Smoking a peach cigarette…  listening to "California", by Mason Jennings.

"Don’t you know baby, I’m a leading man?
I dig down deep, when i say i love you
And I can hold my own with the best of them
I guarantee you, you will never see nothing like this, again"

In my darkest moments, I don’t care what happens to me.  I think, "what difference does it make?" 

Can I person fall too far to get back up?  It’s definitely possible.  Have I fallen that far?  Is that why this suddenly feels so impossible?  Because, I really am too broken to be fixed?

I ran into a guy recently.  We’ll call him B.  B used to be the quintessential crack head.  Scrawny like he was dying…  would rip you off even if he liked you…  just a sad, desperate guy.  I gave him money out of pity a couple times.  When I saw him recently, I didn’t recognize him.  Charlie had to tell me who it was.  He looked so different.  He used to look like a refugee or a cancer patient.  Now, he’s in better shape than me, Charlie, or anyone I chill with.  The man is healthy looking, and cut.  He’s apparently got some clean time, and has a place, and is really doing alright (I guess, he had a kid, and that straightened him out).  Part of me thinks…  if he could do that…  he was a crack head AND a junkie, and he’d been out there a lot longer than me…  if he could do that…

"Don’t you know that I did the things I could?
I rubbed your back when you were sleeping
But all along baby, it was understood
That you were leaving, absolutely
Since the very first day we met"

I know it’s the fucking bipolar disorder making this so hard, right now.  I was doing so much better until this manic cycle hit.  Hopefully, when I see the dreaded shrink tomorrow, he will be able to help me.  I have to get up a little early to get this appointment on time, so, I need to brush my teeth, and crash promptly.

I really hope my sickly friend is doing better.  I miss this person a lot, right now.  Not that we’d see each other, normally.  But, we would talk.

I might just get through this awful ass night.  I’ve made it this far.  It’s nearly one a.m., and I think I should be able to fall asleep soon.

"California, I hope that it wakes you
From all of the darkness
That I couldn’t break through
’cause I’m gonna miss you, I’m gonna miss you
I’m gonna miss you, I’m gonna miss you
Like I miss the ocean
When I go to sleep
Man, it’s gonna break my heart"

Generally, I’ve been feeling so weak, ineffectual, and useless.  My mind races, and I don’t  want to stay still, but I can’t really direct that energy constructively (like cleaning my apartment – it’d be nice if I could run it off that way).  I ususally just end up walking around Rogers Park, a lot.  Or going on some silly adventure in the city (I do that to cheer myself when I am depressed, as well)…  When I am manic, and walking, I am often trying to keep moving so I can’t sit still with my thoughts long enough to f@ck sh*t up.  I know this isn’t the most relatable subject matter.  Most of you have never been addicted to an opiate, or had to kick said opiate, but everyone knows struggle at some point.  And, I am willing to bet that most of you have known desperation at some point (or you wouldn’t be on Dtribe).  Anyway, I have been told by a few people that my ramblings are helpful to them, and I am grateful for that.  It makes me feel good about this wailing wall I’ve built for myself – the thought that it serves a broader purpose than my own self indulgent whining.

I just have to hold on…  just a little longer…


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