A Note From the Editor
What will become of this tattered soul?
Well, it's Very Comfortable Just to Drift Here
To be perfectly honest, it isnt at all comfortable just to drift. In fact, it is a rather frustrating and depressing process. Oh, and by the way, the title is from The Graduate for all you poor, poor souls that havent seen it. Dont try to hide, I know you are out there reading this. Go do yourself a favor and rent this one if you havent seen it.
Anyway, to get back on track here, drifting really isnt a comfortable way to live. Not when you have dreams and seek to aspire to some greater status in this sad world.
Everything I try just seems to get stalled. I know change isnt easy, whether it is going off to college or behavioral changes. Thats not what gets me down. What eats away at me are these prolonged delays caused by health. Everyday I wake up and feel like complete shit. Everyday I go to bed feeling like complete shit.
Youd think that Id get used to it by now. I mean, it has been two and a half years now. But no, here I am still unable to adjust. I know it could be much worse. People tell me this everyday. It could have been cancerous. It could have spread into my brain. Youd think I find some comfort in this and look on the brighter side of things. Believe me, I am grateful for those things, but they have come few and far between, and my attention always refocuses on the negative aspects of my situation.
I simply cannot adjust to this condition. I cannot live with this tumor. I cannot sit back and accept things for what they are.
Im tired of having to wait; of having to put everything on hold until one day in the unknown future when Im deemed healthy. And yes, everything is on hold. My timing for school has been thrown into disarray. I rarely go out because I feel like shit and am afraid of the ever present What if lurking in the back of my mind. I was never much of a social person to begin with, but my social life with those select few individuals that I did open myself up to and befriend has become obsolete. My art remains at a beginners skill level because I cant muster up the energy or focus to visualize my thoughts, feelings, etc. on paper. And every time I do, I am brought back to the pain of my situation, as being crouched over my work for a prolonged time leaves my face in pain.
It is getting to a point where even writing, a form of expression that I have come to love, is becoming too difficult to do. Im sure you are asking yourselves Why? right about now. I mean, Ive already written quite a bit. But what have I discussed? My situation, the pain I experience, and my dissatisfaction with my life. It is the same material every day. I am simply a broken record in a humans body.
When was the last time I wrote a story? When was the last time I wrote a poem? When was the last time I wrote something worth reading? Is there anyone out there that even cares? Yes, I suppose there is. I care.
Every second of my life is now consumed by thoughts of my tumor. How much pain and suffering it has caused me. How much I have sacrificed because of it. How much more I will have to endure. It is these thoughts that prevent me from moving on with my life.
I am constantly trying to find a way to distract myself. That is why I spend so much time listening to music and playing video games. I lack the energy and will to live through the sickness and venture into the outside world. These activities which once helped me through difficult times have now become my prison.
The activities, which once distracted me from my thoughts, are losing their effect on me. And so, I perform these actions more. Where I once spent maybe two hours a day playing video games, I now spend four or five or six hours per day. Where I once only listened to music when going out or working, I now listen to it at every available opportunity. Hell, I cant even go to sleep unless I am listening to music.
But none of it is working anymore. I find myself constantly drifting into thoughts about my health, and I find myself constantly wanting to dive deeper into these addictions I have developed.
Some drink their sorrows away. Some get high to deal with their problems. I play video games and listen to music to help with mine. And as such, I have become increasingly anti-social. And while these addictions are childish and nowhere near as self destructive as others, they most definitely are killing me, because I am certainly not living.
And so I find myself drifting through life. Going through motions to make myself appear normal, and yet every second I am falling deeper into the darkness.
Time Bomb
You want to know why Ive developed an addictive personality? I have no one to talk to about my problems. It is strange really. The people who understand me the most are usually people I have never met before.
I lack the ability to talk to my parents about what I am going through. Believe me, Ive tried. You know what I get in response? Get out of the house. You need to get out more. I swear, that is my moms cure for everything. Ive heard that my entire life. My mom lacks the ability to understand depression. She thinks everyone should just get up and move on. Talking to her about this situation is about as useful as talking to a wall.
