My Immortal

 By : Evanescence

 

 I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me
 
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

 

 

 

 

What Remains To Be Found...

For those readers who've been following my writings for awhile now, you've seen me at various stages in my life and journey... arguably at my worst and at my best, functional and completely non-functional. There has been sways and spikes, crisis and rejuvenation, redemption and reprisal... a virtual cornucopia of emotions and thought. Recently, things have been much worse and I have found myself at the darkest depths of my life... although I moved across the country to better my life, ironically, sorrow and addiction have been my only lasting companions. On Saturday, unable to deal with the loss of the single most important thing in my life, I tried once again, to leave this world behind... my attempts were in vain, and as you can clearly see by this entry, unsuccessful. I couldn't bear the burden of this relentless sorrow any longer, so the daily routine of running, escape, and self-medication increased significantly... instead of stopping once I had obtained the desirable level of intoxication, I continued consuming more and more Morphine. With blurred vision and over whelming euphoria consuming the last fibers of my consciousness, choking on my own saliva because I was too high and detached to even swallow, I continued chasing that white rabbit until my body collapsed. This should have been the final stand, my desistance, the end complete... I "awoke" quite sometime later, drenched in sweat, saliva, and piss, muddled and unable to form rational thought. After yet another failed attempt at leaving this place behind, I was convinced God is a fucking sadist and he truly just wants me to continue suffering for my transgressions and failures.Days later, I still don't know how to feel about it, other than the fact that I'm fucking pissed off for having wasted so much Morphine... that was enough to keep me "stratosphere" for a week. The escape was temporary in the end, and here I find myself still unable to bear these feelings of loss and sorrow... my heart is broken beyond all repair and my desire and will are completely tapped and exhausted. Lost in the "what if's..." and "should have's...", I must face each day alone and hopeless of reunion... each breath is powdered glass and my eyes have been cried dry.

This confession speaks volumes about myself... my weakness, pathetic and hopeless nature, my addiction, and self-worth. But I'm not the only one in the spot light... now you stand center stage and it's your reflection that is captive. Depending on your reaction and thoughts, you're one of three types of individual:

- If you're filled with compassion and you're thinking to yourself, "Damn, Alabaster Frank... I love you and I'm here for you always, but I really think you need to get some type of help.", I want you to know that I appreciate your concern, compassion, empathy, and kindness. However, ironically, I am already enrolled in a Crisis Stabilization Program and I have people coming over to my house every day to make sure I am safe and getting the help that I need. The problem is that I feel dead inside and there is no remedy for that... when that tree burned down, it took away everything that I am or could ever possibly become. It was a moment of complete and absolute loss that turned my entire world upside-down and inside-out. Where do you go from here? How do you get there... or find the desire to even care?

-If you're filled with anger and you're thinking to yourself, "Shut the fuck up already! If you want to die so fucking bad, I'll fucking do it for you, you worthless, stupid, fat, fucking piece of shit!"... ah, honesty, how refreshing. I'll tell you what... send me a message, and I'll give you my address and you can come over here and do it for me, OK?

-And finally, if you're filled with mockery and lack any real courage of your own, because you're one of those people that masturbates to videos on YouTube of bullying victims crying their eyes out and self harm photographs, and you're thinking to yourself, "Ha ha, you're such a loser! I think this is so funny... you can't even kill yourself right because you're so stupid and pathetic!. Quit crying about it and try it again, so I can laugh at you failing yet again!". Sadly, if this is how you truly feel, I suppose you're even more pathetic than I am. Obviously you're so lost and soulless that you'll scour the Internet, searching and reading the blog's of people whom are truly suffering, just as a means of entertainment and escape from your own worthless and pathetic existence. I'll tell you what... I'll offer you the same courtesy as the person before you. Send me a message, and I'll give you my address... except this time, the end result will be far different, because you're clearly a spineless individual. So, this is how it will be. You come over to my house and I will beat you to death with my dick and we'll record it and post it on the Internet for other mindless fucking trolls, like yourself, so they can masturbate to your suffering for a change? How does that sound, punk-ass motherfucker? Fuck you. That's right... Fuck You!

Okay, I know that was a little on the intense side, but I just can't stand people that get off on the suffering of others and view their pain as a type of entertainment... at least serial killers have the conviction to cause that other person's suffering before they get off, ya know? It's all about manners. So there we have it... it's no secret what type of person I am or the lives I have lived. I've always been very forthcoming in sharing the pieces of my life and story with all of you. The real question is, what type of person are you? Do you have a moral compass and the power of conviction? Do you have a heart and the humanity to use it? There are some readers who have been very kind to me over the years and I want you to know that I appreciate each and every one of you. I don't know if I can learn how to be happy and healthy... I don't know if I can ever truly heal. But it is my hope that one day, I'll be able to see that I'm not alone in this void... that one day I can learn how to use my heart, just like some of you have used yours in kindness towards me.Thank you, my friends... thank you for listening and sharing this time together.

