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January 7, 2017

Personal reflection delivers common truths to one’s consciousness, and sometimes it places a well-timed piece of humility:

The dedication to another is something that I found hard to do. These people that I’ve so well entrusted with my emotions have, for lack of a better word, left. These people that I expected to run the gamut with for the entirety of my life jumped ship for one reason or another. So, I’ve found peace with the world. Nothing is off limits and nothing is a secret. OK, I have not found peace, but I find a bit of peace in limited opportunities. I could state great generalizations about men. Men have two deep-rooted emotions within them: rage and a deep inner sadness in them; but I wouldn’t know that. I just know about my rage and deep inner sadness. The reality is that when somebody is reading a piece that I’ve written or listened to what I have to say I find myself away from the sadness and the rage. I’m realizing now that I look for the things to make me feel these feelings, because within I do not know where they come from. I do not know why they linger in my mind and why they torment me like they do. I consume talk radio, to fill my mind with the thoughts and laughter of others to cover my vicious cycle of self-degradation. My pompous nature is to push away anyone from getting too close before they see me for what I truly am. Last year, I had 4 people that I would call a friend, which I’ve conversed with about 4 times a year. These are the same friends I had the previous year and the year prior. I had to rely on my own malfeasance, which meant I drank to not feel. Waves come crashing on my soul with the inner-turmoil that brings forth my petty self-destructive nature. This year, and the latter fourth of last, had been a great help in my psyche with the addition of new friendships. I found ways of ignoring the underlining sadness that overwhelms from time to time. Then the insecurities come in to fulfill their demonic obsession I have with torturing myself. Inner demons that project the will of a self-destructive nature that reminds me of certain, unsaid or untold, truths. Truths that have yet to come to fruition, but to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I am human, I have the same needs as anyone else, and I am the problem. As melodramatic as that sounds. This feeling within me, this feeling of an ever-deserving sadness and rage entices the emotions of delusions that I find myself to be experiencing.

I realize that there are things I could do to help remedy, but who would I be without it?

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