View Full Version : Through the Looking Glass Backwards Through the Eyes of God "explicit content"

Jesse 7.0
10-24-07, 09:31 PM
This is going to be where I write my story as being bipolar. It will be a sci-fi/drama/romance/comedy/horror/ novel, as only I can tell it. Feel free to talk to me about it in a PM.

Thank you,

Jesse 7.0
10-24-07, 10:00 PM
I never felt normal. I can not even fathom the idea. To me it is like some sick perverted joke, invented by some half-cocked idealist, who wanted people to have something to label people. I am no f&%$ing soup can, like Michael Stipe said about labels. I am writing this with an ashtray filled with used cigarrettes like some shrine given to the tobacco Gods. I feel insane most of the time. Already. I am just thirty one and feel like I am somewhere in a corner, drooling with a straight jacket on and imagining all of this, that I see. Sometimes, that gives me solice. I don't want to be a part of a world that it's supposed governing species (homo sapiens) kill for nothing more than greed, it seems to me. Most of the time, I am scared s%$&less though. A babe lost in the woods with nothing to fend itself with. I have no bow and arrow. I have no knife, other than the kitchen utencils to cut with. I have no gun. What good is defense anyway? How can we defend against armies that have tank piercing bullets or worse... nuclear weapons. I have seen all of these nations being forced to give up their nuclear weapons, when the only nation that has ever dropped "the bomb" is my own. Where is our sanctions? Where is our tear down of nuclear arms? Nowhere to be found, as far as I can tell. Yet we point our collective finger at others. Typical. I am writing this with fear. The fear of not finishing it, like I have with so many other accomplishments that were never accomplished. I have many labels. Son, brother, uncle, grandson, nephew, retard, lunatic, Attention Deficit Disorder, Manic Depressive, Shcizophrenic, Schizo affective, and Bipolar type one... to name a few. However, few people call me human. I mean, shouldn't that be first? I get sick and tired of people putting the problem first and then they, all of a sudden, out of the clear blue... find you to be human. It's sad really. All we really want, universally, is to be accepted as humans, but when it comes to practice... we seem to forget that... as a whole.

Jesse 7.0
10-25-07, 12:55 PM
We seem to forget a lot. There are so many lessons we should remember from childhood. I mean we were taught to share, never to fight, help out those less fortunate, not to judge, and many other lessons. Well... some of us were that fortunate. Some are not taught anything, but how horrible the world can be. Sometimes, we were punished while being taught those valuable lessons... throwing us into some mass confusion. How can one want to fight when we are taught not to fight. I remember getting sick when I would have to "stand up for myself" so I wouldn't have the s#$% beat out of me everyday. More on that later.
I remember being taught of God. Oh how we want to believe. We want to love this being that is greater than us. We need a benevolent leader. Right? We want to know there is a place without pain and without suffering. We sit in these wooden pews with that great old church smell and sit with our hands folded...waiting for a sign. When that sign never appears we reject what we are taught. My mom and step dad have told me, "how you must have faith and the sign is not a great one."
I have always wanted something to tell me I am not alone in my struggles. The void then fills me. maybe that is what my condition is. The feeling of utter loneliness. I go to different events or places of other Gods and still feel nothing. I think to myself, "Maybe that's all there is? Maybe there is no God? Maybe nothing is all that exists?"
God? How can I believe in a heavenly father, when my own left me? This is not a sob story as some will believe. Just a fact. When he met my mother, he was Mormon and practiced the religion fervently. He went to church and never drank or smoked. He was a good man from what I have heard. Then... everything changed. He was laid off from work. My mom tells me how he then just stayed on the couch and drank or smoked. There was one time, she came home and he was laying on the couch passed out while I was crying in the other room, with an unchanged diaper... for who knows how long. I don't remember any of this. I talked to my dad on the phone a couple of times. Once when I was twenty four and once when I was twenty nine. The first time I spoke to him the blame was partially put on my mom.

