Posts Tagged ‘Bi-Polar’

No one understand that whomever is up there hates me. It’s crazy for anybody to stick their necks out for me, because after all the misery I’ve caused… I’m not worth it. But everyone is so determined to be altruistic. They can’t… Won’t see that. God only knows the pain I am in. My failures to be “sane” is just more blame to be cut into my final tally. 

I have people who loved me, does that not count for something? The first rule of the universe, you watch out for number one. Soft emotions are just what your enemy uses against you. Friends, family… they all end up pawns in this Cosmic game of chess… and the secret to Life Is Knowing When to say “game over.” I don’t need to kill myself, quite soon I’ll be pulled into the negative sphere of my mind… and simply explode. I am already in terminal descent… farewell.

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I enjoy philosophical riddles, and I spend far too less time working on them. The reasons do not matter. I am confronted with one riddle in particular day in and day out… Why have I not or cannot kill myself?

I have gone through my fair share of suffering, and for most of my life battled with the will and desire to no longer be alive. I have many times and still want to die. I do not want to exist. So why at this moment with how I feel and have felt I must ask myself. Why am I breathing and writing this?

This has been a philosophical puzzle that has plagued and tortured me. I have come up with many theories, reasons, and excuses for why I have not.

No point in running the list. What I came up with and I feel so blind for not figuring this out. Its our primal directive to survive. Its ingrained within us and drives everything. This directive is so powerful that I cannot overcome or find the courage to end my suffering.

To me logic and reason would dictate that ending suffering is the only thing that makes sense. Every other theory I have ever had about why I am still alive stems from this roadblock.

How can this override clear logic and reason of not wanting to suffer? How can this seed allow us to self deceive ourselves against the logical course of action. How and at what point can this will be broken down?

48 days ago I was going to commit suicide, yet here I am. I have been in deep self-reflection questioning and wondering why I am still alive. Six years ago was the last time I had an identical plan, preparations, suicide note and the intent to end my life, yet here I am. The suicide note I wrote six years ago resulted in a published book of poems, so I again ask myself what if anything will result from this intervention. I question and wonder was it divine intervention, or chaos theory which caused the series of events thwarting my plan to end my pain and leave this world behind.

The dark part of my mental illness comes with battling suicidal ideologies. The want and need to no longer be is always lingering; internally the battle rages on between selfishness and selflessness, feelings of hopelessness and hopefulness. Do I continue living in pain to spare the pain my death would cause to those who love me, or do I finally obtain peace and nothingness? There have only been three times in my life where selfishness had truly won, and I was at peace with my decision. I was more prepared and 100% ready to get the fuck out of here. I was no longer able to function with the pain. I started working on the details of the finality of my life about a month before I planned to carry it out, but before my much anticipated release, chaos erupts and in the blink of an eye everything turns to shit… or does it?

The story on how I ended up making my final decision is long and complicated, some of it I have written about, much of it went unwritten. I feel it would be therapeutic and helpful for me to go back and fill in the gaps between the post I wrote about moving out of the house and starting the divorce process through today. I know taking ownership and facing the reality of the roles I played in all of this will be difficult, but it needs to be done. With that being said the path I was on started with moving out and separating from my wife, and ended with me moving back home, everything in-between felt like a dream I couldn’t wake up from. So how and why did I get from there to here?

Six days prior to my date with nothingness, I discovered tangible proof of some disturbing shit involving my roommate and my daughter. My roommate and my daughter became a key component for my motivation and drive to end it all. I knew if I was no longer alive than she would have no choice but to move out of that house; I knew my blindness and denial was destroying her, but it was the shattering of this denial which caused me to flip out.

I was on the phone with my uncle and after a month of planning and silence I go on a rant about what I just found out about my roommate, I reveal my original plan and introduce the new addition to my plan. My uncle calls my sister; my sister calls the cops, and the cops show up beginning a series of events that led me here. This still doesn’t answer my question as to why I am still alive. With all of this added chaos and bullshit it should have been easier to keep my date with destiny, yet here I am.

Why… the only conclusion I can come to is I have been given a second chance. A second chance at making right all the wrongs in my marriage and with my children. My final safety net keeping me from offing myself has always been the impact it would have on my family, my safety net was gone. I had lost my family, but when my daughter and I moved back home that night I was filled with so many conflicting emotions; none of which involved suicide.

