Monday, October 26, 2015

champagne supernova

Writer's block and depression is worse than taking pills with alcohol. 

I know I can do this. I have approximately 7,750 words to write, with tomorrow's deadline looming overhead. No big deal -- I've done more with less time. 

This, however, is exceedingly difficult.

Recently my husband confessed to cheating on me, and life's been a bit hard ever since. I've gone back-and-forth with the idea of moving out... but the "right" choice continues to elude me.

Every time I open a new document in Word my eyes seem to glaze over. The cursor blinks, taunting me, mocking me, reminding me of all the happiness I had hoped to have had.

The easy choice would be to just leave. No big deal -- I've done it before. 

The hard part is accepting the finality of it all. I've gone a month so far with the idea that we could work things out, that maybe this problem can be resolved. 

But I don't think it can. All I think about is the Why's. And when it isn't the Why's, it's the Where's, Who's, What's, and When's. 

I have deadlines to meet, invoices to send, and bills to pay. I literally cannot afford to choke right now. My savings are blown and my accounts are empty. 

Depression is a sneaky monster. It whispers things directly into your brain in a way that makes your worst doubts seem like absolute reality. It makes you tired, irritable, and anxious, but worst of all -- it makes you feel hopeless.

I am not hopeless. I am not hopeless. I am not hopeless.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

motivate me, captain

People love to prattle on about how much they want something, how they long to achieve their dreams. But are they working for it? Look at their life. What are their priorities? How do they spend their time?

If you want something, if you really want it, then you should be willing to bleed for it. To sweat for it. To sacrifice just about anything to get where you want to be. That is motivation, drive. That is how you say FUCK FAILURE and go after what you really want.

I've been plenty guilty of being a lazy, listless bastard. My dreams mock me. My hopes laugh at me. My potential sullenly sulks in the corner. 

When do you say enough is enough? How many times do you have to say it before you actually mean it? How do you take the first step beyond small talk -- how do you take action?

You. JUST. DO. IT. 

That simple. 


*strikes a pose*

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

i can't breathe

No, this is not related to the tragic death of Eric Garner. This is about me. Just like everything... me, me, me.

I broke away from my cluttered desk at home, and ran off to the public library. There's just something about being at home for days on end that wears down one's enthusiasm. The couch, the bed, the chores... so many distractions, and I have fallen prey to them far too many times recently.

So here I am. The library I normally go to had their computer tables blocked off for some kind of function, so I was forced to drive a little further and come to my second favorite library. The thing about this location is you really need to get here right when they open the doors.

There's a lovely outdoor patio, which is utterly useless during the hot Texas summer. Other than that, there is one single table in the main room with access to a power outlet. If you miss that table, then you're stuck in the "quiet room." The quiet room is a small enclosed area with three tables, twelve chairs, and way too few air conditioning vents. Add three additional bodies to this enclosure, and you'll be taking your shoes off.

I'm almost tempted to get a job at a restaurant, purely for the access I would gain to their walk-in cooler. There's something about the Texas heat that does something to a person. It slows down the synapses in your brain. It makes your eyes sticky and hard to blink. It makes traffic ten times more unbearable than normal, and there's a certain sense of danger in the air. Push somebody too hard, and they are incredibly likely to snap.

I don't know what to blame for my sluggish lack of motivation. Is it depression? The heat? The fact that my rent is due shortly? I don't know... and I don't really care too much about making excuses for it, I just want to get back on track.

At this point in my excursion, I am beginning to wonder if the drive was a complete waste of time and gas. If I were home right now, the dishes would be done and I would be fast asleep in front of a fan. Ah, the fan. My sweet and addictive piece of heaven in this sweltering sweat fest.

But entertaining thoughts like that aren't likely to pay my bills, so it's off I go. Back to the content mills, back to the basket of low-paying gigs that are currently my bread and butter. One day, this freelance writing thing will really take off. For now though, I have to pay my dues and write 700 words about toaster ovens.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

blood under the bridge

Well now, it's been a while.

Writing scares me, hence the virtual dust settled upon this blog.

