Maybe I should just admit that I don't know anything about anything. Maybe if I burned my books and papers. Maybe if I submitted to the lie. Maybe if I turned off the radio and sat in silence. Maybe then I could find peace

They would have me believe that I can find happiness if only I buy a tract home in the suburbs, join a church, and own a new car. But it's not true. I would eventually fall back into the same feelings of discontent, isolation, and sadness.

I am amazed sometimes in the morning when I wake up. Happy, but amazed nonetheless.

Nobody knows the unrelenting pull of suicide except those of us who live with it everyday. It is such a vile ugliness. Even as I put my children to bed, it doesn't stop, so I hug and kiss them as though it could be last time ever. Sometimes I even cry while reading them nighttime stories. All they understand is that daddy is sad and it is their love in that moment that helps me muster every ounce of strength to walk out of that room and go to sleep. It is far too dangerous to stay awake. You cannot slit your wrists when you're asleep.
I lOve my family so much, but this pulling feeling can be pretty strong. One of my greatest fears is that one day I will succumb to those irrational images that float in my own blood nstrewn across the floor. Or maybe I just won't wake up one morning to turn off the alarm and Denise will have to find me and figure out how to turn off the alarm. It is all rather gloomy. I wish those thoughts would go away. I really do.

It sucks that I sometimes have to self-inflict pain so that I can feel better. What's even worse is that my family has to endure it also. I find myself wondering whether or not I am doing them any good by being here and intruding on their lives. I find myself wondering if it wouldn't be better if I was just gone. It is hard to live like this, with this overwhelming sense of sadness. I can only imagine the torture I put my family through.

IPhone

So i got an iPhone. We'll see if it is so great.

It's not that I I don't believe in magic because I'm blind or foolish. I don't believe in magic because it is not real. It is merely slight of hand, illusion, and trickery. To make magic, any magic, real then we must suspend our disbelief and accept it. I have simply not accept the illusion. And like any other liars, the magic makers will ridicule my skepticism as weakness when in fact they are the weak ones, fighting to justify their own weakness at my expense.

Peddlers

Both the dope dealer and the preacher peddle false hope and manufactured happiness.

People will sometimes take the most extreme measures and accept the most irrational of beliefs to fill the void left by unhappiness.