{Cut to scene of Jesse talking to his mother}
Jesse: Is this true?
Mom: No. Your grandma lived in the same place for years after he left and he had her address. He could have mailed something or called or something.
Jesse: I hate him.
Mom: How can you hate someone you have never met?

She makes a good point there. My father is more of a ghost to me than anything. I mean, I have seen pictures, but I am sure I wouldn't recognise him on the street if we passed each other. "Is it sad?" you might ask. I don't know. "Do you want to know more about him?" you might ask. Again... I don't really know. Part of me probably does. Maybe I could know myself better? I might understand some of my traits more. Part of me never wants to meet him. I mean, he left my mom and me and not the other way around. I digress.
He then wrecked the family car and my mom had to go to work with rides. She was always working. This is what I remember about my mom. She seems to be a workaholic. My grandfather,her dad, is the same way. I don't seem to be. I am ashamed of this in many ways. I can't keep my attention on things at all. Even now I should be painting in class. Maybe my dad does the same thing? Oh yes, my dad. He kidnapped me!
This is for real. Not some ploy to sell a sad fictional tale. When my mother was at work, he sold a lot of her stuff and just vanished with me in tow.

{Cut to scene of mother falling to her knees in the snow, crying over her lost child}

My mom knew where he took me. She drove to Oklahoma from St. Louis. His parents lived there. My grandfather and grandmother. I remember later in life, my grandfather, my dad's dad, told me, "I didn't believe you were really my grandson at first."
As if my mother would have pulled that s%!#! She stayed on the porch for two hours begging to have me returned. They finally conceded and gave me back to her. I was less than a year old when this happened.

Jesse 7.0
10-25-07, 02:38 PM
I just came in from outside, cold as death. I have bad circulation and often my hands and feet are more ice blocks than well... hands or feet. Speaking of death, we all fear that ominous inevitability...

{Cut to overused rap intro}
Rap intro: And it goes a little somethin' like this...
{You and death meet in a dark forest at birth}
You: So...does all of this end? Is there any meaning to any of this? Will I just die?
Death: From birth the clock is ticking. Better get yours while the gettin's good motherf$%&er!
You: No wonder so many people believe in an afterlife...

Of course, this conversation is lost as soon as it happens. Speaking of an afterlife, I just came in from the funniest of incidents. A group of people gathered around a man in a plaid jacket spouting off how, "Gay people, drunkards, masturbators, feminists and a slew of others... are all going to Hell!"
The people found it to be humorous. What I found to be humorous was that all the people, including me, were gathered around him. I guess we are all "ambulance chasers" to some extent. We all look at the wreckage, at least, for a brief instance. No exemptions. Not one. How can we avoid it? I mean humans depend on stimuli to get them through the day... it's in our DNA. I just wish I could be abducted by an alien sometimes. Just taken away. Like in the Radiohead song...

wish that they'd sweep down in a country lane,
late at night when I'm driving.
Take me on board their beautiful ship,
show me the world as I'd love to see it.

That'd be nice. The real world battles with this constantly though. It tells us to do things we don't want to do and get there as fast as possible. Maybe get there and accomplish something, but go home feeling unfulfilled and stupid. Then we get right back up and do it all over again. It's a seemingly never ending loop.

{Cut to real world}
Real world: It's not my problem. Now tighten up your bootstraps! You've got work to do!

I've never worn boots with straps. Maybe that's irrelevant though? Oh well. Where was I? Oh yes. The man spouting against everything that is not written to a "t" in the Bible. How does he know? I mean has God ever spoken to him? I should think not. I mean I was God once and I have never spoken to him.

More news at eleven.

