Drunk in the Summertime

I don’t really know why I’m writing… but I almost seem to think that’s a good thing. I have no agenda in my way. It’s just me, thinking on paper… or screen rather. Nothing in my life has changed, at least not drastically, but I feel still feel terrible. I ask myself why, as if I don’t know. That’s my problem. I’ve been lying too much. Not so much to other people, as much as I’ve been lying to myself. I sit here day after day and wonder why I feel like shit and can’t have what I want… as if I don’t know. I put myself here. But being the responsible for your own misfortune is hard to deal with. I ask why every night. It never changes. Why do I have to feel like this? What did I do?

I know what I did. I made the worst decision I have ever made. I made the wrong choice. I could have been so happy. I could have had it all. Everything I want so badly now, it would be in my life. If only I had made the right choice. I think I always felt I was making the wrong choice. I knew I was. Why I made it I may never know, but that doesn’t really matter. Or maybe it does, maybe that matters more than anything. I never look at things the right way. I always miss something and that something always finds its way to the forefront of my life. That one thing I missed always becomes the most important thing. It becomes that thing that no matter what I do, it always takes over my mind.

Who knows? Who knows anything anymore? Who’s got all these fucking answers? Who just goes through their life making every right move and suffer no consequences for any of their actions? I’d like to punch that fucker in the goddamn mouth. Who is ever really happy? Is anyone? I suppose we are, I know I have been, but it never lasts. It never lasts nearly as long as feeling like this does. Maybe it’s just in how you perceive things?

I hate all the questions in my head. I hate how I chose to make a playlist of songs that fit the mood I found myself in. I hate how the only relief I get is listening to that music that I knew would make me feel like this and now I’m just writing down my thoughts as I listen to these songs that I picked because they make me think of that thing that I’ve been thinking about it first found its way in to my mind and decided to make its home there and remind me every day that I fucked up, that I out myself here and that I should sit in the corner and think about what I’ve done. I hate how I don’t want her any less now that I’m writing this now. I hate how I hope she reads this. I hate how I feel the need to let her know that because of my own choices I’m unhappy. I hate how I’m starting to realize that what I want and what’s going to happen are most likely two very different things. I hate a lot of stuff, but the truth is that I can only real be mad at one thing… and that’s me because no matter what I do, what I think, what color I paint it or how ever I try to cover it up, I put myself here and I make the choice everyday to dig myself deeper because I’ve convinced myself that if I make the bad parts more painful, it will make the good parts so much sweeter. I may never know why I think that, but thinking that way at least lets me believe I might have an answer someday. It’s a fucking cycle, and I cannot seem to find a way out.


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