Depressing but True.
I really wish I could just stop dreaming. My dreams seem to be designed by some life sadistic life coach to make me face issues I’d really prefer to just bury down deep and never ever think about. The first part of my days are always awful because I wake up feeling depressed about whatever nighttime bullshit mental movie has just played in my head. Certain things my mind just won’t let me forget no matter how hard I try fill me with regret, longing, remorse and real, sharp psychic pain. For weeks on end I can get that feeling in my chest and stomach to be dull enough that I really won’t notice it unless a specific song comes on, or a certain smell wades into my area.
Sometimes I watch people that look satisfied and happy and I think “God I wish someone would just smash that guys face with a shovel and then shoot me in the back of the head.” Then I realize that I probably deserve my shitty life. This actually is a way I try and cheer myself up because at least my misery isn’t undeserved . Lately I’ve, again, tried to give up my vices but so many nights have gone by with me hallucinating, drunk, slovenly and glazed over, thinking about the past and cursing some random celebrity that our culture seems hellbent on lording over me as proof of some distant asshole’s success. I jealously and unashamedly feel hostile towards the beautiful, successful people I see on magazines and television shows. I wish something bad would happen to the cream of the crop almost everyday. Some sort of terrorist bombing that wipes out Hollywood and Wallstreet in one fell swoop.
Most of the time these feelings are vague and only slightly simmering at the bottom of unimportant tripe I try and fill my mind with to block out the hostility and self-hatred. Maybe my dreams are a way of punishing me for being such an asshole. In the world as it is though, in my world, I feel like being an asshole is a legitimate response to feelings of failure and inferiority. It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t tell every single American kid that they could be anything they want when we grow up. Couldn’t they just save us the psychic torture and tell us we probably won’t amount to much? Couldn’t the kindergarten teacher calmly sit us down and tell us that some people are going to get ahead because they we’re born in the right place at the right time, had the right parents, have the right contacts? Couldn’t they have warned us about Paris Hilton, Will Smith’s kids, and evil CEO’s?
Why have I become so bitter and mean at such a young age? Is it all my fault? Why can’t I just be absorbed by my surrounding’s like everyone else and just accept things as they are and try and move forward with the best of intentions? Why do I feel like not being important in the eyes of the world makes me a worthless and undeserving human being doomed to obscurity? What’s so bad about obscurity? Maybe I just need a girlfriend, but I’m not seeing any one terribly interested in a cynical jerk with nothing to offer but emptiness and scorn. Being charming holds no interest for me anymore, (not that I ever really probably was despite having believed so), enthusiasm embarrasses me and happiness angers me. I hate a parade.
The worst dreams are not the bad ones. It’s the dreams where I’m happy where I’ve found somebody who seems to be affectionate towards me, where I say the right things and things are going well that make me wake up and hate the world so casually. Whenever I catch my reflection I really just don’t recognize the expressionless face I see.
In conclusion I really, really hope someone kills somebody today.