Cadillac Phunque

I’m human. Not a machine.

Machines are made for the convenience and assistance of life of other humans. They have no choice but to live the life of whatever purpose they were created for, destined to carry out that task for all eternity, or until they wear down and break apart, whichever comes first.

I am human. I have hopes and dreams and feelings. My emotions run wild as I experience lifes ups and downs. Love fills my heart raises it to new heights just as anger fills me with a strong desire to tear things down.

I have the drive to make what I will of my life, a need to set my own course.

I don’t believe I was created with the sole purpose of facilitating the life of everyone else around me. I will not concede to a fate of my failures being purely my own while my successes are purely for the benefit of those around me.

I wonder if those who are supposed to be near and dear, those who are supposed to love me and not only be able to find support in me, but also be willing to support me, see me as a living human, or a cold machine meant to continually and constantly make their lives easier.

If it is the latter, what kind of life is that? How can you give me this role and wonder why I’m not always happy? Maybe because you want me to stay in an existence not worth existing in.

While I’m not in as fantastically horrible mood as I have been, I still have an underlying depression hanging.  I work, and then I come home and lay in bed, because I can’t find motivation to do much else.  I’m just all blah.

I tried talking to my Mom about stuff and I got the whole speech about how I can’t run away and that we all have responsibilities and we are family and whatnot.  So, all I get is that the duty of EVERY OTHER PARENT is to raise their kids right and send them on my way.  My mom’s goal was to raise children to all be in the same house for forever.

Then she sends me a message telling me to basically do something behind everyone else’s back.

I feel completely defeated.  If I didn’t have my other half I think I would be in a much worse state (like, probably in a hospital or something more permanent.)  I’ve given up looking at places.  I’ve given up trying to do anything.  I’m just here.  That’s the tune lately.  

So since I feel defeated, obviously everything becomes more difficult once again.  I  am back to having no real purpose.  I just don’t care.  I’m tired, but I have to bend to the will of my family, since I’m “successful” and well, they sit at home.

Even now it’s hard to just keep writing.  I’m not my own person at all.  It’s like I’m a robot that comes out to do what it has to do, then gets put away in the closet. Only somewhere I have feelings that I just keep repressing, since bringing them out only makes trouble in one form or another.

More than ever, I just want to disappear.

(via almsivi)

…shit just gets worse. Why do I even bother…

..and why I hate letting myself do it.

For a second, for a split second, I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel.  Thought I was making progress.  Then I get all caught up in it.  I want shit to HAPPEN.  It doesn’t, it never fucking does.  Stuff happening means that other people are also doing stuff, because, obviously, I don’t live alone in the world.

If other people got moving, I could do things on my own.  But I CAN’T DO SHIT ON MY OWN and I CAN’T DO SHIT FOR MYSELF because everyone else fucking needs me.

So here I sit, another night, alone (or as alone as you can be in your mothers basement) feeling like SHIT because I AM in my mothers basement and I put all this effort for seemingly nothing.

I’m finding it extremely hard to figure out what the purpose is.  Maybe EVERYONE ELSE SHOULD TELL ME WHAT MY PURPOSE IS because I’m not allowed to have one of my own.

Should I point out that I just feel angry?

I’m sitting here looking at apartments, and it’s making me more depressed.  I look at pictures, and I can envision my own decor, my own life going on, a life where I choose the people that are a part of it on a daily basis, and then I feel like I’m just fucking fooling myself, that I’m an idiot for thinking I can get there, that it’s going to happen.  Because that’s just how my life goes.

I feel like I’m crazy for feeling all of this.  At best I’m impatient.  I feel like I need to grab for the life I haven’t been able to have.  

I feel like I don’t know how to feel.

I hear everyone else yucking it up and having a good time above me.  Maybe I should stop trying so damn hard.  Maybe I should just desappear and go live in an alley somewhere.  Find someone to mooch off of.  From what I hear around me, it’s fun.

I’M JUST SO GOD DAMN TIRED OF IT AND WANT TO MOVE ON!

Part of me wishes I had someone to talk to about all of this, but part of me, the part that is just TOO GOD DAMNED NICE wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone with the shit in my head.

And LUCKY FUCKING ME I can’t pay for an ear to listen to me for an hour a week, because my purpose in life is to figure everyone else’s shit out.

So I guess I will stick to pounding away at my keyboard.  Maybe it will help, maybe it won’t.  But after I’ve spent all my time doing everything I can for everyone else, I am the only one that can deal with all the bullshit in my head at night.

So much for dreaming tonight.

Things haven’t been bad. They haven’t been amazing but they haven’t been bad. Progress doesn’t get made as quickly as I would like, but I have made some. Enough to the point where I have started dreaming of what the future will be like. For once I hold a little hope in my heart for my own life.

Of course now that means I have plans in my head and I want to see them happen. So my biggest struggle is going to be patience when things don’t go the way I imagine.

One day at a time….