maybe I'll stop feeling it? Maybe, eventually my body will get so sick and tired of feeling like crap I just won't feel anymore.

No more sadness.

No more anger.

No more worthlessness.

...

No more Joy.


I can't wait until I feel nothing, because the sadness right after the joy is the worse, because that's when every bad feeling feels as if it's times 10 and I feel the most hopeless- like I will never feel the warmth of Joy again. And that's why I hate joy and happiness because it never lasts and I'm stuck with this sadness for longer and it's always harder to climb out.

Sometimes I feel like I have forgot how to laugh.

But I will always know how to cry, and it's getting harder to fight back the constant tears, and the longer I fight the sicker I feel. Eventually I'll just drown...

I almost did this week.

A dam broke and I felt myself being pulled under. I felt my grip slipping, and my slip cost me. Now a part of my body will always be a numb reminder of my weakness. And I hate myself more for letting people see my like that, and running like a baby for help.

But, as much as it hurts to think about people lying to my face and saying they care. It hurts more that some people don't say it and make it impossible for me to pretend.

I'm Happy

Why is it so much easier to talk about the bad stuff than the good? Why do we always remember the negative things before the positive?

I guess it's so much easier to be angry and sad oppose to happy.

It seems more widely excepted to miserable... Even in music. I can't name one song off the top of my head that is happy... Unless of course it's about sex or something...

But anyways, I was very happy today.

No, I refuse to have that in pass tense. I am happy, I swear.

Happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy!

I am to fan-flippin-tastic it should be fucking illegal!

...

Okay, that's a lie.

But I wasn't lying about being happy today, I have been happy most days lately... Though I never write about them because well, I've been sad for so long I'm not sure if the happiness is real or if it will last. I'm afraid to talk about what makes me happy because I'm afraid I'll lose it, if that makes any sense. If I'm proud of something I've done, more often than not other people either don't care, or don't understand why I'm so proud and then... the happiness is gone.

Like when my Field hockey team won gold in our tier. It came down to a shoot out (I was goalie) and I blocked a really hard shot, and we won! When I told my best friend, she replied with "I know; I didn't say anything because it would have gone to your head." Needless to say, my team's victory didn't seem as great anymore.

Fuck these drugs better kick in soon....

Anyways, after that incident I became aware that maybe my happiness imposed on others too much, so I stopped being happy. Then people got annoyed over that, saying I wasn't fun and too sullen... So, again I started to do things that made me happy... and it worked for a bit, but I think I was stunted some how.

It's hard for me to admit my feels towards people and things because I don't know how they'll react and I don't want to give up my feelings. They're mine and mine alone. I've had my good feelings turned sour too many times to count and now... I can hardly remember what it's like.

This is not to say that when I'm happy I fake it all the time, because I'm getting tired of pretending to make other people happy. And it's sad, but the people I pretend the most for are the people who have probably known me the longest. I'm pretty sure they can tell by now, but if they can they don't call me on it.

Fuck I'm tired.

But I am happy with my life (most of the time) now.    

The Realization is Scarier than the Story

One day, while I was crossing the street to get to the bus stop after work I was almost run down by a transport truck. Now, this was somewhat of a normal occurrence at this street; it was a four lane intersection right next to the mall, and to be honest where I live has the highest concentration of bad drivers in Canada. After almost being hit by a car once already, and been privy to an accident or two in the three months before (just at this intersection), I had become more aware of my surroundings.

 Anyways, it hadn't been a particularly good day for me, and it didn't help that my co-worker decided to be particularly bitchy to me (she was always a bitch but I mostly took it in jest since it was either jokingly towards me, or not about me at all). With the last six hours from hell only adding to my headache and stress, I wasn't really paying attention as I crossed the turning lane to get to platform to cross the street. I do remember seeing no cars and starting to cross, but a very loud honk made me look up.

I paused, nearly in the middle of the street as an 18 wheeler came speeding towards me. I stepped back out of the way and held my breath as the truck passed by. I then finished crossing the two streets to get to my bus stop.

It was on the ride home that I had a terrifying realization.

I wasn't scared.

The fact that the truck could have turned me into street pizza didn't scare me. I don’t want to die and I don’t wish to die, but I realized that given the situation- if I had been hit and not died instantly- I probably wouldn't fight to hold on.

So to this day I walk the extra five minutes to the Bus terminal to avoid that intersection. I didn't enjoy the feeling of content I had with dying; it scared me more than the thought of actually dying.

When my time comes, it comes I suppose.