I Know You Won’t Like It


​In the living room. Alone. Watching stand up comedy to help remedy my self-fulfilling prophecy. I’m shaking and I don’t know why. It’s been a good day. Got a few things done. Hung out mostly, but still. I even continued my second week of working out since I’ve been back from San Francisco. 

What do you want, ol’ body buddy of mine? My jaw is locking down and relaxing upon its own whims. I’m making some late night dinner in the hopes that my full belly will just put me to sleep. Forget the pain and just pass the hell out.

Now, there’s no alarm. This is me. Always has been. I use writing these little anxiety ridden blogs as a way to process and gain control of my insecure, destructive, quaking, stupid, flashback inducing, pitying, self-involved, judgemental, and completely unfair thought process. Nothing helps though, generally. Well, one thing can. No longer a possibility. Don’t want to give up on it, but the more I dwell on it or dream of the future it only reminds me of my current – you know what? Everything is fine.

I’m just in line for the ride to happiness. Nobody likes lines, but when you get to the front! That’s where the good times are had. The good times are coming. Any minute now. I’ve waited long enough, I can wait some more, right? Yeah, right. 


I know you’re not gonna like it. If I could separate this part of me from my persona I would in a fucking heartbeat. Perhaps my heart would beat normally as opposed to double dribbling in place … it makes me think of that long dark quiet that only happens in my sleep. Lately, though, I’ve been dreaming. Nightmares, really. Since I’ve been back I haven’t had a night where I don’t wake up every thirty minutes. I’m fucking exhausted. The shaking hurts. It hurts now. It’s not just a minor annoyance like it used to be and it isn’t a full blown panic attack either. I know you’re not gonna like it, but I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it’s a warning: You Don’t Like You and I Know You Won’t Like It, but go the fuck to sleep. You’re gonna have to do this all over again tomorrow.

Errands to run. One final interview for the documentary. Jumping through hoops to become a stable member of society and for what? You know for what. You should NOT even ask. 

I could be in a room full of people and feel utterly alone. Jesus, if you’re out there, help a guy out, man. I’m holding back tears here and I don’t have a fathomable reason for it. My mom is due any minute from the casino with her friend. I need to hold myself together. You can’t depend on people anymore – not because you literally cannot, but because you have to find a way to pick your own self the fuck up. You’ve been sucking the life out of people for close to a decade or more now. This shit isn’t their problem. It’s yours. Handle it. Please.

Writing this is making me worse. I can tell. I’m done. I think I’ve burned my dinner. Of course. 

Good luck tomorrow, boy. I really mean that. We’re gonna make it. We always do. Baby steps.


EDIT: And I survived that eventual panic attack. All better now. Whoo. Relief in a major way. It’s so bizarre how even if the road is taken over and over again to crazy town it seems as though it’s impossible to escape from it until the drive’s over. I mean, I have a headache and my jaw is killing me, but my thoughts are no longer filled with darkness. I’m just so happy to be alive and healthy. Eventually, I’ll be happy with my standing in life. 

Until then, this is my journey. And it don’t stop. The clock ticks and it tocks. The wheel turns, hold on tight. Don’t look back, my friend. Keep those eyes forward. You’re making progress. It doesn’t always seem that way and I Know You Won’t Like It – deal with it. Everyone has their path. This is yours. 


I’ll be here. One day we’ll be friends, my mind and I, until then all hell breaks loose. It’s okay that we don’t always stay inside the lines – sometimes ya gotta go off road and I’m done with the car metaphor. Hyuck!

Good night.

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