The reason as to why I started to do this is because my lovely friend Jennifer shared with me her blogs about some of her stories. Stories that warmed my heart, gave me the laughs I needed after a rough day, even a story that pained me in unimaginable ways. I have nothing but the utmost love and respect for her.
So, with that being said, I decided to dive into this. personally.
The reason as to this title as stated is more than one of the albums from my favorite band but also just how I have been feeling for the past 8 years of my life. I wouldn’t say that I had a horrible life; however I have made horrible decisions within those 8 years. I started doing drugs and drinking alcohol at the age of 13, an age where the “Hell” has started, and through that, I felt like my whole life was changing. My attitude desperately needed the adjustment for sure, the people that I associated with, the overall mental slavery that existed within me. This was the age where I also started to cut my own skin, and reflecting back on that makes me irrefutably sick and regretful. I have many regrets to say the least. Regrets where they would make many people sick.. I’ve almost killed people, I have hurt them in ways that would make people sick and I long for the feeling that I have the ability to take everything back.
However, every sporadic while, I do manage to convince myself that I am a good person. As worthless as I am, I know that I still serve some kind of purpose in life, but the minute I come in to contact with something that gets the best of me, something that takes me back to those disgusting memories, all I feel is hate, shame, regret, and anger never knowing how to shake off that feeling..
I wish I could justify a reason as to why I do the things I do and think the things the way I think; something to pin the blame on. If people are able to read each others hearts may they never know the blackness of my own.. But the majority that rules over those small moments of warmness and goodness of my heart, surely and truly, I am not a good man. I am not a good friend. I am not a good best friend. I am not a good son. I am not a good brother. I am not a good person. I am a criminal and a slave to my own mentality and in all honesty I’ve learned to be ok with all that.. A person that is told that they hold a good heart who has also done sickening things can’t settle inside the same being.
May everyone that I love and hold dear to my heart never know the life of my own chaos. May they never know the heinous, twisted, and cruel things I have done. May they never know the darkness that instills within me. May they look away in disgust and protect themselves from the sight of my deception. May they never know the liar and coward I am masking in courage and happiness. If they do, I do not blame them for the stranger that I will become as their outlook on me or hating the very thought of me.
No matter the war that has ravaged my mind, in the midst of all the chaos, I long for a Home. A Home that sets the boundaries of my own comfort. A place where my own anxiety, depression, any sick thought that can be casted away. The Home of San Francisco during a clear night. The Home of lights guiding me and gravitating towards the right direction. Even the simple Home of being held close in someone’s arms. But everything seems so far out of sight and too far gone. Though these can only be lived through few hours, on select days, they make me feel alive and warm even if only for those blissful moments, reminding myself of the little things in life even if the world has given up on me leaving me exhausted.
For those who have gone through their own Hell and have found their small measure of peace: Home, I am still aimlessly searching and I am happy that you have identified the Difference.