Depression or Paranoia?

I've always felt HUGE amounts of both. So much that they don't even feel like depression or paranoia. They just feel like REALLY strong feelings. Similar to fear in a way. I'm terrified of dying and I'm paranoid some one will kill me. Feel like that all the time. It's not too much fun. Sure, at times it keeps me out of trouble, but if I keep living this way trouble is all I'll get.

Too scared to abide by the law and too scared to change my ways. Way too scared to even try to understand why I think this way. I'm terrified of my friends and what they are capable of. I'm mortified by the things I love and how they affect me. I feel that if I don't want to change, then I won't need to. But I know that isn't true.

At times I will embrace this fear. At other times I will hinder it. I'm much too certain that no matter what, I cannot fully stop it.

So what does this mean? Why am I so scared? Why does every little movement make me jump? Why will the even the tiniest threat make me quiver?

Because when it all comes down to it, no matter what religion you are, you do not want to die. No matter how sure you are that you are going to heaven, no matter how sure you are that everything will be ok, you don't want to die. That's because it's an instinct. To stay alive. Before books of gods and goddesses. Before thoughts of spiritual living. All you needed to do was stay alive.

I'll tell you what, a conscience and a lack of religion combined can really fuck with you.

I wish I could believe. I really do.

I love (wasting time with) you.

This is the first time I've written a song based on a title and single idea.

I fall asleep knowing you're still close
I lie awake with each and every dose
You know it's lovely how ya talk to me
When I'm with you I just feel so free.

Every day you call me on the phone.
And every now and then I wish you could have known.
That baby I'm alive and tragedy-prone.
And maybe you can write this down for me
So later on we can disagree
On how I came to be your history, live in mystery, fall to the floor, can't take much more.
Die in peace 'n' quietly sin, rip off my skin, wipe off that grin, so drunk you spin, I may lose but you still win, no matter what happened I'll draw you a map and I'll find you a way to find my body and pray to a god or an icon fore I'm taken by hellspawn, sent from the devil who really isn't too nice.

Cuz every day I call you on the phone
There's never a time that I will leave you alone
Wasting time with you is the best I've ever spent
I'll never see a clock and wonder where the time went
When I'm with you it goes so damned slow
Like watching seconds fall from the sky
sticking together to form blinding white snow.

My 30th Blog.

I've been using this damned thing to post stories, songs, and reviews for almost a year now. I've noticed that I have only changed for what I consider to be the better.

I've met people and seen flicks. Found bands and talked to chicks.
But all I've learned, and this is true, is that I'll never be anything like you.
The 2 voices in my head have prevented me from winding up dead.
My lack of sleep is what keeps me here, and from what I've heard that's what you fear.
So maybe sometime soon I'll find a way
But maybe someone too, will make me pay.
For what I've done and when I deserve the shun
Of the infinity that is space, to be lost without a trace.
Maybe then, I won't be such a disgrace.

I didn't even want to write that. That's something else I've gotten in the habit of doing. I can't write anything without writing some kind of poem. I don't even like half the ones I write. I only put some on this blog because I mean to write something else, but then I write a poem instead.
Don't get me wrong, they work for me as a type of self-therapy, letting me blow off some steam or just empty out. I like the feeling I get from that. I just wish I could go longer than 2 sentences without doing it.
Another way I've changed this passed year is I began hating everything about humanity. But then I noticed, "Ya know what, this is the only race I'm gonna get". So I decided to just deal with it.
I also opened myself up to various religions, learned a lot from that.
I learned how to meditate, which is VERY calming. And on that subject I went into a really, really, deep meditative state last Friday after the crash (more on that later). I just left for a while. Only I existed and when I returned, I had all my thoughts organized, could think much more clearly, and felt a LOT better.


Now about the crash. Me and Lizzy were on our way to Taco Bell and she decided to rear end a car going around 25 mph. Well maybe she didn't decide to but it looked deliberate the way it happened. All I could say was "woah, woah, woah, woah, woah *BANG*" Then I looked up from an airbag with smoke blurring my vision. I managed to say "Well our weekend is pretty much fucked" and stumbled outside the car to find the Homecoming queen and her date (I assume) who needed a neck brace. After we rear ended them, their car lurched forward a good 10 feet and hit the car in front of them. The little girl in the car had a bone disease and already had a broken leg. We broke her other one.

So that was my Friday. And now it's Sunday night (aka: National "Get Your Shit Together for Monday Day") and I feel pretty damn cheeky considering I've done nothing of scholarly importance for the last few weeks because I've been caught up in a girl. The very same girl who almost killed me Friday.

Mood: Blatantly Blissful

Lacking Source.

Somewhere in my mind
I will
Look for you to find
And drill
Until my eyes are blind
Then fill
it with some other kind
Of spill.

Why'd you go, and leave me today?
Why'd you turn and look the other way?
You know I've been here waiting for you
You've been looking round for a clue

Then again I guess I never really tried.
But time and time again you saw straight through me as I lied.
Bout what I've done and I am but somehow you still knew.
That baby I'm the only one for you.

Fuck I'm emo.

I recently came to a realization.

I love writing.

I love everything about it. Creating a labrynth with my words, crafting a maze between paragraphs, and forging a way to enlightenment with my ideas.
I love being heard, having a voice, and writing out of choice.
I love to compose and I love thinking that someone is taking me seriously.
I love to write. Plain and simple. There's no need for me to elaborate on my reasons.
And no reason to collaborate on these multiple treasons.
I love to write so much it can't be right, to dream of words at night. To burn a book not out of spite, but for light.


This is no poetry. This is no song. This is writing. This is the swelling tumor of words in my head. This is the bullet forged loosely with lead.
This is that bullet exploding out of my head.