Jesse 7.0
10-25-07, 04:12 PM
I was always a dark child. I remember my mom called me Eeyore at a very early age. I remember I loved M.A.S.H. too. I had a t-shirt and everything. I was like any child who grew up in the eighties... I loved Star Wars and baseball. I didn't color in coloring books much. Instead I would use my crayons to draw on the white covers of the coloring books. To backtrack a little, my mom remarried when I was two years old. I always knew him as my real father. My middle and last name were even changed to his. My mom had two girls with him. They were always my sisters. They still are. I will not ever consider them half sisters. I struggled with school. I remember this picture of me, I had this Sesame Street raincoat, Empire Strikes Back lunchbox, and a huge grin from my first day of school. The grin was the first thing to go. I was always horrible at math. I could not understand it at all. I would go to my grandma's and lie in bed and stare at the nickel I woud hold above my head when laying down. A couple of times they even fell into my mouth. My grandma had this dog. It was part German Shephard and other dogs mixed in there. I loved Charmin. One day I decided to get under the table, where her food was kept, and decided I was going to feed her. She snapped at me and bit my hand. I learned very quickly the lesson on boundaries with dogs. It took a lot longer to learn boudaries with humans. That is... if I have completely learned those boundaries yet. I had and still have an overactive imagination. This got me in trouble in school. I could never concentrate at all. I still can not to this day. I was very thin. I was called "beanpole" by my relatives. My seond dad's father, grandpa to me, used to call me "s*&%head" when I ouldn't bait a hook right. He had apple trees in his backyard and we got to pick out a branch when we had done wrong... to be switched. Fun stuff. My second dad couldn't understand why I could never grasp math and would get frustrated with me. My mom was mre understanding. My parents bought a resturant when I was seven or so. We moved from House Springs , which was a suburb of St . Louis to Piedmont, Missouri. I remember the trip there... we couldn't afford to have all the action figures I wanted, so I took note book paper and crayons and made my own. When I got there I was playing with my figures while my dad sealed the deal. My mom never wanted his parents to go in with them on the resturant. My second dad had never really been loosened from his mother's apron strings.

Jesse 7.0
10-29-07, 01:24 PM
I am shaking sometimes. This comes from the medication, my hack for a doctor, has given me. It's even hard to type right now. I am sorry to everyone I have ever hurt in the past, I didn't mean to. Honestly. I have only wanted to love people and yet it always comes out wrong. People talk of my art as a blessing or a gift. I look at it as a blessing and a curse. I would trade it to be better sometimes. I just do not know what I would be good at in that imaginary alternative universe. It's not like it will ever happen anyway. I will have to be like this for all of my life, they tell me. Who are they to damn me like that? What did I do to them? What did I do to deserve this? I do not even know what it is like to be human. I mean... I question my behavior all of the time.
"Is this {insert behavior here} appropriate?"
"Is this just being human?"
These are questions I ask myself all of the time. it seems I will never know. Somebody help me. I can not do this by myself.

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 12:28 PM
I love the madness
It's killing me
Our love is behind
And I'm so blind that I can't see

I am listening to UNKLE and contemplating my life. How come it is always when we are listening to music randomly, that music becomes so profound. You want to thank the artist and punch them at the same time. They are right on the dot and so far away at the same time, sometimes. I smoke too much and I am living more and more unhealthy. I feel like a shell of a person. I want to feel human again... it's just so hard. How can I explain to the world that I just want it to go away? Is there a way of communing with the world? Am I always going to feel sick? Am I to feel like I am eternally spinning plates at some Hellbound circus? I hate who I have become, but I know no one else I can be. We all have that person that we wish we could find again. I was in class and thinking of them. The God d@#$ radio was playing that song we all hear and think of someone else. You know it.

I've seen fire
And I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days
That I thought would never end
I've had days that I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again

D@mn you James Taylor! Why does it have to be that way? Isn't there a miracle out there for us all? Why is my mind tripping again? There is probably a simple answer to goes like this:

{Cut to scene of conversatiion}
Jesse: Why is my mind tripping again?
Jesse's inner monolougue: You are sick.
Doctor: Yeah. I'm afraid you are sick.
Jesse: Always something.
Doctor: I think that went well. Here is your medicine.
{Hands Jesse meds}
{Scene and Jesse fades away}

