Memoirs of a Crazy Bastard
We are the suicide kids the light is foreign to us
(ok, so I’m starting to write again, and I’m going to finish the book i started so long ago. The Doctors said i need to see a therapist, but the best therapy for me is just to write. I’m going to be posting half chapter or full chapter on my blogs, so give me some insight. I started writing this book almost 2 to 3 years ago so some of the material might seem old to my friends that have been here from the start, but bear with me.)
I’m worried about my friends, hell I’m worried about myself. Let’s just say that at this point in time I have a lot on my plate. My plate is composed of my depressed, suicidal friends, my future, my love life, money, this fucking book I’m trying to write. I now know what a tortured soul I am. I’m just so tired of everything. It’s just one bad thing after another. I’m even crying right now because of all the stress. My friends and family don’t know what they do to me. Seriously. I’m just tired of having to go through the same shit every week. I’m always telling my friends not to fret the small things, but sometimes the small things get to me. Why can’t I just be happy? Why can’t any of my friends “just be happy”? My book is scaring me because it too close to what I see everyday from my friends. I wish I could write about something happy, but I wouldn’t know what to write. I only know anger, jealousy, and suicidal thoughts of a suicidal person and his friends. I guess it’s always been said write what you know -- I guess that’s what I’m doing. I go by my philosophy -- what ever you believe to be true in your life ( as in religion) happens when you die. so if you believe in god, you go to heaven or hell until ur brain shut downs, and then that’s ur eternity. I don't believe in god but I’m sure I’m going to hell. I don’t know I’m just a poor tortured soul.
We are the suicide kids -- light is foreign to us.