So I'm sitting in my room gazing at pictures of old high school friends, thinking about times, places, and people that remain frozen in the captions within my mind but gone in a moment's notice. I swear if I could just take refuge in the memories of those I cherish and love I would forever disappear and yet remain immortal. Anyways enough with the woe is my soul song, speaking of music I'm listening to some blink 182, a ripe recipe for a moment of saddened sentimentality. Its Thursday... well technically Friday 12:10 a.m., I'm tired as usual, my stomach is in knots, my heart remains in a constant state of brokenness, never can I pinpoint a thought, never can I seem to shake off my fatigue. It's kind of funny, I can't even take refuge in my own pity, I take pity on taking pity on myself if that makes sense? It's sort of like circular thinking except you insert the feelings of pity, regret, remorse, sadness, and for safe measure hopelessness. I don't really know why I'm writing I just felt compelled to do so, maybe it will help dull some of these emotions. So today I woke up, puffy eyed, nauseous, digging deep, trying to motivate myself to get out of bed, I guess were only as courageous and strong as our will allows us to be, unfortunately I have no will. This is going to sound strange and to be honest it's a bit uncanny but nonetheless it popped into my head; I read somewhere that 50 million ***** are released when a man ********** and only one or two may reach the egg but only one will fertilize it. Here's where contemplation became complication; The reward of fertilization only comes through a tough, grueling rat race to the egg, one that requires luck, strength, and drive on the part of the *****. Why is it that out of the 50 million others who could have (and I believe this with every last fiber of my being) given this life an honorable run, living a more fulfilled, satisfied, prosperous, pious, noble life than myself. Out of 50 million other me's, why was I chosen? Why was the broken, scattered,  feeble spirited me chosen? Its times like these that leave me wondering if there is a god, does he find humor in our sorrow? Is his strength only capitalized through the contrast of our weakness? Does his pleasure only lie in the confines of our pain? Maybe the blight of blindness lies not with us but with god? I just don't understand it, I'm tired of hearing, "well maybe we're not supposed to understand." Yet were supposed to understand that God "loves" us and is "always with us." Was he with the countless number of Jews who were murdered, executed, and sentenced to death for merely existing? What about the malnourished child who goes to bed with a bloated stomach and an even bigger dream of a full meal? Well if so what about those who won't even receive the chance to live on the pang of hunger, fear, or despair, like the baby who is drowned by her mother? Maybe that's an over simplified argument, I don't know, but what I do know is that I'm not just going to disregard questions I have. I ventured from the path I was on earlier, I went on a tangent there... Like I was saying, I don't understand how the... wow I'm tired :/ I'm ready to embrace sleep but, like every other night I'm sure sleep, with its selective and vindictive nature will give the me the cold shoulder, spiting me for the for focusing on racing thoughts instead of distant dreams. If you could hear the sigh I just made you would think hope was a myth, the remanence  of an emotion felt long ago by someone who couldn't quite grasp its meaning or existence either. Damn it, I'm so angry, I want so badly to just feel normal, whatever that may mean, I want it! I get to the point where I find myself angry for just being, angry for not being able to fully grasp why I fell the way I do, angry for being so ******* tired all the time, angry for not being able to enjoy life. Frustration seems to be the result of my compounded emotions, isn't it strange that I can feel bottomless emotions like sadness or despair yet rise to the flow of anger but at the same time I can't take a foster an emotional, polar opposite, happiness? I'm tired of complaining about my life, I'm tired about whining about things, I'm tired about being tired and sure it's easy for someone who's never felt the weight of constant sorrow to say, "well then don't" but it's like a mirror, you can look away from it and wish differently of your appearance but you know that it never changes, you know the mirror never lies.

no1amaurderer no1amaurderer
2 Responses Feb 26, 2010

Thanks Jc2009, writing seems to be the only way I truly express myself yet I rarely do it. When I write its not only for myself, I hope there are others out there who read my stories and when reading it say, "thats me, thats my story, thats my life." I know that sounds corny but its the only reason I enjoy posting stuff on this site.

Another great story, you have a talent for writing that I can only dream of, keep those stories coming.