A World Within The Tree

The world, my world, has shifted... with the ground uneven and trembling, I find myself knelt before our tree. This tree, all it represents, the future and promise of tomorrow, has been my refuge and anchor in this world... a daily reminder of what flowed within, the blood, the breath, the light, all stemming from one source. Now it is but a shadow of what was, the tongue that tore it apart and unearthed it's roots from my heart... the salt from my eyes has poisoned the ground, and all that was is no more. Perhaps it is my limited understanding of what happened, the events that unfolded so quickly and the overly polite exits that followed. The reminder of what would always be, rather than what is... a clear precursor to the change that would immediately alter the relationship.Redefinition. Loss. Each word was in vain, every action was without hope... all I could do was watch as the door closed, as the tree became unearthed, choking on the tears that relentlessly fell upon the burnt ground. It was then, that this time I knew for certain that things were different... despite the promises and assurances, I knew those words were only spoken in kindness, not truth. The truth was something quite different, it was the dark I had feared coming... and how dark it was. For hours I wept uncontrollably, pleading with myself that the end had not yet settled in... that there could be a tomorrow, a purpose, some hope. But these things will never come, for they died at  the foot of tree... the one that sheltered us, listened quietly to our conversations, and wore our initials on her chest. When Tuesday met Friday, and how quickly he knew that he loved her... the kind of love that is only written about, and so rarely seen or felt. All this loss and sorrow, not even a day after I discovered our tree was a girl... just like the chair. Do you remember? How quickly we forget always...

The Earth Beneath Me

Once again, I have returned... it has been quite a long time since I have written and shared my thoughts, compulsions, or sorrows. Around the time of my last post, I had just returned to the world of addiction and slavery to the flesh, after having been sober for a great many years. To any of those hoping this addiction would have killed me by now and removed my delusional rantings from your lives, I sincerely apologize... please know that it hasn't been do to a lack of efforts on my part. I suppose I should be a more efficient drug addict and overdose within a more reasonable amount of time. Stay tuned... your wishes may be granted soon enough.

Lots of things have been happening and changing in my life... some things for the better, some for the worse, and some that just don't really seem to matter or change regardless of my surroundings and placement in this world. The earth is firmly beneath my feet, in the physical aspect, and quite honestly, I'm not quite sure how to feel about that. My depression has grown worse despite my efforts to both better my life and run away, like a frightened child, by self-medicating... some days are worse than others, but the desire to leave this world has remained a constant. Mentally speaking, the earth is nowhere to be found.... neither above me, nor below me, as I float around aimlessly in a state of constant delusions and hallucinations. After years of trying to survive in my environment, I packed my belongings are moved across the country, with my cat in tow, to my town of birth, where I am living completely alone in grandparent's old house... the have both passed on and I am living here in a caretaker capacity, oddly enough, when I can't even take care of myself. The good news to this situation is that I am no longer living in the abusive situation I was previously, and I no longer have to lock up every single thing I own in fear that it would be stolen from me. You would think this change in life would have lowered my stress immensely, but I suppose the other changes that came along with this decision, have sent a shock-wave of disruption throughout my life.I've had the challenge of learning how to live alone for the past 7 weeks now, and in all honesty, I am not doing a very good job. Trying to juggle the responsibilities of taking care of myself, the cat, and a home, all while being a drug addict has been extremely difficult. Most days I have no desire to even get out of bed, and if it wasn't for the painful and obnoxious withdrawal from the opiates, I wouldn't get out of bed at all. Each morning, I drag myself out of bed so that I can get my fix and then I sit, nodding away, at my desk... rinse repeat, rinse repeat. I'm not sure if it's the drug addiction or my inability to remember to do the common tasks of normal people, like eat at a scheduled time, but for some reason I've been losing a fair amount of weight rather quickly... 25lbs in the past 7 weeks. At first, I thought this was a good thing, seeing how I believe myself to be hideously fat and disgusting, but now I am not so sure... I suppose my feelings have turned to indifferent.

Am I happy, with myself and my new surroundings? Yes and no. Quite honestly, I don't want to be a drug addict and I'm really fucking pissed off for putting myself in this situation in the first place. I just couldn't handle the stress of my previous environment, and I needed a way to escape. Now that I've removed myself from there, I remain a slave to the opiates because I can't deal with the decisions I've made and the people I hurt when I left... I see those faces over and over again, haunting and taunting me, until I run to the nearest exit of self-medication. It's a vicious cycle... I use because I can't handle the stress, yet using is stressful. I do want to get sober again... in fact, I know this is something I must do rather soon. The problem is I don't believe in myself enough to try... and even if I did, I would have to face those skeletons dancing in the closet. What would you do... do you even care?