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 01:08 PM
This must be how a rock feels? Not really having emotions. That taste in my mouth returns. The one where I become one with the Universe, in some perverted Hell state. I am not actually experiencing it right now. I couldn't type if I was. I do not know if it is a real feeling. I just know that I have experienced it before. I get this acidic taste in my mouth and I see everything and nothing at once. Fun stuff. Not really. I should have never "opened my mind" with drugs. Acid is not something to f%$# with. Don't be fooled by the *******s who say, "it'll make you more artistic. It'll open your mind man!" It will open your mind so much that your brains will fall out. More news on this later...after the break (down). I do not know what is drug induced and what is just my "condition". I do not know if anyone does. Is any of it real? Am I just a brain in a jar? I have heard this so many times throughout my life, that I can not be sure. I have run into random people who talk of this "brain in a jar"... too many for it just to be a coincedence. Where is God during all of this? Where is his comforting shoulder to lean on? I just want some answers. I am not asking too f%$#ing much. Am I?

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 02:35 PM
I am a monster. Not like any monster in any movie you may or may not have seen. I just make mistakes that men who are monsters make. This would be in accordance with all of my past loves. I sabotage my relationships and it would seem to be on purpose to all of those I have been with. This couldn't be any further from the truth. I am a little boy lost in the woods scared of monsters... is more like it. The monsters in my head. The lying, conniving monsters who gamble my life away. These are monsters one can not escape. There is no safe place to hide from these f%$#ers. You can not run in your mind. The further you run, the more it loops back until you are staring back in the same haunted mirror you started looking at. Alice had no idea, with the horrors she saw. The Jabberwocky has nothing on your mind. In a pi$$ing contest... the mind wins everytime. I mean, where is there to run to? You can not ask your mind for directions when you are lost inside it. Everything is backwards and turned upside down. You are f%$#ed. Completely. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Go straight to jail. It's like Monopoly with a twisted sense of humor.

Stop this train.
I wanna get off.
I want my mother.
Mother is no where to be found.
Back to the drawing board.
A mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Lost in a wasteland where nothing makes sense.
I need another cigarrette.
Wake up.
Start again.

Everything in my apartment dorm is rotten or covered. I haven't been able to do anything about it. I am stuck in some paralysis that has taken over my existance. I remember caring about myself. Taking a shower everyday. Washing behind the ears. Brushing my teeth. Brush them thirty some seconds. Now there is some unknown fear of going near my bathroom. I go there for emergencies only it seems. I do take a shower, but it's not everyday. I can't and I don't know why. I don't dare look in the fridge. It must smell. I can't go there either. I am lucky I have a dining card for the cafeteria at school or I might not even eat. I am not comfortable in my house. It is as if some ghost lives here and not myself. I look at this ghost everyday... in the mirror. I look over and see bananas that are more brown than yellow and do not know what to do with them. I should have eaten them. I am such a waste. I seem to have the opposite touch of Midas... everything I touch turns to dust. My teeth will probably rot out of my head. Such a shame. I used to take such good care of them. I will go brush them, for reading what I have written is making me depressed. When I got to the bathroom, everything was a mess. There was no lid for the toothpaste. Probably lost long ago. I used an older toothbrush. It was falling of the counter. I couldn't find the one I had used before, that was newer. I have a minty fresh smile though. F%$#ing great. I can't even fake being excited anymore.

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 03:33 PM
I emptied the trash just now. I have never seen so many gnats. I am grossed out by even myself. Maybe I really am a monster? Some mutant sent to be gross and disgusting. I want to improve. It's just these meds get me down and when I stop taking them... I go up for a while. Then I am destined to go back down again. I am not talking about some normal "everyone goes through it, so stop your b&%$#ing" kinda down either. This one's a doosey. A sort of "watch your step... s#!+'s gonna get thick in here" kind of doosey. To the outside world, I seem to be addicted to "the darkness" as it could be called. I had a friend refer to it like that. Like I want this "darkness" and call it out.I am pretty sure this is not the case. If it was... well... I am more f%$#ed up than I thought. It's funny really. If I didn't go through this... I wouldn't be writing on it.

