"In Your Honor" - The Foo Fighters

This was written in your honor. The honor of all of those who wished to read it, and all of those who continued when they thought they wouldn’t be able to anymore. This book was written to document the life and times of someone who keeps trying to rid himself of life and times. Life’s a constantly changing thing, in an instant it can get better, or worse. I’d love for it to get better, yet, only time will tell. Somehow, I know that only a select few people will read this, but I will forever keep this to myself in case after my death, the world finds itself worthy to read my story. It’ll mark the one time that I think the world, and everyone in it, won’t be worthy of me, for once.

Thank you.

"The End" - The Beatles

As the Beatles song goes, “And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.” In my case, it seems to be that in the end, the love you make, is disproportionately sized to the amount of love that’s taken from me. In the end, when people surround my grave, I hope there are plenty of people there. More so, I hope that they can each think of something nice or fun-loving to say about me or their experience with me. When I think about the future, it never involves friends, it never involves fun; it’s always me, alone, in a house, sitting on a chair: an empty white room. What horrible posture I have, too. But I just hope that when my time is over, and I’m out for good, someone steps up and reminds the world, and the small populous of people I’ve had an effect on, just what made them drawn to me in the first place.

Simply, I wish the world to smile, and laugh.

"Old Man On The Back Porch" - Presidents Of The United States Of America

All I want in life is to get to the end of it. I know that life should be about the journey, about living the hardest you can, reaping as much of the benefits from our short trip here as possible, and then passing away, but that’s not what I want. I just want to know how my story ends. I want to know how I cope with my troubles, or if I can. I want to know if I get married, have kids, where I’ll live. The thought of growing old excites me, because it means that I’ll be far away from all the shit that I’ve gone through, and further away from the people that cause it.

I dress older than I should, talk older than I should, think older than I should, and date much younger than I should. You’d think that eventually, the fact that I’m 18 would be enough solace by now to make me grateful I’ve lived this long, but it’s untrue. I resent my life and most likely take for granted the good things in my life so better writhe about the bad things. All I want is to someday wake up, put on my boat shoes, look at myself in the mirror, and be 40. Until then, I’ve got quite a while to go, but I suppose in this case, I’ll be patient.

"Move Along" - The All-American Rejects

It seems another problem I have when it comes to love and women is moving on. When I was with Chelsie it never really mattered that she left because I’d grown tired of her existence. But then she wanted me back and I, trying to be a nice guy, let her try again. Thing is, years later, I’d still let her try again, out of no particular reasoning of my own. I’d do the same thing to my other ex’s… When Stephanie broke up with me, I gave her four or five other chances, each of which she took advantage of.

Misty did the same thing, only this is where my flaw as a lonely teen shows through. When I’ve grown to be alone too much or for too long, I go to whomever I think will accept me back. This means that I let Chelsie back into my life, I let Stephanie use me five more times, I begged Misty to come back after I left her, and now I broke down crying for Cliodhna to come back to me. It’s sad, I suppose, that I keep trying to rehash abusive, sad, and despicable relationships. But, I guess that loneliness is the price you pay for being unwanted by society and seemingly unloved by all others.

Unhealthy, yes. Unsavory, yes. Unprideful, most certainly. But then again, I could change this in an instant. I could get past the memories of my ex’s, and simply move on into different things and other people. Why I choose not to, I have no idea; it seems like the smart thing to do. Until I do, however, I guess I’m bound to keep re-dating the same pool of girls I’ve collected until someone better comes along and sweeps them all away.

"I Want To Know What Love Is" - Foreigner

I’ve always been one of those people trying to denounce the delusion of love. Even in that opening sentence there is an amazing anti-emotional bias. Realistically, I’d say that because of my grotesque appearance, I’d driven off any females I could have a relationship with, and because I’ve lacked relationships, I grow to spite all of those who do have one. It’s like petty jealousy, when someone else has something, you want it too, and hate those who have what you don’t.

From a young age and growing, I’ve had to witness many of my friends crash and burn through a briar patch of failed relationships. Each of them ending in a state much worse than when they’d began. My deduction from all of this was simply that love much be evil, and unworthy the time and effort of maintaining.

Eventually I stuck with these feelings, but in a completely hypocritically state, revoked them whenever I would enter a relationship.

Of course, because the base of the American population is being selectively hypocritical, any time I would get a girl of my own, I’d go against all my previous accusations of love and it being malicious and such. At least until we broke up, then it was right back into it being the worst thing on the planet.

"I Should Have Died" - The Uninvited

…Yet, I haven’t. I’m sure I touched enough on this when I was talking about mutilation and suicide before, but I can’t get over this one little fact. Each time I try to kill myself, I fail. First off, there’s nothing worse than trying to die and having it not work. I don’t care if it’s from puncturing veins, ingesting pills, drinking alcohol with pills, throwing myself from tall places, no matter what, if you can still live after that, you feel like an absolute failure.

And I’d assume that’s why I keep trying to kill myself, feeling like a failure. It’s ironic how the feeling like a failure makes me want to commit suicide, only to wind up being unsuccessful at it. It seems kind of redundant. I could easily just accept that I’m a failure and wallow in the pain of that, instead of proving to myself how much of a failure I am. But I don’t. I try to hurt myself; I take the pain and writhe in it in a very unhealthy way. Having felt no other emotion but apathy, pain, guilt, depression, I take the feeling I get when hurting myself, and use it as a reminder of how feelings can be powerful enough to control someone: Powerful enough to die for.

"Perfect Drug" - Nine Inch Nails

Turns out, there isn’t one.

I recently started taking an antidepressant, Lexapro. I was told it would make me feel happier; make me experience things I never could before due to my chronic depression and sadness. So far, I’d had prolonged headaches, a lack of sleep, an upset stomach, and still: depression. One day, though, I felt genuinely happy, which was nice.

I turned to these pills after an intensely hard few months, but ironically, things in my life seem to only be getting worse with the return and pain given to me by Cliodhna. I’m assuming that in a while, the pills are going to try to improve my mood, make me feel better and whatnot, while also destroying my mental abilities. Eventually my prescription is going to run out, my mom isn’t going to pay to renew it, and I’ll start suffering greatly from the withdrawal symptoms: feelings and side-effects short of (and including) death.

I’m hoping that this medication doesn’t destroy any friendships or anything that I’ve accumulated over the years, well, any more than graduating ever will. Only time will tell how things like this will work; and hopefully it works out for the best. If not, oh well.