Freeform

There is noise in my head that doesn't want to concentrate on the things that I need to do and the things that I want to do and all I really want to do is get up, get out, and run away and find a place that is safe, secure, hidden and alone. I want to hide. I want to hide and never be found, so that when someone thinks of me and they wonder where I am they wont be able to find me. Hiding because they finally thought enough to think about me and find out where I am. I am frustrated, I am frustrated, I am frustrated and I do not know how to not be frustrated, not be dramatic, not be this person who keeps searching for something to quell the frustration that beats at the back of my head like a ball peen hammer tapping away at my skull until my very existence is questionable and I have no answers to what it is that I am questioning. Then the ringing in my head won't stop. the clenching of my jaws wont stop, the pain in my shoulders and in my chest won't stop. And sure this seems like a good place to get it all out and forget that all of this exists in my little world because I am too fat, lazy and stupid to get up and do something about it. Even though I have made some new commitments, some new goasl to get up and get out and stop making my life about myself.... because we all know that I could have chosen to do something better and the false equivalency that others give with their "oh you're not the only one who feels that way, because in my life I blah, blah, blah" and it's just not important enough for me to be in some sort of mental or physical pain because others feel it more-so and I shouldn't be complaining. Plus, I am not actively seeking out help for the madness that stirs in my brain sometimes. It's like a constant flashing light that asks...."will you, will you, will you, will YA????" and I don't know what to answer. I need the artificial highs. I need the visual aesthetics to please my soul and the artistry of a thousand accomplished voices singing in unison "baby, you are the one, the light of my life and you are worth something to me" But I know that this doesn't exist, because god (yes little g) doesn't exist even though its followers say so because they read it in a book somewhere. I read in a book that if I do good things , then good things will come. I don't remember the last good thing that I did and was rewarded for it, because the only rewards are usually given to the ones who visually look the part. When I walkdown the hall, people look at me like I don't belong. when I see strangers on the street, it's like they wonder what I am looking at and why I am smiling. And I am fat so I don't deserve the conversation or the consideration of acknowledgement or a courtesy smile back. I am the disgusting and the vile. The man on the verge of a mid-life crisis and suckling at the teat of pity, wondering what else I have to do to get someone to notice me, to say to me that everything is going to be alright. And I know that some folks say "well it's just a sign that you are strong" and I don't know that this is exactly true because there are so many times when all I feel is weakness. I want to give in all of the time. I want to throw myself off a cliff, or walk in front of a bus or hire someone to put a bullet in my head, because I can't do it myself. There are times when I want to convey a simple message like "fuck you, you stupid dirty fucking cunt" or " why the hell can't you talk about something more interesting or engaging that also includes me in the conversation" why do I have to be so obliging and forgive others of their transgressions. It's blatant and I am a doormat. I am nothing to the world around me, just a cog to the mindless machine and the hypocrisy that it encompasses. Everything that I want is not within my reach because the garden that is filled with lovely things also has weeds and pests and chaos that determines my place in the world. It determines where I can be. It determines how far I can go and how much I can get before reeling it back in like a carrot on a hook. I see it, I understand it and I will keep purging this feeling from me until I am just too tired to give a fuck and then it will be here for me to leave and never really truly examine. I want it to go away. Even though I say that I wouldn't, I wouldn't know any better if I did. And here it is...the finale...I am just to damn tired to give a fuck anymore.