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apapertrail-journalsir · 2 years

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I’m drunk and so is the concept that depending on technology for a comfortable alternate reality for a fulfilling existence is ideal. Mark, your fuckin weird and so is society as a whole. Goodnight.

i.r.

#free write #journal #journal entry #journaling #2000s goth #prompt list #writers block #writing ideas

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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Many relationships would be a lot healthier if we romanticized honest, open and direct communication instead of idealizing the idea of a partner who's intuitively in tune with your every need. You don't need someone who can read your mind, you just need someone who's willing to listen when you speak.

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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I must change my life so that I can live it, not wait for it.

— Susan Sontag, Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1964

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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Src

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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Cunt

This perpetual confusion I have as I trod the path of life in this weird time for what I feel, is so mind numbing.

All I care of, is my future. I’m sorry but that’s where life has brought me to, this place of darkness where the light of empathy for my fellow humans is just unable to reach.

I see people in pain everyday and I see it with a small pang in my tiny bottomless heart and then I move on.

I close the doors of their pain so it doesn’t enter mine and I move forward wondering what future has to offer knowing fully well that there might be a larger chance that there is none.

I don’t know anymore what’s right or wrong, I don’t know if I’m an enabler or the destroyer and if I do figure out what I am I don’t really think I’ll be on the right side of history if there is something I can call right.

As the pyres burn in front of my eyes, I crave a happier future for me and I don’t know if that’s a defence mechanism or just what I have turned out to be.

I see the death in the air around me and I constantly choose to ignore it because I’m a selfish little cunt.

That’s it, that’s all I am today a selfish little cunt.

~ Khushi Gupta

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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Supporting another person’s success will never fuck up yours

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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“I Crave To Feel Love.” i.r.

Originally written in a notebook 5/21/21 9:00pm

Final edit finished 6/23/21 1:12pm

#journal #journal entry #journaling #2000s goth #please read #please share #deep writing #free write #writeundertheinfluence #writersociety #writer #writeaway #writeblogging #poetry #writers and poets

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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“the drunkards disease.” 6/18/21 3:04pm Final Copy

They say to just start writing even if you don’t want to, same as most things; practice makes perfect.

Now, with that being said, I want to talk about my father today the only way I know how to, through a piece of paper.

Which “technically” is just a handwritten projection of my own thoughts, so I guess I’m just venting to myself right now.

How Original.

My father has been in the hospital for days now, not getting any better. He’s been told his pancreas is dying, which is causing his liver enzymes to be fucked up. This as a result, will progressively lead his liver to fail. Concluding this sick and twisted domino effect.

“the drunkards disease”

I remember in my adolescent years, always complaining about my parents excessive drinking, of course words couldn’t even begin to describe the severity of what went on in my “home” every night after I got home from school. Every time I stepped foot down the school bus stairs onto the worn down asphalt of my street, it was like I was preparing to march into battle. Anxiety would suffocate me as I approached the front door.

This was a every single day reality for me and the only people who truly understood, were my siblings.

I read online that although it is possible “in EXTREME cases”, most heavy alcoholics don’t develop these issues until around 65-70 years old.

My dad is 51 and most likely won’t see the day he turns 52.

I am a fully committed pessimist unfortunately, not even a raging optimist can argue with the test results.

But would you like to know what frustrates me the most, leaving me tossing and turning wide fucking awake in the earliest hours of the morning?

The fact that he’s not telling me anything!

Don’t get me wrong, our relationship is in complete ruins but regardless, don’t you think that if he got his results back he should be updating me on something as important as that? It would be worth mentioning that I asked about the test results three times that same day.

Only to be thoroughly ignored, ALL THREE FUCKING TIMES.

The whole situation is just all types of fucked up.

I asked my youngest brother what hospital he was being treated at and he confirmed that my father is at the one only about 15 minutes away from my house. I’ve been debating back and forth for two damn days now on randomly showing up unannounced to his room in hopes to see him one last time, but when I get there what am I even going to say?

I genuinely don’t even know this man anymore and vice versa.

What the fuck do I say to the man who cold heartedly kicked out his first born son while still a teen. Selfishly leaving him to fend for himself on the unpredictably violent streets of the inner city. Meanwhile, he soundly rests his bald head comfortably in his materialistic kingdom of a home, filled with nothing but regrets and ruled by his new, stink eyed, pot belly queen.

