Ta-Dah! (its a good album go get it)
Feeling fucked up is a conscious choice. Its just that most people dont. There are two fine lines, believing that the one you choose to let into your life wont hurt you, and realising that its just a matter of time before they do.
Of course then it crosses the line either way, alarm bells ring, sirens wail and you start feeling increasingly fucked up reclusive angsty, like a teenager with raging hormones and various test kits with unpredictable results.
Some part of dysfunctional me realises i've got to do something about this. The really dysfunctional parts say this is true love. The sane parts dont believe in love. The insane parts dont believe in anything really. The dyslexic parts cant even decide if love is a real word, because its been seen so many times in so many places, that if it saw vole or eolv or ovel, it'd probably much equate to the same thing. Of course there are other parts of me that feel their views warrant as much attention, but try as i might i honnestly cannot deal with even a quarter of the million thoughts a second my brain is capable of.
Alcohol seemed like the answer, slow down the brain and u can deal with the thoughts. After much drinking and lack of consideration, i've come to realise that its a lost cause. Fun yes, lost yes as well, meaningless no, stupid, grudgingly yes.
But i digress. Problem i dont know what to think. The solution is actually quite simple, believe that you made the right choice, stick with it, then hang around with people who reinforce your choice. Ta-dah!
Cu them out, hang around, it all amounts to the same thing. I prefer cutting though, especially since i've gotten too used to it. Cut my self, cut other people out, it all amounts to the same thing, you cant cut someone off without cutting off some part of yourself, and i'm letting go so easily now. And on a good day, i can believe that.
Its all so easy when you stop caring, wanting to care, and hoping to feel something that means something.
Of course then it crosses the line either way, alarm bells ring, sirens wail and you start feeling increasingly fucked up reclusive angsty, like a teenager with raging hormones and various test kits with unpredictable results.
Some part of dysfunctional me realises i've got to do something about this. The really dysfunctional parts say this is true love. The sane parts dont believe in love. The insane parts dont believe in anything really. The dyslexic parts cant even decide if love is a real word, because its been seen so many times in so many places, that if it saw vole or eolv or ovel, it'd probably much equate to the same thing. Of course there are other parts of me that feel their views warrant as much attention, but try as i might i honnestly cannot deal with even a quarter of the million thoughts a second my brain is capable of.
Alcohol seemed like the answer, slow down the brain and u can deal with the thoughts. After much drinking and lack of consideration, i've come to realise that its a lost cause. Fun yes, lost yes as well, meaningless no, stupid, grudgingly yes.
But i digress. Problem i dont know what to think. The solution is actually quite simple, believe that you made the right choice, stick with it, then hang around with people who reinforce your choice. Ta-dah!
Cu them out, hang around, it all amounts to the same thing. I prefer cutting though, especially since i've gotten too used to it. Cut my self, cut other people out, it all amounts to the same thing, you cant cut someone off without cutting off some part of yourself, and i'm letting go so easily now. And on a good day, i can believe that.
Its all so easy when you stop caring, wanting to care, and hoping to feel something that means something.
posted by Seython at 3:04 am
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