The man who looks back at me Is my only friend.
For all the rest, I love you, but I hate you. I love you for who you are, but I hate how you confuse me.
I wonder why you won’t just leave me alone? Why you always have to ask about my life, what I’m doing, if “I’m okay”? Do you care? I don’t think so. Ask yourself, how many people in this world do you truly care about. Your mother, your father? Kids? Husbands, wives, grandchildren? But you really care If I’m “okay”? I don’t believe you. And I know you don’t because I don’t care about you.
Yet, I know all about you. I know you hate your job, your girlfriend, your life, basically. But you don’t want to die, why? I ask you and you say you don’t know, just that you don’t want to live.
This is your mistake. There is nothing is to be feared from death. Death has always been our destination. It is the point where you greet the gods. You will do this regardless if you do so smiling or in hysterics, whether you believe your life was well spent or not, whether you even believe that that there are any gods. Either way, they don’t give a shit. Lie in bed at night and curse at the ceiling, roll over and bang your head against the pillow and curse at the unfairness of it all. It doesn’t matter, no one cares. YOU are the only person who matters, and YOU don’t want to live.
Why fight it? Why tell me how much you hate it? Why try to convince me that life is so terrible? You want me to hate it too? You assume because I am silent I must be sad? Could it be that I simply don’t give a shit? I wake up, I smoke, I spit and I get on with it. No one cares about you but your family and one day they’ll be gone, if they aren’t already. You only have yourself.
I know what I want from life, I know where I am going, I know who the fuck I am. It’s not my fault you don’t. I don’t need a god damn Instagram account and 1000 followers to tell me my life is worth living.
So am I “okay”? Or am I just mad? I don’t know – mad, probably. I hate people, I always have. I love woman, but they hate me. I don’t mind though, I always fall in love with the worst of them anyway.
I am okay. I just hate because It feels good. It feels so good to hate. When you ask me if I’m “okay” I don’t know what you want me to say. I am confused. I don’t want to talk with you, I don’t know why you pretend to care. I don’t want to play the game, not right now.
I don’t understand people, but maybe people understand me? It’s not that I want to be alone, It’s simply that I don’t mind. Isolation is a beautiful thing. In my mind I fly with the Gods, I look forward to the things I know will happen to me and take any hardship that comes my way solid in the knowledge that I am the master of my own destiny and thus a God in my own right, and that gives me strength. At the same time I am a scumbag and I am an evil piece of shit – but I am a angel and the greatest human being who has ever lived.
I am a small child who wants to be coddled, I am a teenager who jacks off to porn alone in my room and I am a man who cares two shits what you think.
The seed of all strength comes from oneself and acceptance thereof – hell, I’ll admit right now that I can’t write for shit.
If you can learn to accept yourself, and accept the beautiful reality that everything is just noise. Nothing is real, no one cares, there is just you. You’ll be alright. Until then, don’t ask how I am.
As long as I have spit and cigarette smoke I’ll be okay.
therabiddidactic 