Dear reader,

I really don't want to write this. I don't want to, mentally, go through all of this again. If there was some other way to get this story across and have people understand that it's not in my power, then trust me I would. I just have not found another way. If you can think of something or a cure, then please, send it in a self addressed envelope and post mark it. Until then I will try and write about this, to the best of my ability and make as much sense of this as I can.

P.S. I would much rather write about something else, anyway.

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 03:57 PM
I wonder how many writer's are rolling in their graves right now, due to the way this is hodgepodged together? They spent their whole lives following written rules and I seem to break them all over the place. I just feel compelled to get this down, for some reason. I know of no other way than how I am doing it, so f%$# 'em. I am writing this as a call for help for myself and others, not for some stupid prize or literary magazine. I remember being in grade school and having the assignment for writing an alternate ending to The Pied Piper of Hamelin. I wrote as if the rats had taken over and someone was frantically writing down his memoirs. I even trailed off his last sentence and had bitten holes in the paper. My teacher gave me a "D" for having turned in such a messed up piece of paper. Everyone's a critic... it seems. School seems to drain all creativity out of a person until they are some zombified raisin or prune of creativity. It's bulls%$#! There are many ways to skin a cat. Not that I'd do such a thing. I am a vegetarian you know. I have morals that I live by. Maybe I am not such a monster after all?

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 06:42 PM
I slept and I dreamt of worms. Like little cartoon worms crawling about forming whatever their little hearts desired. I woke up to look at a pill bottle. Full of pills like little dead maggots in rigor mortis.

The worms crawl in
The worms crawl out
The worms play pinochle
On your spout

I remember once being in junior high. I don't remember when, but I do believe it was homeroom. This guy bet he could put me in the sleeper hold. As any kid who has just been bet, I... of course... obliged. It haunts me to this day. As he did I felt the whole world alter. I saw the world as if I was riding a rollercoaster and then it turned into that ride where everything is just spinning and then everything was spinning except me. I just stood there. I imagined a dream that I can't remember and then... darkness. Then more spinning and the light crept in and then... nothing. I woke up. Have you ever seen Jacob's Ladder? It is this movie, where this guy imagines he is being chased by the C.I.A. and is paranoid and is told throughout the movie that he is dead. He has these flashbacks of Vietnam. He finds out at the end that he was dying on the battlefield in Vietnam and that none of that had ever existed. He is lead up to Heaven on a ladder by his son who had just been born. Creepy movie. I had seen it and can not be competely convinced that I had died while that kid was putting me in the sleeper hold and am imagining my whole future... that never happened. No one can convince me this is real or fake. Just my mind can...and I am not convinced by a single word it says sometimes. I go through life one foot in insanity and one foot in reality and am not convinced which one is which.

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 07:46 PM
There was a farmer had a dog
And Bingo was his name-o
And Bingo was his name-o

We would sing that while we sat in the halls waiting for school to begin. It was dark and early. That is about all I remember. That song and it being dark except for an overhead light in the hallway. I do not remember being that different as a child. I suppose I was like everyone else growing up. I do remember being made fun of constantly for one reason or the other. I just wanted to love everyone and be loved back. I remember having a crush on my babysitter. To this day I can not remember what she looked like. I just know I loved her. She would come into our trailer, in House Springs, and I was in love. Then her boyfriend ruined everything. When I found out about him I decided to jump off the hill in the backyard. I ended up rolling down the hill and getting bumps and scratches up and down me. I guess I was one of the youngest attempted suicides. I do not know where I even got the idea for being that forlorn. I just knew I was heartbroken. Maybe I was a little different. That seems to be the theme of my life. Boy falls in love with girl. Girl breaks boy's heart. Boy goes a little bonkers. Boy ends up having scratches on him and holds heart in hands... in two pieces. Once in a while... boy finds himself in hospital, but that comes later. I could read though. Oh... how I could read. My math was s%$# though. Still is.