I am still lost in the forest of darkness and despair, the cause and effects of that night has actually caused greater stress and worry, yet here I am. My hopelessness has been replaced with hopefulness. This may be delusional thinking, but I feel I have hit the reset button on life giving me a clean slate at becoming a better husband and father. Is this why I am still here, to be a better husband and father? Is this divine intervention or chaos theory? Will this hopefulness last, or will hopelessness return?

“Sometimes the glue that binds us together can be the same glue that rips us apart.”

Tim Lundmark

This thought came to my head this morning while I was in a deep reflection on my current mental status. February begins tomorrow and this just happens to be the most evil month. This has never been a very good month for me in the past and is usually when my winter cycle comes to a damaging head. I am not sure why this is the case. My “cycles” can be rather predictable. I tend to cycle with every changing of the seasons like clock work. Spring and summer bring mania psychosis, while fall and winter deliver depressive psychosis. This usually doesn’t just hit right away it is a gradual fall from grace, usually two to three months in the making. When I think about this it makes me sad because this means I am only “normal” one maybe two months a year if I am lucky.

The way my mind works is there are times when it is clear and I am high functioning (the one or two months.) When I hit this point I am at my greatest. I am present in the moment and I am receptive and give out understanding and love. It is during this period I am unable to write poetry, but I am able to write my “Dylan Thomas” books. In time my mind slowly starts to worsen, and as time progresses I start to fall apart. When a piece of my sanity falls off I quickly grab it; throw some glue on and stick it back into place. This is fine and I am sure perfectly normal, but it seems as time passes more and more pieces fall off each day, to where I spend all my psychological energy just picking up the pieces and trying to put it all back together. The end result is I run out of glue giving me no means to put the pieces back together.

It has been a really tough go as of late, but I feel lucky I was able to have a relaxing weekend. I had to take Friday off because my son didn’t have daycare, so I ended up having a three day weekend. Although this weekend was relaxing I still wish I had more time off, because I don’t feel ready to jump back into the daily grind. I am not prepared for this; I am having trouble gluing myself back together. I worry I will not be able to do this. I have thought about talking to my boss about what is going on. I need the comfort of knowing that if I end up in the hospital I will not lose my job.

It felt good this weekend because I relieved much of the pressure inside of me by just going with things. I just went with it, and this may have been a mistake. When I talked with my mother and sister they thought I was on drugs. I think this is just further evidence I shouldn’t really share the truth with what is really going on. My symptoms are still pretty intense and I feel myself sliding further away from sanity. I wish I could log on here and just go off about all the things I am feeling and thinking, but my family does not think this is the appropriate forum for such things, yet It felt good posting my last two pieces. I have received many responses from people who have felt or who are going through something similar to what I am dealing with. There encouraging words and their ability to relate to my plight made me feel a bit better about things. It felt good knowing I could put my words out there like that and have an emotional impact on another person. This simple thing is what motivated me to become a writer in the first place, so this is awesome.     

I am so embarrassed with what is really going on in my head I do not feel I would be met well if I went into everything that was going on inside of me. I feel if I were to just jump on here and free write it may end up making me feel a little bit better, but then everything that I am will be exposed. It is this exposure I am afraid of. It is the rejection I am afraid of. No one is ready for what is going on. I feel if I were to just grab somebody on the streets and put my mind inside of theirs they would kill themselves in less than a week. They wouldn’t be able to deal with it. I suppose like anything else you just get used to it, but I am sick of being used to it. I am so tired of the pretending. What was great about this weekend was I let go and stopped pretending.

I realized after looking over some of my comments I received that I have picked up many Christian readers. I am so appreciative of their readership. I enjoyed reading their comments and wondered if my exposure as of late means something or not. I am afraid once I do a piece which is anti-religious I will piss them all off, and lose their readership. I feel I am at a crucial point in my spiritual journey, and I do not want to hold back my feelings on this topic. If the God of the Bible exists I need to work through my anger towards him, but at the same time I have found that Taoism is giving me a level of spiritual peace. Needless to say I am concerned about this.

I only have thirteen hours left to finish my book “Trapped Within My Illness.” I have to have the manuscript submitted by the end of today to meet their open submission period. I am so excited about this project and I really want to get it out there, but their response time is six months and I am unsure if I want to wait that long just to get the rejection letter. I want to put it out there, but wonder what the point is in that. I am embarrassed to say I have sold zero copies of “Yin” and “Yang.” I really think this one is better than the last three that I wrote. I blame my lack of sales on the fact I haven’t done any readings, if I submit it to this publisher I can’t do any readings until after I get the rejection letter because then I can just self publish.  

