Stop Yourself

I dare you to go one day without what you think you need, and devise an alternative.

Just to point out the fact that this blog isn't meant for you. This is my own corner of the web and what you read on here doesn't necessarily reflect how I will behave in my life away from the keyboard. You don't know me.

There's a reason why we behave certain ways - expectations, hormones, mental problems, outside stimuli. We don't dictate our choices - our environment influences our nature, and our nature influences our decisions.

Like with anything, it depends on our surroundings. In certain places, we behave in certain ways. I'm not the same at school and at home, and I don't act the same way with my family as I do with my friends. It's all situational.

At the end of the day, all you can really do is look back and ask yourself if it was worth it. Did you learn something new today? Did you explore? Did you enrich your life in some way shape or form?

Or did you waste the day? Maybe you spent it doing the same thing you do every day. Like Pinky and the Brain, do you do the same thing every night?

You only get one shot at life. There's nothing worse than going on vacation and spending the whole time on the computer, or stuck in your hotel room with the same people, then having to leave and saying, "I really wish I had spent more time doing new things." And the same goes for life.

There's no greater regret than wasting time, whether it's spending too much time on the internet, or watching TV, or even going to the same damn coffee shop every weekend. You can even spend too much time with the same people and never meet anyone new. There's a whole new world to explore out there, and don't let anything hold you back.

That's Night vs Day. The terminus where you start a new morning, and struggle between the sleeper and the dreamer, the thinker and the doer. You have forever. Go.

Shaking, Breaking, Aching

I can't write anymore. I used to rely on depression for inspiration, but lately, my life has been on the upturn, so desperation no longer comes to the literary rescue. I'm still trying, but I can't find the plots that will make things work out.

I've taken a more mature step to dealing with important issues. I've found it more rewarding to forward problems onto people who have degrees in dealing with them - I've emailed power companies, city councilors, and whoever else may have a greater influence on issues than I do.

As for life, I'm always a little nervous nowadays - no longer do I only have myself to take care of, but there's always another that I'm living for. I can't just neglect myself for the sake of others. Way back when, I knew this was going to be an issue, when I met that person who would care for my well-being in a way neither of us could have predicted. For a person who forsakes himself for the demands of others, it's odd to meet someone whose wish is that I attend to my own needs.

I'm grateful for it though. I've never felt this close or comfortable with anyone. It's like diving into a pool and finding it pleasantly warm, probably because someone has peed in it. <3

Huh.

I know it sounds weird...

but I'm pretty happy.

Solitude

Sometimes I feel so goddamn alone. Everyone has places to be and people to be with except me. I'm just wandering without a purpose.

A lot of my friends have significant others and that takes up a lot of their time. I can understand that, but it doesn't stop me from being a little jealous. I can't force my friends to hang out with me - Nik and I are gay enough as it is - but the house is almost always empty, and even when Lise is home, she's usually in her room studying, so it's deathly quiet. When Yianni comes over, I do enjoy the company, but again, I can't force them to hang out with me and they're usually occupied (I know you guys read this blog, chill), and anyways, I would feel like a third wheel if I just sat there in the room. There's enough awkwardness in this house as it is, so I don't need to exacerbate the situation.

Kristie is gone, and when she does come back, it's to visit her boyfriend(s). It kind of sucks because I miss her (despite the hate), and again, I get jealous when she has better things to do. I need a certain quota of attention each day and I get finicky when it's not filled. Knowing that other people have better things to do than hang out with me is sort of depressing, because I don't have anything better to do than to look for people to hang out with.

And no, I can't find a significant other because I'm mentally retarded. See previous notes spanning back about 3 years.

So I'm sitting at home alone now, playing sad songs on my guitar and failing miserably. Go me.

After a long walk...

I'm better now.

FUCK

I cannot control my own body, I can't control my actions or my words, and I don't know what I'm doing. I can't let myself be happy, I can't relax, I can't even calm down, I just mentally flail and writher in wild desperation. I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't know who I'm doing it to. I have all my inner voices arguing, each wanting different things, so that I do one thing and regret it afterwards, or I do nothing and want it so badly that it feels like a hand clenching my heart. I don't know what I'm doing. I have never been this confused in my life. I'm too nice and too bad at the same time, and everything I do pleases one side but depresses the other, so that whether I JUST DO IT or hold back I'm unhappy either way. I don't know what I'm doing. I can't control myself.