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 08:34 PM
I was seven when my parents bought the resturant and we moved to Piedmont, Missouri from House Springs, Missouri. I think it was second grade. I do not remember entirely that well. I do remember school quite well. Who could forget Tiddly Winks and getting punched in the stomach everyday at recess. I was the unfortunate one to move to a small town and not have been born there. It seemed like everyone was either related or had known eachother since birth. I was not that fortunate. Oh the memories though. I started showing signs of having trouble in school about then. I would get caught up in watching The A-Team or whatever was on and not paying attention to doing my homework. My mopm bought me a desk and got extra worksheets when I didn't have homework. Extra work! As if I didn't like school enough. Now I had more to do. Yippee. Pardon me if I do not sound enthused. I had to go over flash cards for math and nothing my mom could do could catch me up. In the winter, when we weren't having any business at the resturant, we would move to Ballwin to go to school. This was where my grandparents lived. When I got home from school I got to listen to my favorite cartoons through the radio, rather than watch them. This was because I was being punished for not doing my homework. Could I help it if Robotech and Voltron: Defender of the Universe were more exciting than my multiplication tables? I mean, it is my imagination and not my math skills that are helping me write this right now. Isn't it? I do not remember the last time I had to calculate a math problem in my head, but I have been using my English skills to write my papers for college. So... ask yourself:
Which is more important?

Jesse 7.0
11-01-07, 11:13 PM
Last cigarrette for the evening. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. Right? I somehow love the sound of a lighter clicking and the paper crackling as the cigarrette burns. The subtle sound as it taps the ashtray and rubs against your finger. I know I shouldn't smoke. I know it is bad for me. Who doesn't? I mean with all of the Truth commercials and doctors coming on the air talking about how it will kill you. Little do they tell you, that the very thing that keeps us alive is also the verything that kills us. Yes, oxygen. We need it to survive and also need it to die. Oxidation will end us all. It is what gives us liver spots and makes bananas turn brown. It's also what makes certain metals rust. Funny, we go our whole lives addicted to things and complaining about them and no one points at oxygen. Too much and we get high. Too little and we die. The irony boggles the mind. Doesn't it? I can see the future now:

{Cut to scene of peddler on the streets and you passing by}
Peddler: Hey! Psst! Kid!
{Peddler opens coat}
Peddler: You want some oxygen?
You: No. I'm trying to cut back.
Peddler: Oh... but this is the good stuff. No pollution or anything.
You: Are you sure? No additives.
Peddler: No man! I only cut my s#!+ with the good stuff.
You: Well okay... but only this once.
{One week later. Same street. Same you... only with reddened eyes. Same peddler}
You: Can I get some more?
Peddler: Yeah... but this time it'll cost ya'.

There's always a catch. No matter what you need there's always a guy trying to make a buck. Take for instance...well... me. I need medicine to make me better. I rely on a doctor to get me that medicine. That doctor gets kickbcks from a pharmaceutical company. That pharmaceutical company needs F.D.A. approval. The F.D.A. needs support from the government. The government needs taxes from the people. I pay my taxes. I need a job or insurance. In my case, I get my support from the government. There's always someone at the top of the hill and you know what they say about s%$# and hills. Some of the time, you are that guy trying to make a buck. I know that without my education and without my artistic ability making me some green... I will be destitute and living on the streets. Inflation happens... and then I become the bad guy for selling a painting for hundreds of dollars. We all have our hand in it somewhere. It just depends on where we are on the hill that determines how much s%$# we put up with.

Jesse 7.0
11-08-07, 05:07 PM
I am at the bottom of the hill right now. In fact, I may be subterranien. Like I f&%$ing care right now. No one gives a rat's @$$. And if they do, I don't want to hear about it. I am also on the top of the world at the same time. I don't need anyone. I am a ghost moving through life. A lot of the people I used to know... hate me. It's rough. Some of them I used to love. I put so much stock in that stupid word-love. I do not even know if I believe in that word anymore. It's just something we are supposed to say. That's what it feels like. I guess my mother loves me, but she only calls once a week. I hear about a family I hardly know anymore. I may as well be a ghost to them too.

