Maybe I've Already Said Too Much

(via things-of-darkness)

6:16 am • 21 May 2012 • 40 notes

(via st0ner-c0mics)

6:02 am • 21 May 2012 • 21 notes

(Source: whatisyourworth)

4:51 am • 21 May 2012 • 41 notes

(Source: erichalvorsen, via serinaadele)

3:28 am • 21 May 2012 • 38,078 notes

(Source: blackplastic-bones)

3:26 am • 21 May 2012 • 31 notes

romantic.

(via serinaadele)

3:19 am • 21 May 2012 • 7,746 notes

Journal entries rarely are worth sharing or reading, even now.

The ugly semester of truth. I am out of high school three years with nothing to show for it. The people I grew up with are closing in on graiduating, getting internships, engagements, a certain sense of establishment somehow. I still feel in the middle of things, adjusting myself to my environment, like seeing the world for the first time all the time. Everyone seems so sure of things, I keep telling myself they’re the crazy ones, but who am I to say anything? I’m bipolar. I smoke too much weed. None of my thoughts or views are coherent anymore, just a handful of scattered, misplaced pictures and points of view. Half the things I used to believe even three years ago have been tossed aside. My last (indirect) “message from God” was my forgiveness for an abortion I never had. Why should I believe anything I hear? Anything I’ve read. Last week I fell three times on the same patch of pavement at work, broke two glasses and a plate, made a quarter inch incision on the side of my hand that bled enough to leave a decent trail of blood through the restaurant. I currently have a handful of people that sincerely believe I need to be “cleansed”. I think it’s just plain clumsiness, luck of the draw. Not some preplanned shit that all leads to the same universal destiny anyway. I think I hit my lowest point earlier this year when I wrecked my car a day before the semester started, a series of bad events in the proceeding two months, the lonliest I’ve ever been, followed by the arrival of the slow approaching reality of whats left of my relationship with my mother. I’m not proud of my reaction to any of it, but I haven’t been able to get myself out of this depression. The numbness of an existance that has so far meant nothing. Sometimes I’m too hard on myself, but I see the dead look in my Dad’s eyes when he looks at me, and the same in my grandparents. I see their quick decline in brief moments between the months I don’t ever see them… I feel ashamed, maybe that’s all. Ashamed of everything that’s happened. All the people I’ve hurt in the process of trying to avoid pain, adjustment, dealing with things. The shitty feeling after trying to fix everything I’ve messed up without making it any worse. Then again when I think like this I feel like I’m only feeling sorry for myself. I just want something with substance for a change, something I can fall into freely again. Maybe even if I get hurt. It’s all up to me to finally commit, get over my fear of pain. To quit guarding myself from everything. I’ve got to learn somehow, and if anything I’m tired of feeling numb. It’s time things changed.

2:41 am • 21 May 2012