Choices

Recently I've tried to change - now hold up while I explain before you call me a hypocrite for my last post.

I used to be a paradox. I buried my feelings behind a goofy exterior and laughed a lot, acted like an idiot, and so on, just to blend in with the 'normals' in society. But all the anger I packed away inside me, locked in a mental cage, just pulsating underneath the happy facade. It'd leak out at times, in morbid quips that I tried my best to control, at times.

My outlet was my writing. I wrote to release all this hate stored in my body, like a garbage bin empties out into a dump. Everything I wrote had a seed of darkness, feeding the drama and making it real.

Nowadays, I've punctured a hole in that barrier - the darkness flows out, making me irritable and easily upset. In turn, my internal reservoir has been depleted, making it harder for me to find things to write about. On top of that, I've been less willing to put up with certain things that I was tolerable of in the past, namely the behavior of people around me.

Here's the double edge. I can stay as I am - a blend of light and dark, vulnerable to that very human emotion called anger, but ultimately real - or I can go back, and cage the dark passenger riding in the backseat, hiding away my rage but showing the world a false face. Not to consider the effects of either choice on my writing, or my tolerance of people who tend to hurt me.

Choice 1
Stay as I am now-
Pros:
Full range of emotion
Ability to push away people who hurt me
No pent-up feelings
Cons:
Hurting people
Lack of writing ability
Frequent moodiness

Choice 2
Go back to before-
Pros:
Writing is better
Friendly towards everyone
Better at helping others
Cons:
More buried feelings
Sense of loneliness
Being 'fake'

Sometimes I hate myself a lot for being so dramatic.

Armored Hearts

I'm going insane. I'm under so much stress right now.

A lot of things have recently upset me. I've been losing friends left and right, because they're no longer the people I knew. Either they've changed, or I've gotten to know certain aspects of them that I no longer feel the need to connect with. So snip, cut, and goodbye friendship, you have been pruned from the tree.

I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm constantly struggling to find a way to rid my mind of these people, but it's impossible. Unfortunately, it's always the people I love the most that end up hurting me the greatest. Maybe it's because I've opened my heart to them, exposing my vulnerable side, and trusting that they won't hurt me - and of course, they inevitably do.

Every time I try to form a meaningful relationship with someone, they end up killing parts of me. It's slowly poisoning me against trying to find a girlfriend, since every time I show my heart it gets stabbed. I'm learning that the world is harsher than I imagined. I love a girl and she ends up killing me.

I'm building armor for myself. Padding my heart with steel, until nothing can hurt me again. But a heart caged can't beat freely. I don't know what to do.

You Can't Outrun Truth

I can't stand people and every day I'm reminded of that fact.

Why can't people just accept life? It's like they're constantly trying to deny the truth and in the process preventing themselves from fixing their problems, because they don't even comprehend that a problem exists.

Otherwise, they run and hide. Under a coat of falsities, they pretend everything is fine, that the world and life are okay. Running from the truth, hiding the truth from others, putting on a false face.

You need to accept the change in your life. You can't just run, or hide from the fact that things have changed, and that the entire paradigm of your life has shifted. You can't escape from the truth. You've changed, and in that changing you've become intolerant of your own behaviour.

Choosing to Live

I failed 4 courses this year, I am raging at my housemates, I worry too much, and everything is falling apart. So I need to do the drastic thing again and say, "Fuck everything" and quit.

I will not worry about school.
I will not worry about girls.
I will not worry about the house.
I will not worry about work.
I will not worry about money.
I will not worry about time.

I will live, love, and survive.

Done

I'm just going to take a break and just say fuck it. I've had a good majority of posts dedicated to my friends, and I think I need to go back and visit them. I think that, after entering university and meeting so many new people, I've become disillusioned with this whole shit. I need to go and find people that care.

I failed two courses this semester. I'm probably stretching out my last year into two. My mom won't be happy. I'm not happy.

Memories of the Dead

I hate it when people I care about immensely hurt themselves. I hate it more when they do it for stupid reasons. I hate it even more when they lie to me about it. I hate it the most when I tell them how I feel and they do it anyways.

I've lost a lot of people to smoking. I never got the chance to say goodbye before they were taken away. I've forgotten how their voice sounded, how their skin felt like. I will never endorse or feel comfortable with smoking and smokers.

