Ten Years Gone

For those few that visit here, for whatever purpose... enjoyment, ridicule or enlightenment; I have returned. It has been a harrowing few weeks... time is creeping up and I have been lost in translation. My 10th anniversary is coming up on the 27th of this month... 10 years past since my expiration date. When I was 20 years old, I told everyone I wouldn't live to see 25... I worked hard at achieving this goal. Here I stand, for better or for worse, 10 years later and ready to see my 35th birthday. I know some may be thinking, "Oh, depressed over turning 35? Grow the fuck up!". Well, that's not the case. Honestly I don't really understand the increased depression. By the time I was 21, I had a wife, 2.5 kids, the pretty little house, 2 cats and a dog... everything people want from life. By the time I was 23, I was divorced, losing my house to the bank and foaming at the mouth laying across the floor with my father looking over me crying. The coffee table was dusted with homemade low-grade meth (commonly called "dirt"), empty hairspray bottles with needles stuck in the top (for easy drinking) littering the floor, the cats had given me the finger and ran away and I had shot the dog in the back of the head... I was all alone, except for the company of my weeping father. I should have died, just like planned, by 25. In fact, I had already O.D.'d twice by then... but it never stuck, I came back. If it hadn't been for the blind compassion of a stranger, I would have surely died. They came down to my home, from across the country, and brought me back home with them... nursed me back to health and sobriety. Over the past 10 years, I have struggled with my health physically from the severe drug abuse and my mind has slowly slipped away thanks to this wonderful disease of schizophrenia. Ten years gone. I am disabled and a prisoner to these four walls. My cat taunts me to kill myself relentlessly. I don't have the ability or understanding of feeling positive emotions. My therapist and others, seem to think I should be rejoicing with living the extra 10 years... I am very confused. Am I mourning the loss of life for the past 10 years or am I mourning the fact I never died? The choir has differing opinions. Some are angry and feel cheated. Others want to leave here once and for all. A few mourn the things I will never have in life. Then there is myself... listening to it all, rocking back and forth wondering when a decision will be made. There needs to be a common voice or opinion. About 10 years ago, I sold my soul to the devil in exchange for something I desperately wanted... perhaps I really am dead and my soul has been claimed. That is another story for another day. Maybe, just maybe, this is hell and the price that needs to be paid.

Infectious Ire

Over the past several days, I have been taken to a place long forgotten... moments of bloodlust and brutal punishment. I have suppressed these feelings of rage and destruction for many years... it was decided upon by the collective, for in those dark moments the return path is lost. I find it odd, that those voices that decided to issue a reprieve on this behavior are urging it's awakening. At night, those whispers to kill myself have turned solely into, "You need to kill him... we need this.". I am speaking literally... the images that flood my mind are beyond physical punishment or erotic disembowelment. They want carnage and I find myself agreeing with them. For over 16 months now I have been betrayed, abused, humiliated and recently threatened by someone that I once considered family. There would be no art or romance to this exercise of freedom and vengeance... mindless and barbaric compulsion. The acid rises from my stomach, as in my mind I stab him 73 times in the neck... beating further with every last twitch and convulsion. Every tear and pleading cry would go unheard... I would lose all remaining humanity. There is little left as it is... there would be no coming back. My empathy and concern have dwindled... it matters not, that he has an illness and is acting out because of it. I have an illness too... and I don't mindlessly fuck over everyone in my life to profit and protect my delusional state. There are no more excuses... it's not registering and the clerks have gone on their smoke break. He is already dead inside of me... there is nothing left, not one fiber of concern. The emotional switch has been flipped off and the flattened emotions have risen... wrath has returned and the dead lights are shining once more. I don't know how much longer I can ignore these screams that demand justice and protection... I am not too entirely sure I want to either.