I have been not in my head lately and feel that I am ready to collapse. I have been doing things I swore I would never do and act in ways I swore I would never act. Like several people rolled up into one strange animal that walks this world, always weary and always ready for a fight with bloodied meat between my teeth. I feel like I don't have a home. My voice is being quieted more and more and I feel like I need to scream. But I cant. I cant let the whole world know how crazy this lunatic has become. What challenges lay ahead for me? It almost seems like death is innevitable. Like I am pre-disposed to die at this young but old feeling age. By my hand or by accident I am not too sure, but the end reult feels all the same to me. No more me. No more vile lunatic. No more oafish asshole. No more sarcasm and failing witty banter. No more crying. No more fearing. No more dissapointing. I just want to be me again and that is damn hard to do when I never knew who I was to begin with. I am so tired all the time now. I only laugh with a drink in my stomache or a chemicle in my blood. I mostly frown and have no strength to do anything of importance anymore. "What about your son?" He should be enough that I just force positive change in my heart and soul and I feel that I am a bastard because I cannot force that change. I love my boy with all my heart and would die for him... maybe I am supposed to die for him? Would he be better off in this world without me... probably. It might be better to live in a world without me and just an idea of who I was... a memory. It would be good for him if it where true with not just me but most of his dishelved and stark raving mad family if we all just up and dissapeared. My poor son... with parents like his what chance does he have? In a world like this?
Both his mother and I are sick and do nothing to get better. What can be done to save his soul?
God I hope something...
"I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often." — Charles Bukowski (Tales of Ordinary Madness)