It's been too fucking long. Shut update.

It's only because I've been teetering on the edge of some sort of self-acceptance. That being a very unfamiliar place, as twenty years of my life were spent blatantly hating myself for reasons beyond even me. And the other two years...well, let's just say I guess I was comfortable with myself from when I was just born until I was two because I don't remember anything. How generous.

Since I last posted anything in what? January? I've felt pretty decent, it would be safe to say. I had my moments. There are some demons' mouths over which you can only keep your hand for so long. And boy, did that demon dig his black, long fingernails in to my neck last night.

It was the second time this situation occurred. I'm kicking with my dudes at a bar, feeling pretty sweet because my dudes are badass. Drinking, of course. I see two bitches whom I've never seen before. We exchange glances a couple of times at the bar, and you don't go out with friends to keep to yourselves. At least not often. These two sit near where my friends and I are sitting, pretty much shouting, "hey, talk to us!" I give them a couple minutes to simmer down, or maybe give myself a minute to grab confidence enough, and I say hello. Something none of my other friends were going to do, or ever do. I mean it's a little audacious, but not really. The girls weren't that good looking at any rate, but the fact that their body language was screaming as it were, I went for it. They were cosmetologists. They were very dumb. They were from Pittsburgh, in town for a wedding, to do the bridal parties' hair and that's all. We all talked--Ted, Koobey, and I--about pretty much nothing. Koobz was taking to the light haired one, very dainty and very married. So much for that institution, because she wanted him pretty badly from what I could see. The other girl: relatively extensive cleavage, dark hair, eyes not memorable enough to know the color, smelled nice. She was the one I was focusing on mostly because I got the most responsiveness from her. Things were going well by way of my feeling sturdy, then I got the notion to get this bitches number (this is because Ted's family has a cottage in New Castle, just beyond Pittsburgh and I thought it'd be a good idea to keep contact with them in the event that Ted and I kick it at that cottage and want company outside of each other) and she said she didn't like giving her number out to strangers. I'm not used to rejection anymore, at least not in this shade because I don't usually go for such a thing because I don't care really. I think I don't care.

Anyway, I was done with that bitch. Me; a stranger. After that, she drank a little bit more and started taking kindly to Ted. I don't really know what else to say about it. I wasn't necessarily hitting on these girls. If they wanted to take anything to some sort of other level, I doubt I would have partaken. It's the principle of the thing; I initiated everything, therefore I should hold the highest respect amongst my dudes and these bitches.

She then appeared like a ghost. This apparition with absolutely no mercy.

My ex-girlfriend, at a bar where I was. She's not even 21 years old. I collected she must have used her older sister's ID. I honestly could have killed the doorman, stripped him of his responsibility and his head, that dead weight burden on his neck. And this all took me back: the strike out I had just endured, and with lovely sprinkles this ex motionlessly grasping me back into the state of mind that would make most shudder. I felt the mental warmth of home. I felt the slap in the face from the phantom hand. That demon I mentioned before was whittling away my any sort of self-sufficiency that I had prior.

I took off, I needed air. I went to another bar alone, stumbling. I put back the most oxymoron-ically titled brew possible for my state of mind at the time. Arrogant Bastard Ale. Bastard, maybe. Arrogant? not in the slightest at this point.

okay, this was good. it felt good. kind of.

There's This Landfill

...Over which I stand and glance and dance and cry and roar and weep and laugh. Every time I'm there I'm there and I can't help it. The torture it is to be the person that I am is quite worse than physical torture (though it is in some ways [solely in the mere being]) can be on the body. I have the inclination that I rule and rock'n'roll and kick more ass than anyone existent or imaginable. How? I can only answer that by stating how much I completely loathe myself in every way, shape, form, make-up, and pattern than anyone has hated anyone or oneself in the history of time and the possible extension of time in the future. The way that these two things are made possible, I don't know. I can't realize if I should love myself for the fact I can simultaneously love and loathe myself; or if I should hate myself for that fact. To me, it seems preposterous, yet it makes perfect sense for it is me.

I'm also concerned for my fellowman; for if I love myself so, but loathe myself uncertainly deeper or less deeply than anyone I hate currently, have hated or will ever hate, including myself, where does that leave him? Where does that leave anyone with whom I consort? I feel as though I am less than those with whom I consort, but it's in my unidentified nature to put those about whom I care forward before myself. Is this ridiculous or is this honorable? It's my mind that can't decide. Am I a fool or shall I carry on? Do I need pride, or is this pride that I've found a mere illusion, an allusion to a certain way of thinking, to which I've reverted? Is my self-hatred a bomb, and this mindset a half-shelter so that I might walk away alive, but with wounds to speak of?

All-in-all, this leaves me in an eternal war. One whose end will only be known when the battles cease; when I die. And in death, I won't know the outcome because there's no knowing after death, only darkness. Therefore, I will not voluntarily bring upon myself my own death. I only suppose it possible that my inner-peace treaty will be signed, but I hope not. Only in my confidence have I felt so able to thrive in public and social situations and it has felt so good to not feel like a troll amongst those who are weaker of mind than I, and it is the state of mind of one that reflects on the outside; how others will view you. And it has been my hatred for what lies inside my skeletal frame and in the mirror that has kept me writing and writing and writing. So both sides I'm thankful I have. Thankful toward the working of my mind.

I'll be schizophrenic, I'll be bi-polar gladly. The character depth I have will only be known to me and anyone who can deal with my ranting, raving, flailing, conceited, convinced, unsure self-detesting. That person will more than likely never be found. I'm one of a kind in a human race. I'm not arguing this as a positive or negative thing, but uniqueness can only be positive if you ask me, or anyone with a functioning brain.

Writing this I hope has inspired an outside source of thought, concern, criticism, respect, and admiration. If you enjoy me more for it, I completely understand. If you now hate me, or hate me evermore so , I understand more than you know.