Talking to my dad about the situation never works out either. Why? Well, my dad is very quiet person (Which I have apparently inherited). Anyway, Ive never developed much of a relationship with him. I mean, we get along fine, but Ive never talked to him about anything that had much depth, at least on a personal level that is. I can talk to him about sports, the world, politics, religion, but when it comes to me, it just feels awkward and unnatural, and so I avoid it altogether. And unfortunately, talking to a professional would yield much the same result.
Despite how opinionated, open, and talkative I appear on the internet, the truth is that I hate talking to people. Check that, I hate talking to strangers and people I hardly know. Why? Who knows. But in those rare cases when I am forced to (Speeches, social gatherings, etc.), my speech is rushed, I often pronounce and use words incorrectly, and I lose my short-term memory altogether.
Because of my inability to talk about my situation in intimate situations and my inability to relate to and be understood by those in my immediate surroundings, I retain and suppress all of my feelings and thoughts. And because of this, I have decided that I am nothing more than a time bomb, ticking down to an inevitable moment in which I explode.
I cannot vent my frustrations and fears, and so they just sit inside of me; boiling, rotting, and constantly building up.
The question is no longer if I will explode, as that much is certain, but rather how will it happen? Will I explode on another person? Well, given the state of my face, I would say most likely not. I think one landed punch to my left cheek would send me to the hospital. So, if I dont explode, then I must implode. This scenario seems to have a much greater chance of occurrence. A complete self-destruction. An almost beautiful display of complete hate for the world. What better way to say, fuck you to the world than to simply choose not to live in it?
And I am sad to say my friends, that the wheels are starting to slowly turn. I am headed down that path, with nothing but a dark date with destiny awaiting me.
Now, before you write me off as some attention whoring emo kid, please not that this is not some sad attempt to gain attention. What I feel is a real desire to inflict harm upon myself. Ive found myself yearning to defile my own flesh. I went through a period of cutting when I was first diagnosed (Or rather, scratchingThe sight off blood does not agree with my stomach). There is nothing I want more than to feel the grip of the handle grasped tightly in my hand and to feel the cold blade press against my skin and experience the pain it inflicts. Why? Because as I have stated before, I am institutionalized in a way. If I am not in a state of pain or ill-being, I do not feel normal. I crave the pain. It focuses me, giving me a temporary relief from the tornado of thoughts whirling around my mind.
Along with these thoughts have come the temptations to simply end it all. I wouldnt slit my wrists; it is too painful and too slow. No, I would go out quickly and make some noise while Im at it. Id make the world recognize this tortured soul. I dont seek attention, I simply want the people in my life to finally understand and accept that this is not some simple phase I am going through. As long as I suffer from this condition, these thoughts will corrupt my mind.
I believe I lack the courage (A better term escapes me at the moment) to go through with suicide. But the thoughts are always there now, and thoughts have been known to make men go mad. I may not want to really die, but as a madman, anything is conceivable.
This was Done by a Professional. Theres a Beauty to the Carnage
Another prominent source of dissatisfaction in my life are these so called professionals that I have had the misfortune of being treated by. My surgeon, while great at what he does, will not touch my allergy problem with a ten-foot pole. It isnt because he is unable to treat me, as he is a fully trained ENT doctor, it is that he just doesnt want to handle it. So, I am forced to talk to my regular doctor about my situation. This guy is great, he is thorough and takes time with his patients, and while he has some knowledge about my condition, he lacks the expertise that someone like my surgeon has, and so his available options are limited.
And so, we were sent off to the ENT department. The doctor we end up seeing wanted nothing to do with us. She wanted to send us back to my surgeon, and we had to explain that he doesnt handle allergy-related problems. Her reply? Well, Im not an allergist.
Great. So, here I am sitting in front of a specialist on the whole ears, NOSE, and throat system, and she is telling me that she cant help me in the least. While I understand that allergies may not be her cup of tea, you would think that someone with a vast knowledge of the nasal system would be able to prescribe some sort of medicine or remedy that could help lessen the complications caused by a tumor. But we stayed persistent and finally got some advice from her. You know what she told us? Move. Yes, that was her cure for my problems. Move out of southern California. Thanks, that is loads of help.