People can do what they want to themselves. I can't stop them, because I can't force anyone if they're only hurting themselves - they have every right to do that. But what they don't see is that it hurts me more than anything else. And I've lost too much.

The only option I want to take is escape. I can't stress myself out, or care too much. I have to let go, and in the process, abandon friends. But if that's what it takes, I'll do it willingly, because the memories of the dead are more important to me than the whims of the living.

My housemates smoke. But not regularly. In fact, I think I would understand it more if it were regular, or an addiction, because then at least they'd have an excuse. But they only smoke on random outings and occasions, like it's some sort of celebratory suicide. I don't understand, and I will never understand. And in all honesty, I no longer care, because they both know my story and still choose cigarettes over my friendship. So until they earn that respect back, I don't owe them anything.

And they're not sorry. I'm a study of human nature, and I don't have an 'idealized' view of the world. They'll apologize, as a short-term fix, to avoid tension - everybody does the same. We all say things to avoid conflict, but never take the time or effort to make amends. As they say, 'Sorry isn't enough'. You need to actively fix what you did and make things right to make it mean something. And they're not sorry, because they'll do it again. Except next time, they'll do it behind my back so I can't see. Does that make it any better?

So what can I do? They did it knowing it would upset me - not just once but multiple times. So they've picked a cigarette over me, they've decided to satisfy their own pleasures disregarding the fact that it would upset me, and was it worth it? That cigarette better have been worth more than my friendship, because that's what it cost.

Pressure

The other day was 4-20, and if you're familiar with social constructs, you'll recognize the day as the pothead's holiday. It's the drug-user's equivalent of the alcoholic's St. Patrick's Day.

I don't understand the concept. Many people seem to use holidays as a reason or an excuse for their behaviour, and it frustrates me. I enjoy drinking, but I'd never try to convince myself to drink because of the date - I drink because I enjoy it, and St. Patrick's Day is only an occasion for me because the beer is cheap. Using socially defined dates for your behaviour is just an extreme case of peer pressure.

Introspective, Retrospective

Life is difficult. I've known that for a very long time. Things are always a struggle, and anything of worth must be won by blood and faith.

How do I feel? I feel alone. In a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all, and the darkness inside you can make you feel so small. I can envy those around me and wish I were like them, but it would be pointless - I can recognize the shadows around every heart, and each person has their troubles and turmoils. Envy is just a misinformed response, because in reality, no one is better than anyone else.

I wish I was normal enough to have a relationship. While I can give love to the people who need it, I can't give it to myself. I don't have confidence in my own abilities, so how can I expect someone else to have faith in me? I don't know why. Everyone I meet seems to know who they are, and where they're going. Even the worst of people know how to get what they want.

Like a forest path, the trees block my already narrow vision, limiting my view to the path in front of me and the footsteps behind me. There are only two choices at this juncture - forwards, or back. To move on into new horizons, or to seek the safety of the known - a difficult choice to make for someone who's lost.

The wind blows, and leaves scatter in the gale of air, twirling and fluttering around like so many colorful scraps of history.

Quick Updates

CEC updates over at dramabiotics.

Over here, things are a bit quieter. Post coming soon.

Welcome to the Rest of my Life

I never had a place in my heart for another because I'm just too dense.

Yeah, I'm Never going Home

WHO GETS MAD OVER A FUCKING POGO OMFG.

I ate 6 pogos out of a 10 pogo box and my sister throws a hissy fit. I come back like, twice a fucking year, are you really going to make such a big deal out of this?! Like, seriously, I don't see what the problem is. 300 days out of the year, you get all the food to yourself, but when I come back, you want to make a big fucking deal out of it. That's not just unreasonable, it's just greedy as fuck. And she said, "Mom only buys that when you come back," and I think that's clearly a fucking lie. Well, you know what? I'm not coming home anymore, so according to you, mom will NEVER buy you fucking food anymore. So now you don't just lose one pogo, you lose ALL of them due to your tightass attitude. Fuck.

And what's your fucking problem. I ask you to wash a dish since you're already washing the dishes, but apparently, you don't 'owe me anything' so I have to wash my dishes myself. You know, driving you around the city is just my hobby, it doesn't COUNT for anything. So you know what, drive yourself around next time. I don't owe you SHIT. Congrats, you've just lost your free ride.

So in conclusion, fuck my family. You fucking SUCK.