To sum the whole thing up I am just not ready for today. I am not ready for tomorrow and the start of February. I am working hard to glue my mind back together. My symptoms are getting worse, and although it was liberating to just let loose I still have other things going on which I am embarrassed to talk about. I just hope I make it through this month. I really just need this to stop because it is getting to the point where I just can’t fight it anymore.

It is amazing to me how the smallest thing can finally sever the last thread of sanity which is holding me together. For the last few months I have been struggling with some moderate to sever MI (mental illness) issues, which seem to be getting progressively worse. It has been difficult keeping everything looking nice and wrapped in a tidy little bow. How does one hide such intense turmoil without it spilling out unto the world?

Until about a few weeks ago I have done a great job hiding my issues, but then the irritation kicked in. I get so exhausted holding it together and as a result I get irritable. I get irritable because I cannot deal with the pressure anymore. I know at this point I can’t completely shut down to the world so I get irritable. This irritability only makes the situation worse. It is like I am on the outside looking in. My irritability is usually followed by a complete mental collapse. This collapse is almost entirely done internally, which writing is my only outlet.

I haven’t been able to write a quality post in some time, and my outlet has always been poetry yet my psyche is not allowing the words to come. I am being denied the one channel which keeps me sane. I think this has been the longest writer’s block I have been through. I am still writing but it just comes out as shit. I am stuck inside my head and I am lost within it. I cannot get out and it is getting crazy as fuck in here. I just want to get out. I am a prisoner in my own head.

I was doing my best to hold this fucked up mess together, but a situation which happened yesterday just caused me to crack. I feel completely unable to keep it together. I need to quickly put this broken doll back together before it’s too late. I cannot see my therapist until February so I have to just keep all this shit inside. The most fucked up thing is I cannot even articulate what is exactly wrong with me. I just know the deep depression and psychosis is here, and I need to battle it. It just gets so tiring fighting this bullshit all the time. I hate being good and then slowly transforming into mental breakdown. This has been the cycle my whole life and I need to ask myself how long I can continue this predictable scenario.

What sucks the most is my family gets dragged into this mess. This is by far the most painful thing about this. I can deal with my inner turmoil because Lord knows I have been doing it my entire life. I feel as if they would be better off without my bullshit fucking up their lives. These are innocent bystanders who get dragged in the mud because of my issues. I infect them with my disease and I wish they knew how sorry I am because of this. I can’t very well sit them down and explain daddy has issues and he is so sorry he can’t be a good father or husband. I just feel so ashamed. I feel so alone.

“Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m schizophrenic, and so am I.”
Oscar Levant

Due to the shooting in Arizona; schizophrenia has become a hot topic. It is sad that this illness is brought to the forefront in such a negative light, all because of one person. I am certain many people out there believe those who suffer from schizophrenia are nothing but raving lunatics walking the streets talking to themselves while wearing tinfoil helmets to shield the government from stealing their thoughts. I think this is the image most Americans think of when they hear the word schizophrenia. Yes there are some of us out there, who unfortunately may fall under this generalization, but for the most part this is simply not the case, and in my opinion is a form of discrimination. These types of sweeping statements are the same as saying “all Muslims are terrorists.” Yes there are those who deteriorate to the point of madness such as Jared Loughner had, but this one man does not define how everyone else with this disease acts. There are many high functioning schizophrenics out there who work have families and contribute to society. It is sad that as a society, those of us who suffer from mental illness need to still carry that stigma around with us.

I know society does not deal well with mental illness. There are so many uneducated people out there with discrimination in their heads. I can tell you a personal story of such discrimination. I was working at a company which shall remain nameless. I was employed there for a while, and I was excelling at my job. I would go out to lunch with my co-workers and shoot the shit. Business was good, and there were no complaints against my job performance. I shared a cubicle with two other guys and we worked together to make sure projects were getting done. We were all in the cube one day when the topic of mental illness was brought up. They were talking about how those who have bi-polar disorder are drug addicts and completely useless to society. They went on to say how they are all violent criminals who are completely out of control. At first I bit my lip, just hoping they would go on to the next topic. About twenty minutes into MI (mental Illness) bashing I final had to interject. I told them their comments were offending me since I am bi-polar (diagnosis at the time but later changed.) I told them I am able to contribute to society and I am by no means violent or a drug addict. The cube became awkwardly silent and rather uncomfortable. They apologized for offending me, and I accepted. We went back to work with no other issues. Two days later I was “laid off.”

