Life’s Perverted Pleasures

May 15, 2009

I am saving my poems and other writing from an old Geocities website as they are about to shut down Geocities. I don’t have dates of when I wrote these, but 1995-1998 sounds about right. So please don’t just the immaturity of these to be who I am now.

I feel like I’m ramming my head into a brick wall, repeatedly over and over.

It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t leave bruises or scars. But it jumbles my brains, like a bowl of spaghetti. I think my wires are crossed, mixed signals are sent.

Oh, to be back in the days of school again. Life was simple. Life was fun. There was no change to the daily routine. I knew when school was. I knew I had to get up now. I knew I had to leave for the bus now. Time to change classes. Dismissal bell. Time to go home.

Then graduation came along. Life got all confused. Gone were the days of endless socializing and gossip, even studying for tests. Life loomed in front of me like a 50 foot high, 5 foot thick wall. There’s no way around it, so I hit it smack-dab in the middle.

College or university was an option, but I wan’t prepared. I hadn’t thought about it much, and when I did it was too late. I am the queen of procrastination, and it probably cost me a great educaiton. I wasn’t ready, hadn’t done enough research, hadn’t saved any money. Now I have to work. Life stands up again.

The endless days of stress and backaches, headaches and eternally putting up with customers’ crap. I work in a casino, in the slots department. It can be fun, but more often, it’s hell. It’s hard work, working for a living.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. No, I haven’t grown up yet. I haven’t matured enough to survive fully in the adult world, and still thought of as a child. I don’t know how long it will take to grow up, and at this point, I don’t really care.

That’s part of my problem. I don’t care . I don’t care about anyone or anything. Anything can make me smile, but nothing really makes me happy. There’s been a few times when I’ve truly been happy, but time flew, and like Cinderella, my happiness vanished, almost at the stroke of midnight.

I’m new in town. I just moved here, well…I’ve been here a while now. I’ve made a few friends at work, but the relationships stay at work. I don’t go out with any of them, don’t even have their phone numbers. I never was one for making friends. I live 40 km outside of town, in a smaller town. I don’t know anyone here. I have no desire to make any here.

It’s lonesome like this. I love people, love socializing. Every single day, I’m surrounded by hundreds of people, yet I don’t know any of them. I can talk to them, but only to exchange pleasantries of business. I can’t share my hopes and fears.

I feel ostracized from the world. Not purposely of course. I realize it’s something I’ve done to myself. I feel like an outsider looking in. A person locked out in the frigid cold, left looking in at family and friends enjoying each other, warmth, and good cheer.

I’ve felt this way for a year and a half. Nothing I try seems to make it any better. I know what it is. My doctor has already diagnosed me with depression. But right afer that, the hopelessness and misery went away, so I ignored what the doctor told me. Now it’s gotten worse than before. I am realizing that I need help, I need medicine. Now the problem is finding a doctor. Finding a good one, that I can understand, and who understands me. One I can trust. I need medicine if anything is going to get any better. I know depression isn’t a character flaw. It’s not a choice I can make, like abstinence. It is a chemical imabalance in my brain. I have no control over it, unless I take and antidepressant. I need help. Can’t do this alone. I need a good doctor, who can give me medication that will help, I need friends and family to support me.

I am asking you for your love and support, as my friend. I’m not sure how you can support me, just please promise me you will. Email me and share your thoughts about this with me. I would be eternally grateful if you would do this for me.


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