So we finally got in to see an allergist today, and finally, finally, someone is able and willing to help me. Unfortunately, there were still antihistamines (I cant believe I spelled this correctly on my first try) in my system from yesterday, so I was unable to do any skin testing, but he did have some blood drawn and sent it off to the lab to be tested. Furthermore, he briefly discussed some possibilities, such as a topical antihistamine, or having shots to build up immunity. He also prescribed me a nasal spray which is less irritating that most (So hopefully I wont have any additional nosebleeds) and gave us some information on anti-dust mite pillow cases (We already have covers on my mattress) and washing methods (Apparently hot water kills them). Im not sure how useful the nose spray will be since I have a tumor and scar tissue blocking my airway, but at least he is giving me something, and working with my condition, not avoiding it altogether.
I am my Own Disease
I realized this morning that I am, in fact, making myself sick. I have had all of this on my mind for some time now, and with my appointment this morning, my previous frustrations with doctors boiled up and I became overwhelmed. My body simply rebelled against me this morning, and I fell into a full blown asthma attack.
There is only so much mental abuse a person can take before there are physical reactions. Apparently, I hit my limit today. We were running a bit late, so there was no time for a breathing treatment, so I took a couple puffs from my inhaler and headed off. They didnt help. When you cant breath, you become extremely panicked. The whole time I was at the office I was fidgeting and trying to calm myself down long enough to just take some breaths of air.
Thankfully, after the appointment, deaths grip on my lungs loosened slightly, and I was able to subdue the attack with a few more puffs from the inhaler.
I guess what they say is true. I really am my own worst enemy.
The Art Scene
I know in my last entry I said I had a piece in the works, and I am sad to say that the project has been put on hold indefinitely. It was going to be a tribute to a band that has been contributing to the destruction of my eardrums a lot recently. Ill eventually get to the piece, but as you can see (Or rather read), right now I am just too preoccupied by life.
Ive been messing around with PhotoShop a lot lately. My latest experiment was touching up a photo. I posted this as a bulletin on MySpace, but for those of you who havent seen it yet, you can view the results here: Touch Up. If you open up both images and switch between them, youll be able to see the changes I have made, which include altering the skin, brightening the eyes, darkening and adding some colored highlights to the hair, and making the teeth whiter. The end product may not seem like a lot, but there was quite a bit of work involved, even for such an amateurish job.
You Wrote that the World doesn't Need a Savior. But Everyday I Hear People Crying for One
So, I went to see Superman Returns yesterday with a friend and an acquaintance. With the way comic-based movies have been going, I had high expectations for this film. Sadly, I found myself disappointed. Dont get me wrong, this was a solid movie, and I very much enjoyed it, but I guess I was hoping for it to be great, not just good.
I wont say too much because I dont want to ruin anything for those of you who havent seen it yet, but Id say that the Spiderman series has been better, and Batman Begins was better. But, Superman Returns is a good film nonetheless.
The Wrap-Up
Well, I tried to lighten up things here at the end, but this is a pretty heavy blog isnt it? Oh well, I really did need to get these things off of my chest.
And if any of you actually stuck it out and read through the entire thing, I greatly appreciate it and love you for it
I wish I could be more interesting for you guys.
I hope you all are having a much better time than I am. Take care everyone!
-Weston
Current Mood: Sick, sad, afraid, and self-destructive
Currently Listening to: "Don't Wait" - Dashboard Confessional
Currently Watching: Well, not quite "currently watching," but I can't get enough of: Smallville, Miami Ink, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, Made, True Life
Currently Playing: Counter-Strike: Source ([p]X | Phoenix, [p]X | Suckimus Maximus, or [p]X | Beware the Khaak), World of Warcraft (PXAnime on Kel'Thuzad, Sandtiger on Akama), Battlefield 2 (=Superman=KalEl or =PXConqueror=), Warcraft III (PX_Conqueror)
Currently Reading: 1984 by George Orwell
Sites: Art MySpace Xanga SuicideGirls
GaiaOnline Last.FM
What will become of this tattered soul?