Schizophrenia is a progressive brain disease where as time passes symptoms of this disease seem to get worse and worse. I am only thirty-one years old so I am in the infancy stages of my illness. I am able to manage it properly so I can function within society.  My doctors have done a great job with managing my symptoms with medication. I have a job, which suites my illness perfectly allowing me to be a productive member of society. I am able to be a husband, father, and friend. I still have episodes where I fall apart and need daily living assistance, but I am able to get out of my head and find sanity. The progressive part is what scares me though. I am afraid of where my mind will be in five or ten years. I worry about slipping so far into my head I become completely detached. What scares me is I won’t even know what is going on. The shitty thing about this is I cannot control this inevitable outcome. I just need to have hope and faith I will always be high functioning.   

With all the negativity going around about this illness I thought I should speak out about it. Yes there are those who completely lose touch with reality. The sad part is they can be reeled back in with medication along with the proper support system. This shooting in Arizona could have been avoided if Loughner’s friends and family had been monitoring him more. From interviews I have seen it sounds like his friends knew he was off his rocker, yet stood by and did nothing. There are millions of us out there who suffer from one form of MI or another, yet I feel that we hide it in shame. Many of us are high functioning adults who seem in control of our illness.

I am not embarrassed or ashamed of whom I am, and I am not embarrassed or ashamed of my illness. I am proud that I am high functioning considering my diagnosis. I am proud I can hold down a job and raise a family. I may have a mental illness, but this illness does not define me as a person. I need to learn to live within my limitations and accept who I am illness and all. I wouldn’t need to hide or be ashamed if my illness was MS, but for some reason I should feel differently because it is MI? I think people hide their MI like a dirty little secret because they are scared of being judged. Does anyone else hear how sad that sounds?

I suffer from an anxiety disorder which gets worse when I am around people; because of this I become more astutely aware of my surroundings. In order for me to feel safe and secure in my environment I need to be alert of what those around me are doing. I feel I am able to see an aspect of human interaction many others do not. One aspect of said interactions interests me more than most, and this is how fake people can become. I know a large portion of our population is too afraid to act as they truly are. Why? I do not know the answer to this. It would be arrogant of me to claim to know why others act the way they do. My issues stem from insecurity, and the fear of making myself vulnerable, but I have no real psychological knowledge and very few ideas for why this is so. 

I do know from experience people are chameleons and act according to their surroundings. I myself have many different faces I put on everyday, and sometimes it gets hard to keep track of them all. I think I am able to pick up on the fakeness of those around me because I am consistently scanning body language and tone to identify perceived threats. My paranoia sometimes gets so out of hand I start to see threats that are no more than mere passerby’s.

This last fall we took the kids to this massive corn maze in Shakopee. In this maze you had to find these signs each with a letter of the alphabet; they all contained random Viking knowledge on them. I was anxious to go at first because I was worried I would have an episode like I had at the high school football game. When we first arrived I was completely unaware of what was going on around me. I was in the moment, it felt great; I was able to enjoy time with my family. The first letter we found was Z, followed by Y, X, then W. I was beginning to love the order in the madness of this maze. We kept searching and the next letter we found was K. Immediately I slipped into a full blown anxiety attack. This attack heightened my spider senses and I started to watch everyone for suspicious behaviors, after all I had to protect my family. Everyone seemed on the up-and-up (although this made me suspect them even more.)

I noticed the interactions of the people when they were in their groups, and how they acted when confronted with speaking to those outside of their party. I have always seen and been apart of being fake around others, but this time it was bothering me more than normal. This could be because I forgot my meds at home, and I was now stranded lost in this massive maze. Throughout the maze people were for the most part able to stay and interact strictly with their groups. Everyone was doing there own thing, until we hit a letter station. It was here where everyone seemed to huddle so they were able to read the sign and mark it off their maps. This congestion of people yielded a fog of fakeness. You had those who were highly insecure who would not even look up to acknowledge the sign. Then there were those who seemed filled with ego making comments like “blah, I already knew that, blah, look how cool I am, blah.” Then you had those who were uncomfortable and started to make uncomfortable small talk with those around them. What got me the most annoyed was the one liner followed by fake laughter. I was lucky enough to only get pulled into one of these one liner then laughter scenarios, but I refused to laugh.