I'm a professional writer now, go figure. Conquering my demons... so on... so forth.

In the last three years, I've remarried, got a few jobs, lost a few jobs, moved a few times, and settled on freelance writing as a career. I turned 26 earlier this month. Life has become monotonous. It always was, really. I just don't get as emotional as I used to. I suppose that's a good thing.

I guess I fell away from blogging because I got tired of writing about myself. I need to start again. My writing style has become rusty. My sentences creak like the knees of an old man. My words groan like a cancer patient on their way to chemo. My thoughts are pale, dull, and empty.

Growing up is an interesting experience. I never figured the learning process to be what it has been. A lot of trial and error, tears, pain, and disappointment. Yet, here I am. Happy? Sure. Content? Why not.

There's so much I still want to do, but I don't have the feeling that I used to. Life is no longer an open road spread out before me. It seems to be a train track -- no turning, no pausing, just barreling on toward some mysterious destination.

Fuck, that's depressing.

I'm not depressed, just complacent. Motivation is... eh. I feel old. I feel no flame within my soul, just smoldering embers. Perhaps a hot coal or two.

How does one regain their passion? Their zeal for life? It feels like I've already lived the future, and now all I can do is continue the search for memories I'll never find.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012


forever pushing onward
diving into the abyss
driven by chaos
a carefree carelessness

caution to the wind
hands to the sky
eyes to the night
and what the darkness hides

feel the demons calling
old familiar tunes
realizing their lies
seeking out the truth

never gonna quit
can't ever stop
walking down this path
gotta make my mark

take this life of mine
purify, detoxify
metamorphisize to mesmerize
no more standing idly by

while the world turns to dust
souls turn to lust, corruption and mistrust
unveiling what lies within
utilizing it to win

the hearts of mankind
the souls of the lost
the broken
the worn
the weary
and those deep in the albatross

Wednesday, May 9, 2012


My head is spinning; I feel the blood pulsing through my once lifeless eyes. Ancient feelings and emotions have awoken within me, and they won't be silent. No peace will come. The only solace I find is in the cold, bitter numbness that I could once maintain for years. Now, it is fleeting at best. My feet are hanging feet above the ground, my body's movements are infantile, my words struggle to take shape.

Thoughts, memories, impulses, routines, patterns, innuendos - they all consume me. I feel as if "myself" is no longer human, only a mere projection of the person others think me to be. My chest is aching, my mind is stretched to the point of breaking, my body is almost completely disconnected.

How to explain what you can not understand? How to explain... the feeling of realizing that you were never a whole person, after all these years of pretending. The feeling of awakening to forces that have been dormant for such a long season. The feeling of paranoia, of not knowing what you will do next. Not knowing what you will say, who you will hurt, where you will go. The lapses in time, the internal conflict, the never-ending loneliness.

After searching to determine who I am for so many years, I have found the rest of myself and it leaves me conflicted. One part of me wishes to close the door tight, lock it, and melt the key into a shape forever rendered useless. A deeper part of me longs for the healing, the wholeness. Even deeper within, I desire to tear myself apart - consuming every bystander that stands in the way of my self destruction.

Emotions - raw, unfiltered, coursing through my body like a fucking drug. I feel my mind shifting, and am thrown to the side. I have lost control. They are coming out to play, and I can no longer silence them. I can no longer maintain normalcy.

Shit's about to get weird.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

diseased v2

There are varying degrees of darkness within every person's heart. If you look closely enough, you can see the shadows of a person's soul cast upon their eyes. This darkness is not to be confused with minor depression - it is pure evil. It is a disease festering within the human body.

Some people are more susceptible to this weakness than others. The demon creates a stronghold for itself and never, ever leaves. It simply remains, feeding off of your apathy and disillusionment. Striving. Growing. Nourishing. You think you can counteract it by good deeds and karma, but you are wrong - nothing you do will ever justify what you have let breed within yourself.

Nothing can be done for these people; they are lost souls. Forever fated to wander in the shadows of the night, alone and unloved.

God bless the broken.