Icarus's blog: "Hope- by any other name."

Rule six is simple
don't drink when you need to.

I remember a time when I was prescribed pocketfuls of diazepam and other slow releases of Benz
Somedays I really miss it
then I discovered the wonderful lowfive of alchohol.

And of course years of self awareness and well practiced relaxation techniques

today was a minor meltdown

for 8 hours.

My mom wants me back in therapy because I can't force myself to like boring women.
I kinda laughed.... and made a secret list to myself of what I should really be back in for.

Maybe if they gave me a piece of cheesecake every time I talked to a nervous neurotic unremarkable woman,


I'd learn to hate cheesecake :/





But back to the meltdown
I think the best (worst) part of my condition is that the symptoms are so vague but intense, you can confuse it for food poisoning, having a gun held to your head, an adrenaline dose, low oxygen levels, liver failure and toxicity all to what you're experiencing; but lets not also forget that you get to go to really
really
dark places
in the middle of an otherwise average conversation...
and just stay there
sometimes days
terrified, confused, and spinning, not knowing to vommit, scream, or flee.

I got back to sanctuary finally, patted my dog, but everything's still corkscrew wound.
Feels like my spine's compacted, my stomach's made of taught jerky, and my neck and head feel ... weightless.

So I have hypertension above mentioned issues... low O2 levels, poor circulation and an inability to build mass because my muscles are constantly in a state of dehydration, cell death and distress

*thumbs up*
Still a prisoner to this body and terrified mind.

Booze helps
but chemical dependency is trading one problem for a much bigger one.

I'd tell you all about a family history of alchoholism and drug dependency, and my own personal problems with it

but I'd rather stick to that thing about womens.

Ah
womens.

I've once again been outdone by a thugnificent 6'6 hood rat.
It's always something, only boring girls or repentant whackadoos are into guys like me.

Employed, secretly an emotionally malfunctioning crumbling house of cards, brilliant, and otherwise lacking in decoration.

Face it

I don't have a motorcycle, dog tags, sleeve tattoos, facial piercings, or a deserving criminal record.

I am devoid of outward unpredictability and flash and for this I miss out on the interesting, crazy, passionate, types.

Women with substance.... ugh, is there anything less sensual?
It's like... oatmeal, yeah, its great for you but its lumpy gluey and unpleasantly dull
now eggs benedict... corned beef hash... pancakes drenched in gooey sickeningly sweet syrup and a pound of butter
is BAD
bad
BAAAAAAD for you


but god damn it they're good
good and fucking interesting.

The things that would make me interesting you have to dig for.

You'll find out in time that I'm a crumbling mess
 a self destructive artist
a kid from a small town that did a LOT of crazy shit
a champion of truth justice knowledge and the right to fuck when where and how I like
which is: always, wherever, and with plenty of passion.

I've got the red hair... I've got the weird first name, I've got that smile and "sure thing" attittude
which has nothing to do with me in a different setting.

Take me in a different context, and I'm the greatest man that ever lived...
but so few people would even get to that point
or be available to
and thus far... none of them could outweigh that with the impossible nagging neurotic tragedies of every day life with me.

Emotionally blind and dumb, and utterly bored with your bullshit, but not your fuckery.

Sometimes its not a question of who would love this,
but what would this love?

Good night.