I notice and take part in this fakeness all the time. At work I am considered weird and strange. I assume this is because I keep to myself, have tats, and will from time-to-time sport a dyed mohawk. The very few times I leave my office I walk with my head down. Even the times I have had to talk to people I am unable to make eye contact. It is because of this I have never been invited to play in their reindeer games. The one time I get stuck speaking to people is when I go outside to smoke. I try to not speak unless spoken to. I get so nervous that sometimes I will hear them say something and blurt out a comment. This is usually followed by a self chuckle, and the thought “what did I just say?”

When I do get roped into a conversation I have this painfully forced smile, followed by the worst acting laugh to stupid jokes or comments. If I am engaged in this type of situation I smoke my cigarette super speed style. The minute I turn around to head inside the smile immediately goes away and the fake laughter ceases. I try my hardest to not speak to people because it gives me panic attacks and I usually say or sound stupid. Words never come out as my original thought. Watching me interact with people is painfully uncomfortable.

I have one final example of the fakeness inside of us. There is a woman who is almost always outside when I go out. She is an older woman who loves to complain and loves to gossip even more. This woman has a distinct disdain for her co-workers, but there is this one man she hates from her very soul. This woman just tears him apart every chance she gets. If I didn’t already know this person was real I would have a hard time believing such a douche even existed. She will go on-and-on, but the minute this guy walks out the door she is all nice, and you would think they were best friends. The minute he walks away she is like I f’ing hate him. This transformation is very interesting.

I just wonder where all the genuine people are. In our daily interactions how are we to believe this is the “real” version of this or that individual. This concept makes me a tad uncomfortable. How am I able to stay safe if I can’t see the real you? When I am in public I see a sea of people wearing their masks. It is distracting and most likely a part of my anxiety induced psychoses, but either way they are there. Could I possibly have it all wrong and I am the only person who is fake? I can’t buy into this because where there is one there is many.

I have found myself in hot water as of late over a post I did two weeks ago. This will now be the sixth or seventh time I have written something I have either had to take off or offer apologies for expressing myself. In looking back I suppose I understand, but at the same time I do not want any kind of censorship over this blog. I write from the hip and yes sometimes I do not think when I click the publish button. Is this a bad thing, or does it make for better reading knowing the author is pouring his soul out to the world without being fake.

My two most recent bad posts came from something I wrote about my work. I really vented on that post, and pissed people off. When my boss informed me I was in trouble I immediately took the post down. I have apologized, but I can tell she is still pissed. I can understand and I do respect her feelings, and I feel bad I have hurt them. My only hope is that I do not remain on her shit list for to long. I did learn a valuable lesson to never post anything about work. I have written eight posts about things going on at my work, and I went through and deleted all of them. I am a little bummed about this, but at the same time I want to keep my job.

My other issues come from concerns my wife has shared with me. She does not agree with me writing posts that highlight my mental illness. I respect and understand her points, but I disagree. My mental illness is very much a part of me and is who I am; I don’t feel like I should hide it. One of the things I pride myself on with this blog is I am real. What you read is what you get. I hope my readers can tell I am being honest. Most of you are complete strangers who have chosen to read and in return I share my life with you, and a big part of my life is my struggle to deal with my mental illness. I do not want to try to hide it. My hope is a reader may stumble upon my blog one day and see there are others out there struggling with the same issues. I hope they may be able to relate with in either themselves as the sufferer of mental illness, or a loved one trying to understand the complex minds we have. Having a severe mental illness is a tough thing to deal with, and it is comforting to know someone is right there with you struggling with the same or similar issues. In our society mental illness is looked down upon, and those of us who suffer from these ailments need to basically hide who we are. This can become extremely exhausting.

The last thing I want is to have to think twice before I hit that publish button. I feel it takes away from who I am, and what I choose to show the world. I do not want this to become a blog where I need to do a lot of thinking for in order to produce a post. Everything I write comes directly from my mind and is honest and genuine. I want this blog to be fun for me to write. I enjoy capturing a thought or feeling and just ride the lightning. In my opinion this makes for enjoyable reading.

