Crazy thing, ain't it?
It's like a complete blur to anyone. One calls it being EMO, the other says that you'll feel down and look at life as if you'd rather place a .45 against the side of your head.
I tought myself how not to think myself into a depression, considering how I live and all. My life's practically scheduled, and the only thing that keeps me from shooting myself is that special someone. Who's, unlike me, making a career. Maybe I'm going too far by saying "shooting myself", but it is how it is.
People told me that life's a bumpy ride. I then tell them that my life's a stellar ride over the Route 66 of the fiery pits of hell.
Y'know, the people that know me don't consider me different. Tough I've got a checklist of diseases(as the government likes to call 'em), that makes James May's Pre-flight Checklist look like a Two-step program. But what I mean with not being considered different is that I'm this basement-type-o'-guy who only goes out with a solid reason.
I'm always this cheery loudmouth jackass who's got passion for nicknaming people and smile at anything. Which, being in New York City - Should be a reason to send me off to live with the Dream Team.
Hell, being the cheery dude most of the time puts a camo over what I really am. And what the hell am I? An overachiever that failed pretty much everything so far, and who stepped into adulthood way too early, who's got a ****load of issues with himself and is only proud of how he looks. And what can I be proud of? An tall hairy rocker who's stuck in '88.
I ain't exactly positive over life either.
For three years, since I turned seventeen, I've been dealing with depression. And while dealing with Autism alongside, I only could talk to myself when things got too heavy. I could just manage to keep it hidden, until I met the one I love. I feel like I'm gonna saddle her up with more ****, than the average eighteen year old college-goer can manage to hold, if I break.
To her, I'm the listener. Nicknamed "Ass-kisser". She's got her issues, and I'm the person who understands, and then sucks up to make her feel better. Her having been heavily depressed when she was a teenager, I keep on trying to hold the hell on.
What made me depressed in the end? Thinking about life. Knowing that it's going nowhere, with a half-assed career at Leech Incorporated, and another craptastic career at UPS. Father 3000 miles away, mother my sworn enemy. Being a lone soldier, pretty much since I was barely an adult. Living paycheck on paycheck. Being a bright sunny dude, while being a rotten corpse from within.
What kept me going? The writing that I do. There's your reason of why I write so passionate. I express more feelings within my projects, blogs and such than Bold and the Beautifull did in 30 years.
What's the final edge? Losing the last star I've got in my life. And quite frankly, I am doing too well to keep her by my side. And it's not like I'm contributing anything to the relationship we've got.
Meh, not a single damn soul gives a ratsass. Maybe one or two, but they're on the exit line nevertheless. Here's your happy sunshine BraindeadRacr, AKA NJ. Are you speechless, Mr. 104 New Views? No suprise. Can't blame ya'.