Well, it's Very Comfortable Just to Drift Here
To be perfectly honest, it isnt at all comfortable just to drift. In fact, it is a rather frustrating and depressing process. Oh, and by the way, the title is from The Graduate for all you poor, poor souls that havent seen it. Dont try to hide, I know you are out there reading this. Go do yourself a favor and rent this one if you havent seen it.
Anyway, to get back on track here, drifting really isnt a comfortable way to live. Not when you have dreams and seek to aspire to some greater status in this sad world.
Everything I try just seems to get stalled. I know change isnt easy, whether it is going off to college or behavioral changes. Thats not what gets me down. What eats away at me are these prolonged delays caused by health. Everyday I wake up and feel like complete shit. Everyday I go to bed feeling like complete shit.
Youd think that Id get used to it by now. I mean, it has been two and a half years now. But no, here I am still unable to adjust. I know it could be much worse. People tell me this everyday. It could have been cancerous. It could have spread into my brain. Youd think I find some comfort in this and look on the brighter side of things. Believe me, I am grateful for those things, but they have come few and far between, and my attention always refocuses on the negative aspects of my situation.
I simply cannot adjust to this condition. I cannot live with this tumor. I cannot sit back and accept things for what they are.
Im tired of having to wait; of having to put everything on hold until one day in the unknown future when Im deemed healthy. And yes, everything is on hold. My timing for school has been thrown into disarray. I rarely go out because I feel like shit and am afraid of the ever present What if lurking in the back of my mind. I was never much of a social person to begin with, but my social life with those select few individuals that I did open myself up to and befriend has become obsolete. My art remains at a beginners skill level because I cant muster up the energy or focus to visualize my thoughts, feelings, etc. on paper. And every time I do, I am brought back to the pain of my situation, as being crouched over my work for a prolonged time leaves my face in pain.
It is getting to a point where even writing, a form of expression that I have come to love, is becoming too difficult to do. Im sure you are asking yourselves Why? right about now. I mean, Ive already written quite a bit. But what have I discussed? My situation, the pain I experience, and my dissatisfaction with my life. It is the same material every day. I am simply a broken record in a humans body.
When was the last time I wrote a story? When was the last time I wrote a poem? When was the last time I wrote something worth reading? Is there anyone out there that even cares? Yes, I suppose there is. I care.
Every second of my life is now consumed by thoughts of my tumor. How much pain and suffering it has caused me. How much I have sacrificed because of it. How much more I will have to endure. It is these thoughts that prevent me from moving on with my life.
I am constantly trying to find a way to distract myself. That is why I spend so much time listening to music and playing video games. I lack the energy and will to live through the sickness and venture into the outside world. These activities which once helped me through difficult times have now become my prison.
The activities, which once distracted me from my thoughts, are losing their effect on me. And so, I perform these actions more. Where I once spent maybe two hours a day playing video games, I now spend four or five or six hours per day. Where I once only listened to music when going out or working, I now listen to it at every available opportunity. Hell, I cant even go to sleep unless I am listening to music.
But none of it is working anymore. I find myself constantly drifting into thoughts about my health, and I find myself constantly wanting to dive deeper into these addictions I have developed.
Some drink their sorrows away. Some get high to deal with their problems. I play video games and listen to music to help with mine. And as such, I have become increasingly anti-social. And while these addictions are childish and nowhere near as self destructive as others, they most definitely are killing me, because I am certainly not living.
And so I find myself drifting through life. Going through motions to make myself appear normal, and yet every second I am falling deeper into the darkness.
Time Bomb
You want to know why Ive developed an addictive personality? I have no one to talk to about my problems. It is strange really. The people who understand me the most are usually people I have never met before.
I lack the ability to talk to my parents about what I am going through. Believe me, Ive tried. You know what I get in response? Get out of the house. You need to get out more. I swear, that is my moms cure for everything. Ive heard that my entire life. My mom lacks the ability to understand depression. She thinks everyone should just get up and move on. Talking to her about this situation is about as useful as talking to a wall.
