Personal Journal

Breakfast in America

I've never known this to happen to anyone else.
I want to destroy my very existence with my own hands. I want to use every muscle in my body and start in this room and tear out the drywall, the two-by-fours, the carpet, the floors.
I hate living, and I want to destroy that which binds me to life.
I hate admitting defeat, and I HATE realizing that the reason I am defeated is because I didn't LISTEN to myself in the first place. And that's it, because tha'ts why I'm crying.
I hate the idealist, who pushed and prodded and got control. And I don't hate the realist who now has to take back control, because somewhere in it is the message that this is all my fault. I should have listened.
I am so angry, and ashamed, and it's frankly just an absurdity over which I am grief-stricken.
I don't want to kill myself. I want to PUNISH MYSELF. I want to hang myself from hooks off the side of the house and scream. I hunger for a punishment that I simply cannot meet out against myself, because it's not socially acceptable.
No one ever taught me to fail.

Once every few years I sit down and listen to the first music that I ever titled "music to kill yourself by", which is Supertramp's Breakfast in America.
It has a good cathartic value, but there's just not another way to get this out of me. To want to flay my molecules away in strips and expose myself to pain and horror, because that's all I can see that life really is anyway, and along the way you catch yourself wearing costumes at masquerades and you fucking wonder, "Who are you kidding?"
Life is absurd, and I don't get the fucking point.

It is never too late to be what you might have been. -- George Eliot
Courage to start and willingness to keep everlasting at it are the requisites for success. -- Alonzo Newton Benn