I will try to write posts about my struggles perhaps to just myself. I can always publish it as private, so only I can see them but really then what’s the point if I do that? I ask you the reader to give me feedback. From my personal posts do you judge me as some sort of crack pot? Or do you just take it for what it is a personal place to express my inner most thoughts without the fear of judgment. From my previous post on asking what my identity is I gathered from the feedback that my identity is just being myself. This is what I want to show my readers the good and the bad that encompasses who I am and what I am feeling whether it be a mania, psychosis, or depression. This is just me. This is what I want to show my readers. I want to show the window into the true inner me mental illness and all. I have chosen to out myself to the world. I do not think there is any way to go back now. I will touch more on this in a post later this week.

I needed to take off of work today. I have gotten to the point where I am collapsing from within. I need a weekend of meds and sleep. I hope by Monday I will be out of this slump. I hate being depressed it is truly the worst feeling. I am just so fucked. I am sad because I was going on such a long streak of happiness. Something just happened and I snapped. Yuk! I do not know what I would do without this blog. It is my mental release. I had also been on a streak of writing non-personal pieces. I do not know what is better exploring the things on my mind like philosophy, or am I better suited to just let loose with my mental malfunctions? Which one is more interesting? This blog has always been verbal vomit. I have so many things going on in my head, and this is the only way I can get it out. I feel embarrassed about my post yesterday. I thought about deleting it, but then I would be cheating myself.

I hope to find peace this weekend. I am afraid it won’t come. I am scared I am going to hit the next down level. This place is so dark and scary. It is filled with despair so painful it makes me sick. I have been walking down the stairs of sanity for the last week. I am afraid I am going to hit the basement. It is cold and lonely down their. This is where I was last year when I started writing my final words to my family. I am nowhere near wishing for the reapers touch, but it only takes one thing to push me down the stairs. I hope to watch shows this weekend and find some serenity.

I appreciate the kind words from those of you who commented on my post the other day. I was going to respond to each one individually, but decided to lump them together into a small post. Although I appreciated these words, I must say I am not worthy of such encouragement. My son’s picture still sits on my desk, and I can see him judging me every moment of the day. I see his perfect smile and sense it is somehow fake. The same fake smile I had to put on my face in the name of school pictures. Just to show the world you are happy when in reality you are broken inside. What he is feeling behind that smile is tearing me apart. I am sick to my stomach and want to throw this picture off my desk, and hide behind my wall of lies and justifications. I cannot bring myself to do this. I feel this symbolically degrades him as a human being.

I received some advice from Rambling to sit my kids down and ask them their assessment of me as a father. I am far too much of a coward to ever do this. I am afraid to honestly hear what they think, because the answers I will hear will further cause me to look in the mirror of my true self. The one thing I hate more than anything is my reflection in the mirror. To see who is peering back at me is to much to handle. Everything and everyone I hate is in those eyes.

My kids are the perfect reflection of what I will never become. What kind of person am I who taints that reflection with my imperfections? I wish I could just flip a switch and shed this skin of mine and walk out a new person. What is my purpose in life if all I do is fail those who depend on me the most? I tried speaking to my therapist last night about this haunting picture, and it only made the pain that much more real. I am being tormented by this reality. The one thing I promised to myself was if I ever had children I would not fail them. I vowed to not make the mistakes my father and step-father made. I hated them so very much I could not imagine doing my kids like that. Flash forward to the here and now, and they are my reflection. This reflection I despise so.

My wife always tells me I am a good dad or a good husband when I want to be. If this is true, then why am I not this good father and husband the majority of the time? I would say I am a good father and husband 5% of the time. Does this mean I am willfully choosing to be a fucking prick 95% of the time? If I have this choice then why do I choose to let everyone down? If this was so simple then why am I not what I wish to be? I wrote a poem called “Broken Dolls” in this poem I said “broken dolls from broken homes, build broken homes of their own.” Am I building the very same broken home I hated my parents for creating?

I am a shitty person. I am an addict, I am a cheater. I never have, nor will I ever be a good person. Everything I touch, everything I love turns to shit. The last thing I can deal with is knowing I am decaying my children’s innocence with my shit stained hands. I think the thing that is most fucked up is I have the power to change this, yet I choose not to. This I think illustrates who I truly am inside.