Stay tuned, I'll be writing and uploading more this evening.
... if not, then maybe sweet death has found me.
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| Ronin PDX - Faces of Portland |
{An Angel came down and offered a hug to me, but only if I
killed myself for it…}
It’s 95 degrees, my little girl is all smiles and sweet
giggles; why does shooting myself in the face seem like the correct action?
Hi World, it’s me again, Ronin.
By now, you’re used to the whiny sad tales and my word
salad that I vomit on Blogger. I hope… I hope for every scenario to play out as
I expect it will. Some may be mad, sad, indifferent. Yet, they can all kiss my
ass. I feel. I know love, I know pain, I know rock bottom. I get it, why the
fuck should you read my shit when you have all your shit to deal with? Schrodinger’s
Cat. I believe, just as in his cat theory, we only catch glimpses of reality. The
cat is both dead and alive. It’s both, and everything in between. Look around a
person’s home, apartment, work space, what do you see? You see a lot of stupid
fucking shit, mainly that stupid blinder that we adorn and make everyone else
wear too. We lie to ourselves, put photos of people we know, or barely know, up
while smiling. When was the last time you smiled for yourself in public? I can’t
continue with this lie. I look at my baby girl lying in my bed knowing I won’t
get to see her but for one more fucking day! One! WTF! I have to wait a whole
month to see her and it costs me a thousand dollars to do it. I have to be on
call like I’m a fucking villain, like I should have DHS watching my visits. I’m
cornered with my daughter, and all I did was pick up the pieces of what that
woman broke my life into. I’m fucking sad. I’m mad. I’m that little boy again,
waiting for his mother to come to see him, but leaves him stranded and alone on
the front porch. I’m neither my fucking Father or Mother. I’m Ronin. I feel
what everyone feels. My empathy is so strong I have to push people away. I
realize when my inner voice starts telling me how I have to get away from
someone as soon as we start connecting. I feel the giddiness of making a new
friend, relating and connecting with someone. I have to kill it before it kills
me. This is not a game, it’s not a blogger regurgitating verbiage on a page for
therapy. This is who I am. This is what I have to deal with on a minute by
mother-fucking minute. I have to endure the pain, while I smile back at you
because your too soft to actually handle the shit on my plate. This is where
God laughs right? Is there a God? Read any astronomy book, or watch YouTube or
any one of the platforms you have. Then tell me that you’re for sure 100% God
positive. Such B.S. If God is God, shit wouldn’t be like this.
The argument of God is futile. I’m not writing to denounce a
God or to elicit a God response. I just know that I’m a good person who was
made to do bad things and had to do bad things in order to survive in the
environment I knew. I’ve learned from my, and other peoples, mistakes. I want
to do better, but for me and my family. The problem is, this life isn’t real.
This is a fucking construct that I must have signed up for. I want to kill
myself to end this game. I want to start again. I want a different life, another
chance, a new round. What about my baby? What about my baby?! How the fuck am I
supposed to do anything with her bitch mother? She controls it all. Rich
parents with a trust fund. I’m thankful for that at least right? Fuck you! I’m
good, I don’t need them. I just needed support from people, I needed a mentor,
I needed hands-on guidance. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just following the
goddamn leader, and I don’t even know who that is!!!! I tell my little girl:
Daddy lives far away, but that doesn’t mean we can’t see each
other every night if you wanted. I’m here for you, even if everyone else
leaves. I’m here. I’m always here, I’m unable to live with you and mommy, but I
love you more than anyone in this World and will do all that I can to make sure
you know you’re loved.
I try to read to her every week, I have a court-ordered time
to talk, that her mother controls with her fucking phone, so needless to say, I
haven’t spoke to my baby in over a month. I call every time, give messages at
the same time, each and every time like clockwork. I’m responsible, I’m punctual,
and I’m dedicated to my girl. I just know if I were to try to move back, I
would commit suicide. I can’t handle the heat, the people, the way of life, and
with my disorder, I cling to my home city like it were my sibling. I have my
city tattooed on most of my body. I have issues that make it difficult to move
here. I also have a family now of my own at home. I’ve taken my girlfriends son
in as my own. He’s the most sweetest little boy I’ve ever had the pleasure of
meeting. He and his mother make my life. They’re the reason why I’m living now.
I would’ve killed myself if it weren’t for them. So now it’s a tug-of-war for
me now. I disassociate from reality when I get over stressed and my rage comes
out here and there. I can’t stop being mad, I’m constantly mad. I’m mad while
writing this… and I’m writing this because I’m sad; get the picture?
My life sucks. Then again, on paper it doesn’t. I don’t
fucking care about my success, my trials and tribulations that I’ve endured and
overcame. It means dick since I lost my family. My Father went to prison, my
brother disowned me, my mother was gone since I was two—remember the porch talk.
I’ve had everyone in my life leave me at some point and I wasn’t able to handle
it. I snapped and did what I could. I cried and pushed people away. I still do.
I cry all the time. Please keep in mind that I’m the type of person that will
headbutt you and brake your teeth too, what a fucking mixed bag right? I’m as sensitive
as I am hardened. My world means living only in the most extremes. I’m not me
until no one can see me. Then I’m sad.
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:) / :(
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