The same exact man who looked deep in his sons struggling eyes and said he would never give up on him, and then did.

So now, here I am crying about a shitty and selfish man, who should have never been a father in the first place!!

Stupid.

I will admit, I do understand why that man is the way he is, he never truly had a solid chance at mental stability. Given away at birth and raised by his adopted parents, only to find his own adopted dad, dead in the kitchen by his own hand.

So, you tell me if you think he had a chance?

On second thoughts let me revise that, he did have a split in the road decision but took the wrong route, only to end up a bitter old man.

He had a chance, until his hand met that bottle. Refusing to put it down for a little to long.

Foolishly picked up, as a very effective maladaptive coping skill to numb the constant pain that subsides deep down inside his blackened heart.

Then, this same man hypocritically crucifies ME for struggling with addiction and chemical dependency issues so bad the majority of my life,

HM, I WONDER WHY???

MAYBE, IT’S BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I WAS TAUGHT TO DEAL WITH PAIN MY WHOLE CHILDHOOD!

Fuck.

I don’t know how many times I’ve attempted to explain my BPD and it’s anchoring roots, birthed from the seeds planted during the most impressionable years of my childhood.

Damning me to grow up to be a very mentally unstable and insecure shell of a man.

Still, they would without fail deny deny deny taking part in my inevitable downfall at all.

Acting like a bunch of clueless chickens with their heads chopped off, running around screaming... “what could we have done!?!????”

A fuck ton.

Yet you were always WAY to self absorbed and heartless to realize what you were ultimately doing to your oldest sons underdeveloped brain.

A sensitive brain.

So nowadays, I’m over it and bridges have burned.

I may bury my feelings the same way, but at least I never gave up like a fucking coward.

Where were you?

You weren’t fucking there,

so what’s done is done as what’s said is said.

In conclusion, I wholeheartedly swear to everyone reading this disaster-piece that it will be a cold cold day in Hell if I EVER abandon MY OWN son for struggling and needing his father. Just to shun him away as he continuously BEGS and BEGS to make amends in a attempt to solidify our damaged relationship once more.

I’m shedding tear after tear, still alone, preparing myself to mourn a man I once called “Dad” and now is nothing more then a painfully saddening memory... for the rest of my days.

You may ask me why I care so much about a failure of a father/husband. who has absolutely no place in his heart for his own son,

only for that stupid fucking bottle?

Because,

I loved you dad.

i.r.

#journal #journal entry #journaling #free write #writersociety #writeundertheinfluence #deep writing #writer #personal #alcohlism #addiction #father #writeaway #writeblogging #2000s goth #please read #please share

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apapertrail-journalsir · 3 years

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“dear future self”

Stay sober, for once stay sober and healthy. If you do not you will die.

Please understand that addiction has consumed my entire mental and physical being in the past, the future must hold no place for it.

I’ve been homeless, lost my wife and son, lost my family, lost my friends, overdosed when I was 15, gone to treatment and other programs on for it to become and ever so repetitious journey, lost promising jobs, lost cars, and been in debt deeper then the Mariana Trench.

Doesn’t sound fun does it?

It fucking wasn’t.

My life has been nothing more then a timeline of progressively darker days and there is no more room for this mold to grow.

If you do not you will die.

Understand this and accept it like a coward or fight to prove the keyboard warriors who spit on your name vulnerable and manipulated sheep. I believe that the future me will either be a mere memory in only a few minds or I will strive and succeed as the sheep begin to herd back together.

The pain of being the public enemy number one at the edge of a devious woman’s blade is haunting. I miss homemade toffee and delicious home meals. But not from my kitchen. Always our neighbors. My home was a lot more more memorable in a traumatizing kind of way. Not the ideal place or environment for a young boy to be raised. Let alone 2 younger boys and a older girl. Places alike bring back all the cold memories of my younger years. I don’t recall many of them anymore and don’t like to think much about it, but it still weighs heavy on me like cannon balls on a chain wrapped around my neck and anchoring me to the ground.

One day I’ll be better. One day I’ll be better. One day I’ll be better. Manifestation is a phenomenon. One day I will be okay. One day I’ll be able to breathe. One day. One day.

i.r.