Looking For Tuesday

Forsaken by my own thoughts... the ebbed sensations replaced by shadow, stick figures seeking for lost dinner plates. My conscious has been replaced by the flaky paste of dried saliva, mucous and tears. Like stained teeth gnawing through dried, cracking lips... the empty gaze of puzzled thoughts, only this one remains void. Existence breed with chaos. Dignity lost among the mannequins. Whether a Shepard's crook or the Devil's hook... the destination, has only but one name. Can you still see me, as I lay here in this soiled grave?

Full Length Mirrors

Recently, I've learned the difference between feeling alone and actually being alone. Because of my disassociation with people and emotions, I've felt alone all of my life... whether or not people are in my life or my home. I could have someone in the very next room, yet I would feel all alone... like there was no one to care or even feign their compassion. As most of my readers know, I've been having difficulties with the people that I live with for several years now... constant stress, betrayal, and theft. Recent events led to the removal of these people from my home... the tension had grown so immense due to the constant discovery or more thefts, that I finally snapped and a physical altercation arose. I've been living in this house completely alone for almost two weeks now... well not completely alone, because my companion animal is still here. These people had been in my life for the past 12 years and their removal has been both good and bad. In their absence, my stress and the tension have been significantly reduced and the comfort in knowing the thefts have finally stopped has been like a weight lifted from my shoulders. For the past 12 years, these people have been family, and even though they held that title, I still felt alone... unwanted, unloved, unappreciated. Over the course of those years they would attempt to tell me otherwise, but the nature of my feelings never changed. Despite their efforts and my own, I felt alone. Now that I am living here all by myself, things feel different.... I'm starting to notice the difference between the feeling of being alone and, in fact, being alone. Now that the "family" has parted ways, the feigned affection has also disappeared. At the beginning, several people including other family members, "friends", and my doctors, expressed concern and compassion... telling me such things as, "we care about you..." and "we are here for you...". Despite their words, no one has taken the time to check in on me or return my efforts to communicate with them. I find this strange because everyone expressed great concern for a number of years, on whether I would be able to live on my own... the concern was that I would get lost in my delusional world and the hallucinations and neglect would ultimately end in my death. Surprise, surprise... even with my recent return to drug addiction, I am still very much alive. Now that the basis of such "promises" and concerns" walked out of the front door with the people that once lived here, I am experiencing what it truly means to be all alone. I spend my days still locked away in this room, even thought the entire house is empty. For years, I've expressed that this room was much like a prison cell, and it appears more so than ever before, that it in fact is one. I'm not experiencing any increased sorrow due to the lack of warm flesh within these walls, nor do I feel lonely. But there is a difference, to be sure. For all of those years, I felt alone, but it was accompanied with words assuring me that I wasn't, despite my feelings on the matter. Now that those "assurances" have disappeared, even though I never believed them, things feel completely different. Now I understand the difference between feeling alone and being alone.I'll admit, even though I never believed those words being expressed to me or the "feigned affections", it does sting a little to know they were only words all along. Conformation can be a bitter and cruel mistress, indeed. I guess the most discouraging thing I'm experiencing, is the realization that all of those people may have been right about my inability to survive alone. My hallucinations have increased significantly as has my drug consumption and the neglect to my bodily needs has also increased. Even though I spend most of my time in bed, I'm not really sleeping all that well... it's more of a drug induced incapacitation. I've always forgotten to eat on a regular basis, but now even when I am reminded by hunger and distress that I need to eat something, I won't because it involves a lengthy and stressful ordeal of counting and verifying that the refrigerator is closed and properly sealed. I do eat eventually, usually when my stress is low enough to handle the series of checks and verifications or when I am too fucking high to care to count. It is a problem. It's things such as this, which has me wondering if they were right all along. Either way, there is nothing I can really do about it. This realization of the difference between being and feeling alone, has been enlightening. My emotional stability is about the same as before and quite honestly, I'm not struggling with the change and this realization. I'm not writing about it because I feel sorrow or even confusion, I'm writing about it because I recognize the difference now. In a lot of ways, the two feel very much the same... yet at the same time, there are some differences. I guess the biggest one being conformation. However, after several years of wanting to be free and having the opportunity to live alone, I do believe the good out weighs the different. Change has never been something I've felt comfortable with, but this change is welcomed and long awaited. It can seem a bit daunting at times, but the peace of knowing I shall not be subject to more betrayal is comforting, to say the least. I can only hope they're all wrong and that this is something I can do... that I can survive on my own. As much as I crave death and departure of this world, I need to make this work... I just have to.

