I need a connection, some human interaction, physical contact, something, anything, to grab when I start to drown.

I would really like to believe I am an independent soul. That I know what I want. I am confident. I live for myself and no one else and that I can do anything I want, on my own, alone.  However this is simply a state of mind that keeps me from breaking. 

It keeps me sane, smiling, friendly, social, together, for any sort of interaction, but when Im on this fucking green comforter absorbed into my bed, staring at a computer screen, television, guitar strings, empty notebook, pack of cigarettes, etc,  I feel nothing good.  Numbness seeps through my fingertips, infesting my blood.  Im suffocating at my own hands, twisted around the bad. I am blind.

I think my head is fucked.  I think Im sick.  I think I think Im sick. I dont think Im okay. I dont know what to think. I dont think. Period. Do you ever feel that too?

Im stoned.  Im always stoned.  I dont know who I am.  I dont know what this life is.  I am deep in a tunnel of dark with no fucking flashlight.  And I want anything to just get out of the fucking tunnel.  This is not normal. 

What is normal? Why should I care if Im normal? Am I doing this just because I dont want to adapt to norms and be like everyone else.  I just dont think I learned to adjust.  

For a few bad years, I could not cope. You died, I didn't know what to do, and neither could anyone else.  Grandma went crazy, mom went to Captain Morgan, Dad went to work and never came back, how can you blame me for not knowing how to cope.  No one has ever taught me.

So I met Sarah, and we met Corey, who took us into the woods and introduced us to a new reality.  And it made everything better. Made everything melt.  Nothing matters when you cant feel your legs and every infomercial makes you laugh until you cry.  Not caring is just so much easier. When youre a zombie, you cant get hurt, because youre already dead.

It used to be worse and the only thing that helped was to physically feel the pain my heart felt.  To know a real pain, to know Im not crazy,  Im not turning into you. It felt good.

An obvious cry for help that no one saw.  A red flag in a room of people that cant see colors. But Sarah noticed, unfortunately she was just as numb as I was, so we just compared scares.  One night we played tic-tacttoe on my leg with some kitchen knives.  There was a lot of blood on the carpet.

As Im typing this I dont know if this is really how I feel.  I am saying it, thinking it, typing it, so it must on some level be what I feel. Right? Is that how it goes? I know no one will read this.  I know it is only for me, to straighten my head, to keep from screaming and waking the neighbors.

Am I scared that, this is it? THE BIG FUCKING SECRET, that this is who I am, a stoner, a loser, completely lost and totally fucked, that this is how I really feel, hopeless, numb, dead, alone.

If I dont know, then who does.  Its my head, my thoughts, I am different and unique and no one can know or even begin to understand what I mean, and I dont know what I mean, so who the fuck does. That blows my mind.  Am I stuck right here, in park, about to roll backwards down a long winding hill with a large black hole at the end? Fuck that Shit.

Or is it this music? Slow and monotone, ironically, the lyrics match my slow and monotone mood.

So the main question I am trying to solve is...

Is it better to be happy, to feel nothing but contentment and bliss
or to feel what is real, no matter what the outcome??

I better phone a friend for this one...