When was the last time that I wrote anything personal about myself? It has been sometime I would have to say. For the last few months at least I have stuck to writing mainly silly little blog post, Monkee stuff, or various subjects. Well t the urging of friends I have sat down to try and write “what I’m feeling”. The problem is I don’t know what that is. My precious ego seems so battered and bruised; the depths of depressing emotions seem so low each day that I can’t articulate them. With each passing hour I fall further into a landfill of hopelessness and despair. I, who profess to have an endless ego, have reached the end of endless. I am a broken man. I feel like the Rock creature from “A Never Ending Story”.
“They look like big strong hands…” I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to go on. At least not like this, this cannot be how my adventure ends. Alone, depressed, feeling trapped and helpless. My pride destroyed, my dreams shattered, my goals lost, and stuck cowering in an apartment in Oakland. I have to believe that I can make it out of this. This was supposed to be different, I keep saying, but it’s the same. Only this time I am not the one who couldn’t refrain from going around and sleeping with other people. I am the one left crying himself to sleep.
It would figure that California took my powers away. The “Left Coast” as it were, must have somehow revered my abilities to be myself. I had forgotten them during my time in solitude (in the Mid-West). I had also somehow convinced myself that I could be a family man, but I cannot. It’s simply not in the cards. The choices of what I can be however are becoming increasingly less. As far as a career as a chef, I will never see it if I don’t get hired somewhere soon. As far as being an artist or writer, well let’s just say that maybe posthumous at best. The enemy of me this time however is the same enemy I have faced every phase of my life-ME! My own attitude and actions is the cause of my own misery. My lack of faith in myself is what is keeping me there. Beaten and broke down by events, that is at the crux, my own damn fault. I attempt to dig myself out but I keep getting more dirt heaped in my face. The world is crumbling around me, and planes are dropping from the sky every day. It seems the shift into 2012 maybe more than speculation. The real question is; how long before I arise out of the ashes and what will I become then?
With each obstacle in my life I have found the exit, but it is never been pretty. I had to go to prison to get out of Winston-Salem. I had to walk away from people whom I loved, to get out of Atlanta. I was forced out of New York, and to escape St. Louis, I had to move across country. But, of course, these are over-simplifications. The grave reality of my life has been that I have made a lot of tough choices, which have sometimes turned out great, and more often than not they have turned out painful. The truth of it is, is that I need more than anything to have a brain in my head. Yet, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards either. My mind is bouncing off the walls now. I feel so trapped in this apartment. I want to go somewhere, but I have nowhere to go. I have nothing to do, and no money to do it with. I would love to just pick up and go-but to where-to what? There is always, turning around and going back where I came from, but to me that has always felt like admitting defeat. I guess I still have a little pride left…