FML

I can't keep my mouth shut any longer. Although you might not want to hear what I have to say, I have to say it because keeping it in is making me incredibly unhappy. This is how I feel.

A few weeks ago, I was in the Ontario Debate Competition. I struggled to earn my place. Despite no former debate experience, I did my best and came out on top, against people who had training and previous experience. Everyone was impressed with the way I handled myself, and I was featured in three different papers around Hamilton. I felt like I earned something, not because of school, or books, but because of my own ability to express myself, and I was proud of that.

When we won, my friend CJ called his parents, and they both got on the line to congratulate him. Both parents were extremely happy to hear that their son was one of the best. When I told you, you said, "You shouldn't distract yourself with these things." My gold medal, which I was proud of, means nothing to me now - it's just a piece of metal. I don't feel proud of it, because you think it's a waste of my time.

I'm going to go to New Brunswick in a few weeks time. In what should be one of the defining moments of my life, I'm going to be unhappy because my own mother, the only person whose opinion actually matters to me, doesn't want me to be there. She would rather me be sitting in a library and studying, instead of representing my entire school and province in a national competition, with a chance to be the best in the country. Isn't that sad? I won't be able to compete to the best of my ability, because I'll be unhappy.

Not only that, but this memory of the competition will be stained forever by what you've done to me. In twenty, thirty years down the road, I'll be looking at my medal, telling my kids this story, and I'll remember how much you've hurt me.

Have you ever wondered why my housemates all go home on the weekends, but I choose to stay? It's because they want to go home, and they feel at home. I don't. I don't think this has ever been my home. Every time I come back, I feel unhappy, trapped, and depressed. It's a tense environment - either I'm fighting with you or Mei, or you two are fighting each other. I honestly can say that every moment I spend at home is like waiting for the next fight to break out. I used to be able to deal with it, when I didn't have any other choice. But now that I can run away, it makes it harder to stay, because I am obligated. I can remember so many moments over the years that I have been hurt. I come back for important events like Christmas, a time where we're supposed to show love and compassion, and instead I feel sick because I can't even talk to you.

I can't deal with the hypocrisy. You've raised me to be smart, creative, and most of all compassionate, so I find it very funny how you don't seem to respect your own teachings. I don't feel compassion in this house. I don't feel like I'm smart because nothing I do is ever good enough. And I don't feel creative, because every time I try to make something it's a distraction or it costs too much money. You might have taught me well, but you have not set a good example for me.

This week, I've spent the entire time in this house, unable to talk, unhappy and closed in my room. If I had stayed in Hamilton, I would have gone out with my friends, but I thought, for once, that coming back would be a good choice. I won't make that same mistake again.

Hey

Dear humanity,

Stop interfering with my life. People suck enough as it is, you don't have to make that worse. And stop jerking around with my friends. I'll kick your ass.

Love,

Justin

Broken Angels

We all have our angels of dark desire. We call them by the nameless things, of greed, jealously, strife. We all go down, down, down, into the dark. Sometimes we lose ourselves in the dark, and at other times we find ourselves again.

The shadows hide all. What hands touch yours? Perhaps a friend, perhaps a foe. This is a world of shadows, where everything is obscured by the darkness cast by human hearts, and we are blinded by the pretense of the curtain called reality.


This a nature of humanity. The empty words that span the gap between hearts. The meaning is lost in the scramble to communicate, to self-indulge in the lie that you are indeed special. The comforting words we speak - not for others, but for ourselves, to delude our way to Heaven. This is the way the world ends.

Is not all selfishness? In reaching out, we also reach in, and the motive for kindness is a sense of self-serving justice.

Know Thyself

This is my 200th post.

I've been maintaining this blog for a few years now. It's a collection of my thoughts and experiences, although not all of them by far. I often feel strange reading my own ramblings, as if I'm meeting myself for the first time, and in a way I am.

We're constantly in flux. The world moves, and we move with it. As I age, I change as well, and sometimes, it's both exhilarating and depressing to see how much I've actually diverged from my original path. External events have occurred, outside of my control, that have shaped me into who I am today... Who am I today? I don't know.

I think everyone is on a journey of self-discovery. We will never know ourselves thoroughly, and a point in life is the urge to try. I don't know who I am, but it doesn't bother me the way it used to. I don't know who I am, but I know who I'm not. I don't know where I belong, but I know where I don't belong.

Memento mori. Memento vivere. Nosce te ipsum.