The brick in my hands feels grainy and rough. I've been sitting against an abandoned building in my hometown with this brick for well over an hour. Maybe it has even been two. My only judgement of time comes from the shadow that my piece of shit car creates. The sidewalk is nowhere near what you could classify as "maintained" with weeds seeping out of the infinite cracks in the concrete. There's a shattered bottle to my left and a pair of worn out sneakers to my right. All of my surroundings scream "failure" and "abandonment" and I feel right at home. Aside from my butt hurting from sitting so long, I am content. This is where I belong.

I've spent most of my time against the crumbling wall overthinking everything about my life. I'm even overthinking whether I'm overthinking or not. This is nothing new, but I feel so different from my normal thought process. Everything seems to be going right, but still I am unhappy. I still don't even know why; and that makes me even more depressed. Emotionally I am drained. That is why I am where I am.  


I find myself rubbing one of the weeds between the fingers of my free hand and suddenly feel for the rather silky feeling plant. It has spent its whole life trying to make a life where someone else gave up. Most of us have been taught that weeds are a nuisance and should be uprooted and destroyed. After all that, it still tries to find a way to regrow and flourish. How can I not respect that? Hell, I could learn something from this thing.

Who am I kidding? It's a fucking weed. Why am I trying to make it motivate my life? In a flash, I am pissed. I am SO ANGRY. Every hurtful thing you've thrown at me is suddenly forcing its way out of me and now I really understand why I'm here. I'm addicted to this. I drive a death trap of a car because secretly I hope it is just that: a death trap. I love feeling worthless and incapable of accomplishing anything. I find satisfaction in knowing that I'm proving everything you said about me to be true. I am a loser. Aside from finishing the entire now-broken fifth of Captain Morgan by myself, I will never have anything I can be proud of. I know something isn't right because my insides are on fire and my outsides seem to be at peace. My brain is screaming at me to rip the weed right out of its home but my fingers just aren't cooperating. I feel the alcohol making my eyelids heavy as my soul is fighting with everything to just rage. But like most other times, my soul loses the battle and quickly I slip out of consciousness. 


I wrote this so long ago...