Talking to my dad about the situation never works out either. Why? Well, my dad is very quiet person (Which I have apparently inherited). Anyway, Ive never developed much of a relationship with him. I mean, we get along fine, but Ive never talked to him about anything that had much depth, at least on a personal level that is. I can talk to him about sports, the world, politics, religion, but when it comes to me, it just feels awkward and unnatural, and so I avoid it altogether. And unfortunately, talking to a professional would yield much the same result.
Despite how opinionated, open, and talkative I appear on the internet, the truth is that I hate talking to people. Check that, I hate talking to strangers and people I hardly know. Why? Who knows. But in those rare cases when I am forced to (Speeches, social gatherings, etc.), my speech is rushed, I often pronounce and use words incorrectly, and I lose my short-term memory altogether.
Because of my inability to talk about my situation in intimate situations and my inability to relate to and be understood by those in my immediate surroundings, I retain and suppress all of my feelings and thoughts. And because of this, I have decided that I am nothing more than a time bomb, ticking down to an inevitable moment in which I explode.
I cannot vent my frustrations and fears, and so they just sit inside of me; boiling, rotting, and constantly building up.
The question is no longer if I will explode, as that much is certain, but rather how will it happen? Will I explode on another person? Well, given the state of my face, I would say most likely not. I think one landed punch to my left cheek would send me to the hospital. So, if I dont explode, then I must implode. This scenario seems to have a much greater chance of occurrence. A complete self-destruction. An almost beautiful display of complete hate for the world. What better way to say, fuck you to the world than to simply choose not to live in it?
And I am sad to say my friends, that the wheels are starting to slowly turn. I am headed down that path, with nothing but a dark date with destiny awaiting me.
Now, before you write me off as some attention whoring emo kid, please not that this is not some sad attempt to gain attention. What I feel is a real desire to inflict harm upon myself. Ive found myself yearning to defile my own flesh. I went through a period of cutting when I was first diagnosed (Or rather, scratchingThe sight off blood does not agree with my stomach). There is nothing I want more than to feel the grip of the handle grasped tightly in my hand and to feel the cold blade press against my skin and experience the pain it inflicts. Why? Because as I have stated before, I am institutionalized in a way. If I am not in a state of pain or ill-being, I do not feel normal. I crave the pain. It focuses me, giving me a temporary relief from the tornado of thoughts whirling around my mind.
Along with these thoughts have come the temptations to simply end it all. I wouldnt slit my wrists; it is too painful and too slow. No, I would go out quickly and make some noise while Im at it. Id make the world recognize this tortured soul. I dont seek attention, I simply want the people in my life to finally understand and accept that this is not some simple phase I am going through. As long as I suffer from this condition, these thoughts will corrupt my mind.
I believe I lack the courage (A better term escapes me at the moment) to go through with suicide. But the thoughts are always there now, and thoughts have been known to make men go mad. I may not want to really die, but as a madman, anything is conceivable.
This was Done by a Professional. Theres a Beauty to the Carnage
Another prominent source of dissatisfaction in my life are these so called professionals that I have had the misfortune of being treated by. My surgeon, while great at what he does, will not touch my allergy problem with a ten-foot pole. It isnt because he is unable to treat me, as he is a fully trained ENT doctor, it is that he just doesnt want to handle it. So, I am forced to talk to my regular doctor about my situation. This guy is great, he is thorough and takes time with his patients, and while he has some knowledge about my condition, he lacks the expertise that someone like my surgeon has, and so his available options are limited.
And so, we were sent off to the ENT department. The doctor we end up seeing wanted nothing to do with us. She wanted to send us back to my surgeon, and we had to explain that he doesnt handle allergy-related problems. Her reply? Well, Im not an allergist.
Great. So, here I am sitting in front of a specialist on the whole ears, NOSE, and throat system, and she is telling me that she cant help me in the least. While I understand that allergies may not be her cup of tea, you would think that someone with a vast knowledge of the nasal system would be able to prescribe some sort of medicine or remedy that could help lessen the complications caused by a tumor. But we stayed persistent and finally got some advice from her. You know what she told us? Move. Yes, that was her cure for my problems. Move out of southern California. Thanks, that is loads of help.