The Powder Room

A perverse amount of time has passed since I have been able to come here and document the pathetic nature of my life... or what passes for the excuse of living life. I am indeed not living, rather I am nothing more than a slave to addiction, torment and debauchery. Within these walls of script, that have outlined the nature of my various failures, crimes and transgressions, you've become familiar with the monster that wears the face of humanity and mingles among the living. Most of the events written within, require some deduction and thought to fully appreciate their significance and meaning. This will not be the case today. For the message I have to share today, needs not the lattice and veiled approach... the dirt upon my face and the spittle foaming in the corners of my lips speak for itself.

About three months ago, I returned to the rabbit hole and the denizens within... once again engaging in the dance of substance abuse. They welcomed me passionately, as I returned to the embrace of lost lovers... the orgasm of flesh and mind, as the drugs consumed any remaining remnants of pride and self-worth. The affair did not end there, for it has become a daily exercise of humiliation and debasement. The seductress of choice this time around is opiates... more specifically, Dilaudid. Once I awake for the day, within moments I've ingested enough to send my body into a nodding delirium. The ecstasy washes over me and the foot race ensues... running frantically from the stress of the day and the demons that devour my remaining sanity. Once the slightest sign of sobriety approaches, I return desperately to the bedroom floor of my mistress and expose my milky flesh in exchange for another dose of orgasmic bliss. The dance continues all day long, day after day, without rest and an endless amount of remorse. I've become a whore to my drug and myself... a junkie and an established author of failure.


Of course, all of this is a descriptive way of informing you that I have once again starting abusing drugs. NO, I am not whoring myself out for drugs and there is, in fact, no mistress or drug dealing rabbits. As you already know, I suffer from chronic pain due to some injuries to my back, neck and leg from long ago. It is also well known that even though I was sober for over ten years, I still displayed behavior of a drug addict by hoarding my pain medications. So you see, there is no need to sell my body for drugs or even associate with a drug dealer, because I have a near endless supply of opiates at my disposal. I suppose that's why I chose to abuse that particular drug... availability. As for what lead me down this path, that's a different story entirely. Yes, there were circumstances, but the biggest factor would be weakness. Yes, things were said and certain event transpired, but the decision was ultimately mine and mine alone. No one forced me to start using again... I took that leap all by myself.

When I stopped using drugs before, it became a common occurrence to have people tell me things like, "It won't last" and "Once a junkie, always a junkie". I suppose part of me became accustomed to this attitude from others and their cruelty and ignorance. At the same time, I suppose part of me always remained very sensitive and hurt my these thoughts. Perhaps that's why what followed had such a profound impact on my decision to start using drugs again. For a little over a year now, I've had a very strong desire to have a child of my own.... to raise a family that I had a role in creating. This idea, this thought, has become something that I yearn for greatly. Not too long along, someone very close to me, at the time, told me something very callous and cruel. They said they would never even consider having a child with someone like me, a former drug addict, because they would only return to that lifestyle and ruin the life and childhood of their child. Hearing this, broke my heart and shattered my dreams and desires... as if my face were brutally thrust into a mirror and I was force fed the shards of broken glass. This person supposedly cared for me and called themselves my friend... to hear something so hurtful really had a profound impact on my fragile and limited self-esteem. I was fueled with anger and rage... all of the voices came running back to the front line. "Once a junkie, always a junkie!". I thought to myself, "Why not? Fuck it! Let them be right... I don't give a fuck anymore!". The stress in my life had become unbearable and my hopes of leaving this apartment and living on my own had only become more and more complicated and delayed. So I needed an escape. I needed a way to leave all of this bullshit behind me. So I did. I closed my eyes and said "Goodbye" to my ten years of sobriety and returned to the place I once swore I'd never see again.

So here I sit... three months into this addiction that has a firm grasp on my soul and testicles. I have no one to blame but myself, and truthfully, I don't. I did in the beginning perhaps. But now, it is very clear to me that this was a decision of my own making and design. I'm not comfortable with it, by any means. In fact, I fucking hate it. At first, I was hoping it would just kill me... then I could finally say goodbye to this pathetic excuse of an existence. However, as I've stated countless times before... nothing is ever as simple as we'd like it to be. For now, let's just say I'm no longer satisfied with the idea of dieing from this addiction... it's something I wish to remove from my life, so that I can begin a new chapter. A chapter worth living. But that's a story for another time.

For now, this is all I have to share on the subject. For those of you that consider yourselves my friends... I am truly sorry that I've let you down and become something less than human. For those of you that desire to judge me on my short comings and "knew this day was coming"...  go fuck yourselves, you self-righteous, mother fucking leeches.