I go down to Palo alto to see my family for Christmas. Aunt, uncle, cousins, mom’s new boyfriend, mom, grandma, and most importantly my brother Maxwell. I bout gifts for erryone in the family because of my tiight job at a fine dining restaurant which pays me hella skrilla and allows to pay own rent in the second most expensive city in the USA, buy all the skateboarding Equipment I need, but and all the drugs I could ingest.
Anyway, the entire day was spent pretty well. I had my family watch me skate at the skatepark which I as cool. And I had an awesome dinner with some champagne and wine which was nice.
The problems came on the drive home in which my mom’s boyfriend Anthony was driving, and I started going off on my mom about how I thought that the family is a bunch of tools and that I could never be like them. This turned into a downward spiral of self deprecation and depression which drove my mom to tears. I also said for a second time to my mom that I would not be upset if I didn’t wake up tomorrow morning. It took fells like shit to make your mom cry and I done it at least two time in the past year. Fuck.
I fucking fucking up and nothing is gonna change that. Besides myself.
I consider death a release from it all. A release from life, pain, joy, and everything else. No more stress, job, School, joy, skateboarding, family, weed, beer, and fucking good times. How can you handle it? Oh wait, you dead so you troubles are over.
Death is a release that puts pain on other people’s shoulders. I know people care about me deeply, even though it doesn’t seems real most of the time and I forget.
I forget about family, about friends, about possibilities in life to turn your misfortune around. Have a happy life while being content with who you are.
Fucking hell, just writing this has gotten me heated. Now it’s time to chug as much beer and smoke as many mole bowls as my body allows me to before I puke my guts out.
This weekend my grandma drove me up to sac-town and I found out I don’t fit in with my family. We went out to dinner tonight to this fancy Moroccan restaurant complete with belly dancer’s. Half way thru the 2nd course, my alcohol withdraw really kicked in and pretty much ruined my night. I couldn’t eat anymore e end though I knew my body needed the nourishment. Had to go outside a couple times to cool down whenever I was about to shout out at the whole restaurant: “you stupid mother fucking techies with your kaki shorts, boat shoes and polo shirted cunts who overprotect their children and only speak code in conversation can all go to hell!”
My mom and grandma knew of my internal struggle but I cold shouldered them all till I couldn’t take it anymore. On the ride home I told them and when they asked if they could help but think that I was worthless and not wort the bother. Obviously this is the wrong mentality and I know it but at the same time I think that I deserve this pain for the fucked up things that I’ve done to myself and others in life. When I got back I smoked a couple of spliffs and now am writing this.
Don’t know what to do
Edit:my grandma just told me that she knows how hard family gatherings can be and that she’s proud of me for coming. She’s the best grandmother in the world
“you shouldn’t be depressed, people have it worse than you”
finally, after years of searching, the person with the worst life ever is found. formally, they are granted permission to be sad. but only them. only they have earned it. no sads for anyone else at all ever
Say you can’t be sad when someone has it worse is like saying you can be happy because someone has it better.