So we finally got in to see an allergist today, and finally, finally, someone is able and willing to help me. Unfortunately, there were still antihistamines (I cant believe I spelled this correctly on my first try) in my system from yesterday, so I was unable to do any skin testing, but he did have some blood drawn and sent it off to the lab to be tested. Furthermore, he briefly discussed some possibilities, such as a topical antihistamine, or having shots to build up immunity. He also prescribed me a nasal spray which is less irritating that most (So hopefully I wont have any additional nosebleeds) and gave us some information on anti-dust mite pillow cases (We already have covers on my mattress) and washing methods (Apparently hot water kills them). Im not sure how useful the nose spray will be since I have a tumor and scar tissue blocking my airway, but at least he is giving me something, and working with my condition, not avoiding it altogether.
I am my Own Disease
I realized this morning that I am, in fact, making myself sick. I have had all of this on my mind for some time now, and with my appointment this morning, my previous frustrations with doctors boiled up and I became overwhelmed. My body simply rebelled against me this morning, and I fell into a full blown asthma attack.
There is only so much mental abuse a person can take before there are physical reactions. Apparently, I hit my limit today. We were running a bit late, so there was no time for a breathing treatment, so I took a couple puffs from my inhaler and headed off. They didnt help. When you cant breath, you become extremely panicked. The whole time I was at the office I was fidgeting and trying to calm myself down long enough to just take some breaths of air.
Thankfully, after the appointment, deaths grip on my lungs loosened slightly, and I was able to subdue the attack with a few more puffs from the inhaler.
I guess what they say is true. I really am my own worst enemy.
The Art Scene
I know in my last entry I said I had a piece in the works, and I am sad to say that the project has been put on hold indefinitely. It was going to be a tribute to a band that has been contributing to the destruction of my eardrums a lot recently. Ill eventually get to the piece, but as you can see (Or rather read), right now I am just too preoccupied by life.
Ive been messing around with PhotoShop a lot lately. My latest experiment was touching up a photo. I posted this as a bulletin on MySpace, but for those of you who havent seen it yet, you can view the results here: Touch Up. If you open up both images and switch between them, youll be able to see the changes I have made, which include altering the skin, brightening the eyes, darkening and adding some colored highlights to the hair, and making the teeth whiter. The end product may not seem like a lot, but there was quite a bit of work involved, even for such an amateurish job.
You Wrote that the World doesn't Need a Savior. But Everyday I Hear People Crying for One
So, I went to see Superman Returns yesterday with a friend and an acquaintance. With the way comic-based movies have been going, I had high expectations for this film. Sadly, I found myself disappointed. Dont get me wrong, this was a solid movie, and I very much enjoyed it, but I guess I was hoping for it to be great, not just good.
I wont say too much because I dont want to ruin anything for those of you who havent seen it yet, but Id say that the Spiderman series has been better, and Batman Begins was better. But, Superman Returns is a good film nonetheless.
The Wrap-Up
Well, I tried to lighten up things here at the end, but this is a pretty heavy blog isnt it? Oh well, I really did need to get these things off of my chest.
And if any of you actually stuck it out and read through the entire thing, I greatly appreciate it and love you for it
I wish I could be more interesting for you guys.
I hope you all are having a much better time than I am. Take care everyone!
-Weston
Current Mood: Sick, sad, afraid, and self-destructive
Currently Listening to: "Don't Wait" - Dashboard Confessional
Currently Watching: Well, not quite "currently watching," but I can't get enough of: Smallville, Miami Ink, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, Made, True Life
Currently Playing: Counter-Strike: Source ([p]X | Phoenix, [p]X | Suckimus Maximus, or [p]X | Beware the Khaak), World of Warcraft (PXAnime on Kel'Thuzad, Sandtiger on Akama), Battlefield 2 (=Superman=KalEl or =PXConqueror=), Warcraft III (PX_Conqueror)
Currently Reading: 1984 by George Orwell
Sites: Art MySpace Xanga SuicideGirls
GaiaOnline Last.FM
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
Just wanted to stop by and see how things were going for ya...So, how are things? I hope all is well!
Did you have a good 4th?