I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey
I'm not here
This isn't happening

I feel like I do not live life; I only imitate living life. I pantomime to a play that I created. I want to know there is more to this, reality just fights this. I want to just take a vacation from life. I sometimes go to sleep and when I wake up I wonder, "Why?" I just wake up to a day of deja vu and it loops every d@mn day. I just hope for a day that is unordinary, but it ends up in vain. It's like the movie Groundhog Day, except I don't get the benefit of learning new things. I just stagnate and wither. I get closer to realizing, I just f%$# up everything. Nothing I do makes sense... even to me. I just take another drag on a cigarrette and laugh that apathetic laugh. I don't contemplate suicide... I just live a life of suicide. I would never harm myself. I just don't care about living anymore. I don't have to take a knife to myself... I already took one to my life. I am a murderer. I am a f&%$ing killer! I should be locked away and never let out... If I hadn't done that already... that is. I used to wonder why people stopped caring about me. I understand now. I stopped caring; why should they start? I used to wonder if I was the Anti-Christ. I'm not. I am the Anti-Jesse instead, the only person I really hate is me. I sabotage anything in my life that is good, for my religion. I am a loyal follower of this religion too. I sit in the pew everyday singing it's praises. I preach to it's choir all the f&%$ing time. Medicine or not, it always comes down to hate of self. I do not know why. I am not that way with others, most of the time, why should I be this way with myself. I need help, but I am not sure if I want help. Why should I? Why should I help my enemy?

Jesse 7.0
11-08-07, 05:41 PM
Why must I have such a good memory? Everything seems to remind me of the things that I have done. I listen to music, watch a movie, watch T.V., or simply walk down the street and am reminded of someone or an incident. I can't escape this world. Living is like a torture chamber sometimes. I must have some grounding in reality. I need a grounding in reality. Irony is that I always question this concept called-reality. It's the eternal joke. Reality...that is. Everyone has their own version, yet there seem to be parts that we all share. Are we all individual... or are all of you a figment of my imagination? Maybe I am a figment of yours... that is not comfortable with my own state? No wonder so many have left me. I am just a f&%$ed up person without a grasp on my own persona. I once feared being locked in a room with a straight jacket on. Maybe, in all reality, that's what I actually need? I feel like I am insane and no one feels this way. At least, no one ever voices it to me. Maybe I really am egotistical and only think of myself? I am constantly referring to myself. I have a tendency to concentrate on my problems. Maybe others are right and I need to "just grow up." and get past these feelings? Maybe I never moved past the childhood rantings of being noticed? Am I really a monster? I mean I once thought I was God. Isn't that blasphemy? Shouldn't I go to Hell for that? That's what society tells me. I was so wrong. I just felt so powerless, so I guess I became the most powerful being. Was it to spite the world? I don't think so. I was not even thinking that way then. Maybe it was underwraps? Am I just an evil, selfish being underneath all of this? Maybe I am looking for some sort of retribution that will never come?

Jesse 7.0
12-21-07, 03:55 PM
Things change.
People change.
This is the inevitable factor of life. I have moved back in with my folks. I do not mind this. Perhaps I have seemed harsh about my mom and step-dad. I do not mean to. They are good people. Perhaps, I got so far down that I could not see a flicker of light. I do still think that I am selfish at times. I do not want to be this way. Who would? The hardest reality that I have ever faced is not being able to trust my own mind at times. The one place humans are supposed to be able to rely on... and I can't. I sometimes want to revert to some childlike state where one is allowed to believe more closely to how they want. This is not possible though. I recently graduated college and was not excited. I do not know why. Shouldn't I be excited to finishing another chapter in my life? Shouldn't I be jumping for joy in the streets? Maybe I shouldn't go that far though. I once was dancing around in the streets nude and that got me arrested. Oh... the things one does when he is not fully aware of his surroundings. I have dreams though. I am truly afraid of never accomplishing them,partially because... I don't know how. I do not know at times what is logical and what is foolish. This d@mn disease has me tied in knots at times. I love music. I want to make music, but what if it is not possible? What if it is a pipe dream? Am I ready for that consquence? Can I handle the cold hard truth? I don't think so... and that has me running...scared.