Today is my birthday. 43 years young and one year closer to death. “I feel old” I said, my best friend said “we are in our prime mate”. We will never be better than we are right now, because now is all we have. I said the last part not him, he’s not getting credit for that.

My life, just like yours has been filled with ups and downs, extreme highs and soul shattering lows. I enjoy writing, great quotes, and reading on different philosophies, I get that from my father. That charming bastard has written 2 children’s books at 70 (prime example of being in your prime). For those that know me deeply know that I am a really nice caring man but I am also a passionate fiery motherfucker that can live on the edge, that I get from my beautiful mother.

I tell you all this because my writings contain both their natures, something I have been torn between all my life. More on that later.

I write to share my experiences and be ruthlessly raw, the way you would talk to your best friend with a face full of tears. Mask off. Cathartic for me yes, but more importantly I want to let you know just how fucking human we all are. Thank you for reading and for what’s to come.

“Enjoying the passage of time” – Jimmy Carr

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You are not immune 

I hate seeing other people happy,
I hate watching them laugh,
I hate seeing them pose for pictures,
I hate their jokes and fads,
I hate how they all look and sound…empty and all the same.
I laugh to myself and tell anyone that will listen how fake and shallow they all are.
Attention whores, the lot of them.
They are all sheep dressing and acting alike… certainly not their true selves.
I am my true self… miserable.
Think for yourselves I say, you unoriginal scared herd.  
I poke holes in their stories and their unbridled joy,
I will find a reason in my mind not to let them take flight.
Ha, how I pity them. I watch and wait for what happens right after the selfie,
The seconds after, when the smile drops and the eyes darken.
That small moment makes me feel good.
Justifies my thoughts of the attention craving cunts.

They aren’t real and they fear being themselves. I am my true self.
Why do I feel this way? Why do I loathe.
Maybe the Lamotrigine hasn’t kicked in yet…

I find a patch of tranquility in struggle,
It’s familiar to me.
Maybe that’s why I love the rain,
It reminds me of the home I once knew,
I love the sound of it, the smell of it, the feel of it…
Ah, the feel.

That’s not true.
The real reason I love the rain is because everyone else fucking hates it.
I find joy in hearing them complain about it and seeing them sad and gloomy.
It gives me an edge, a jolt.
“There is no sunshine without rain I say” from my righteous and frightened throne.
But really all the while I am dreading sunny days,
And ache for more dreary days.
My true self…

I am just sad.
Everything has lost its taste,
I feel nothing,
Nothing for anyone or anything.
I am no longer present,
Not for me, not for anyone.
I am the thief of my own joy,
Nothing matters.
I cancel plans,
I don’t show up,
I am faded out,
My friends don’t understand,
I fear I will lose them soon.
Many leave me,
Those that I have loved.
Can I blame them?
No, but I will.

All I hear is silence,
The silence that deafens me
Thoughts won’t let me away, not even for a moment to enjoy for someone else.
They want to keep me nestled in the thorns.
I want out.
I want to be free but it is so fucking hard and painful to pull away
I will stay here,
I will just stay here.
Everything just fucking hurts,
I feel nothing but yet I feel every pain.
Every nudge, every word, every comment.
I can’t get happy, I can’t feel happy, I feel fucking numb. Nothing matters, nothing counts. Nothing feels the same, no happiness, no joy.
I just want to hear myself think again.
Me… not the voices weighing me down.
My head feels so heavy on this pillow, get up,
Please just get up, for you, for them, please,
They don’t understand, none of them, how could they…I am scared, I am hurt, I am angry, I am lonely,
I need you, I need me again.

Fuck, it’s all so heavy,
I want to get up,
Time slows down and for once I don’t want it to.
How do I get up…

– Scob

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I have struggled with this piece because it feels unfinished, but maybe that is fitting.

I am not a therapist or counselor but I experience manic depression and more almost daily. No one is immune to depression, it’s a disease and one that can ruin you if you let it.

One of the hardest things to do is get up when you get knocked down, you can watch all the Rocky movies in consecutive order (RIP Apollo Creed) but that instant motivation won’t be enough. You need ground work, a foundation, you need the right people in your corner, you need to know what the triggers are, you need to know when to talk to a therapist or doctor, you need someone to hold you accountable, you need to know this isn’t your fault, and you can manage these feelings and live a better life. You will learn these things by the many mistakes you will make, remember that. Just don’t be too hard on yourself when you do.

“Never to low and never to high” – I love it, but it’s a bipolar person’s hardest task.

I am lucky to have a little sister, a little sister who I looked out for and I took care of, then the unlikely thing happened that she became my rock. That rock in the storm when the waves are crashing against her and the sky is dark and she stands strong with indifference and love. She is that type of rock, a metamorphic type rock.

Listen when I say this, do not be afraid to ask for help. This is your life, one life to live and you cannot be so hard headed to think you can just soldier on and ignore it.

Somedays all I can do is get up and brush my teeth I am so numb. Other days I can get up and help others, be there for them, the shit that really speaks to my soul.

You matter more than you know. People who really care and love you will love every part of you, even the hard parts. My sister taught me that.