Tug of War

I've been basically unable to sleep lately. For, what seems like forever I lie down, doze off and have some sort of horrible dream. I wake up, I stay up. and eventually doze off again. Thent he process repeats. I couldn't tell you the last time I slept longer than three hours in concession.

Most nights I have to stay up as late as possible, just to be able to fall asleep, and that's only because I'm so fucking tired I can't keep my eyes open.

I'm also a very cranky person when I don't get enough sleep. And, since I haven't gotten enough sleep in two months, I've been one giant cunt on the rag for most of that time.



I try to be the kind of person that lives their life without regret. I fail miserably, but the effort is still given. There are days I say I have no regrets, but on those days I'm lying to myself.

The fact is my entire life is a series of regrets.



I wake up, and I regret that I didn't get up sooner. If I'm off work, I go out and I regret it. If I don't go out, I regret it. If I get drunk, I regret it, if I don't get drunk, I regret it.



I'm usually the kind of person that leaves his feelings out on his sleeve. It's not hard to tell when Im sad, or angry.

This applies to how I feel about someone. I liek you, I tell you. I don't like you, I tell you. I miss you, I tell you. I love you, I tell you. I want you to go the fuck away from me and never talk to me again, I tell you. It's how I roll.

Lately, I seem to regret this about myself.

It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't scenario.



I say how I feel about something or someone, and don't get the desired response (ever) and, I regret having done it. Then, when I don't say it, I get down on myself for being a punk bitch, and I regret having not done it, then I do it, and get still don't get the desired response. It's a never ending cycle.



It's true, that I like chaos. I'll be the first to admit that if things ran smoothly in my life I'd seek out some sort of conflict just for the sake of feeling comfortable.

Lately, life just seems to be disappointment, after disappointment. Let down, after let down.

Blah after blah.



I struggle with ways to deal with these series of unfortunate events. They expand, and gather together and eventually my runneth over and I have some sort of emotional meltdown.

I'm getting better at keeping those meltdowns private, but obviously I still like to blog about them.

If I didn't, what would I have to blog about?



Lately I've lost the ability to channel any sort of excitement at all. I think I just somehow got to this place where I figured it's easiest to just not bother with it all so that the letdowns aren't as devastating.

I became that guy that thinks it's better to remain in the dumps, than to repeatedly experience the up, then the down.

It takes alot of disappointments to become this way, and in doing so, one really does lose sight of just how important it is to experience the ups, even if they're always followed by the downs.



Without the sensations that come along with the good things, you don't get any sort of balance, and you become this really ugly person.



This is the person I've been. It's not the person I desire to be, I don't think it's the person anyone desires to be. It just kind of happens. You don't even see it happening, until you find yourself in this place, and you wonder how the hell you got there. How you could've prevented it, or even delayed its inevitability. You search for things to blame it on. People hurting you, things happening, the lack of things happening. It's what you do. It's all you have to make sense of it.



I've kinda made a life out of this. It's a part of me. It's like my elbow, or my esophagus. My brainwaves or my heartbeat. You take these excuses away, and I'm a pile of rubble. I'm non-existant. I've used them for so long, that without them, I'm not really anything. I'm not really anyone.

Without something to blame, you have to turn the tables towards yourself. And, I'd presume it's easier to place blame on other people and other things, than it is to blame yourself for everything.

Maybe that's where the problem is. I go back and forth between the two. Blaming myself and blaming everything else. I pick and choose when to do blame which, and when that lightens up I dwell on the other option.



I don't want to be this way. I don't want to be any way that I've been.

I understand what compels people to pack up and start over. Reinvent yourself in a new place. Give yourself a second, third, fourth, or seventy third chance to start over. Sometimes the life you build for yourself becomes so uncomfortable, so unfamiliar, so...unacceptable that you've got no other hope but to run away.

Redefining yourself has got to be a liberating event. Yet, it seems so cowardly at the same time.



I stuggle with what the best option is. Run away. Try to become something different.Become someone brand new. Or try to fix the one I am. Problem is, I'm not sure that either can ever be done.

I look at the person I am. The things that go through my mind, the insecurities, the fears, the list of failures that read like accomplishments....and I wonder just how possible these goals are. How much hope can there be, for someone that can't catch a break, can't make a move, can't stay still.

I'm both the strongest, and weakest person I know. And I'll never be one or the other.



It's ironic that the things in life a person measures themselves by the most, are the things that seem so difficult to obtain. The reassurances one needs for motivational purposes are the things that come the hardest.

For me, you can't have one without the other. So, I'm always distraught.



I think I'm the most fucked up person I know. I've got so much intelligence, and common sense, until forced to apply it to myself. I live in a fantasy world, where I'm both the best and worst.

I'm the hero and the villain. And my life is one giant tug of war.



No matter what happens, I pull the other half of me into the mud.

So, I'm always both a winner, and a loser.

Problem is, all I can find the time to humor is the losing side.



I often wonder how many peoples' lives I've impacted. And of those people, how many have been for the better. I find myself doubting that the results are one in which I'd like to learn.

From my experiences, I feel like I've hurt more than I've helped. I've torn down more than I've built up.

And generally, I think everyone that evicts me from their life or that I've evicted from mine, is much better off not having to deal with the virus that I seem to inject in their lives.

That sounds worse than I mean it to....I just doubt the good that I bring to the table anymore. It seems like...the good parts of me are so hard to reach.
I'm not even sure they exist anymore.