I constantly live in fear of the day when I wake up and can't laugh at myself anymore.

The moment where I lie in bed and say,

"Shit. I'm fucked."

Yea. I'd say that's what I'm most afraid of.

Is it so wrong to get so bored with your life that you just want to fucking run into traffic?

Maybe it is.

Is it my fault that my life isn't exciting?

Probably. I'd rather not see it that way though.

But as long as I am surrounded by predictable people, generic gatherings and nothing remotely stimulating, I will imagine flinging myself into an oncoming 18 wheeler.

I'm not suicidal.
I'm just bored.

Today, my mother said to me, "You weren't always like this," referring to how unsatisfied I am with just about everything I do, and cynical to the point of being a killjoy at times.

It got me to think about how I got here.
Because she's right.
I wasn't always like "this."

My response was, "It's the people that have screwed me over... actually, it's because I lost faith in humanity."

She didn't like that.

Sometimes, I miss my optimistic view on life I had with a Capri-Sun and PB&J lunch or the occasional Lunchables package.

But then I'm brought back to the present where I work at a shitty retail job for just over minimum wage, on an island that would charge you to breathe if they could. I have several thousand dollars in loans to pay back in about a year, no idea what I'm going to "be" when I "grow up" and living in a nation where the economy is spiraling down the toilet of western civilization.

I wonder if this is growing up.
Or if it's growing up to be a cynical old hag.

Hermits have the right idea about life.
They are wiser than Mr. Owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercial.

Living a life free of societal binds and obligation.

Shit.

People in their general nature have made me consider running away into the woods and never returning to "civilized life."
I'm not saying that I'm better than everyone else and this is how I can free myself from the scum of the earth because everyone is the same when it comes to lowlife status.*
I'm saying that people have driven me to want nothing but to be alone for the rest of my life.
To live a life at my leisure without any outside pressure, any norms to be compared to and without any expectations to live up to.

I used to think that these people that isolate themselves are crazy.
But now, as I lie awake some nights, thinking of literal nothingness, I think they're brilliant.
With their experiences in cities, commuting to a dead end job with an abusive boss. The suburbs, with a family and a second marriage, mortgage, and ungrateful children, they've just thrown out all responsibility and any sort of ties to anyone but themselves.

Alone is so appealing.
I want it.


*We're all lowlifes. Adulterers, liars, rapists, abusers, thieves, racists. I've accepted it. You should too.

Picture people as Gobstoppers; a jawbreaker-type sucking candy with several layers.

The Gobstopper that represents me is a disgusting mess.
Bitter layer after bitter layer.
I feel like every person in my life that has disappointed me has added to these layers.

If I had to make a detailed description of the taste of this metaphor, I'd have to say that the center and last layer is sweeter than the rest, probably tasting like grapefruit. The middle layers are unsweetened tea. And the first layer...

It tastes like envelope glue.

Jealousy always finds its way back into the forefront of my daily activities.
It pushes my normal, chipper demeanor down a few flights of stairs and presses down on my torso- hard. So hard it becomes difficult to breathe.

When I experience jealousy, it's not a simple feeling that's here and gone in a matter of "let me count my blessings." I experience anger, depression and anxiety because of it.
Dice those all up into a fine minced emotion mix and you have the main event.
The Shit Show of My Life.
Where anxiety attacks are the star and two-timing, indecisive, manipulative boy-men continuously drive me to the point of wanting to stab bitches and take a cheese grater to their clitorises.

Phew.
There. That feels better.
Now for the depression that will soon turn into anxiety which will somehow constrict my breathing.

I believe this is why Jealousy is called "The Green-eyed Monster" and not "Fluffy Baby Bunnies."

My absence has been due to lack of thought, thinking, and any kind of brain activity.
My presence now is blamed solely on feelings of obligation and 1AM solace.


I've been in a coma it seems.
I hate when people spell coma, "comma."
Didn't anyone teach them the difference between a vegetative state and a punctuation?

Anyway, I've been in a coma; a social coma that only comes every few months in my life when depression catches up with my consciousness after crawling from the depths and crevices of my mind.
Who are we to question our happiness or define what happiness really is? Whose standards are we using for comparison? Why are we always searching and scraping and barely getting by just for the unattainable happy high? Happy lasts just as long as a marijuana high lasts, so why don't we just waste our efforts on seeking the nice pieces of work that deal?


It seems as if this blog is full of questions I can never have answered and it as frustrating as blue balls on prom night.