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May 25, 2013

I would like to be less angry now and a little more calm and collected.

Almost a month since I last wrote.

I’ve had a strange, lingering depression. I feel like an apple crushed for juice but there’s not a lot in me. There hasn’t been for a whole month. I started smoking cigarettes again. Stress level is way up there. Not feeling so hot.

I don’t know what is worse–knowing you have no more refills on a medication you desperately need and having to go see a prescription-pushing, plastic-faced doctor you owe money to because you missed the last appointment because the office never called to confirm and they charged you $35, or buying the other medication you really need and it being full of seeds, stems, and leaves, with barely any bud in there at all, and you feel like you’re smoking dirt.

I’m also tired of those “it gets better!” messages. Oh just fuck off will you. Damn it, by now I’m ready for the shitty days.

Memorial Day weekend is a horrible time. I don’t like remembering dead people who suited up and went and did important things in the name of ‘Murrica. I don’t much care, quite honestly. They joined up to die and they died. The end. We remember them to honor their “sacrifice”, to appreciate what they did for all the freedom in the world you guys, to feel guilty, to get an extra holiday, to sell some red white blue shit to old grandmas.

I’ve gotten a lot of hell before for saying shit like this. Usually it comes from people who are buying the red white blue shit. Or from people who joined up to die but haven’t died yet. Or from people who knew / loved those that joined up to die and died. Or think that freedom is the best thing in the world you guys, who don’t even realize the ugly truth:

Freedom is an illusion. We are all in prison.

They joined up to die, died, and were set free. But you and I? We’re still stuck in hell.