Oreos

I figure I get the normal sized oreos versus the mini ones. Grabbing for it I realized there were only double stuff oreos and reduced fat oreos to chose from. My philosophy: if I can eat more for the same amount of calories as the normal stuff, well grab the reduced fat. So I did. They taste the same. There's just less of that white stuff in the middle. And anyway, I only like the cookie part. So why the oreos in the first place? Well I figure food and depression go hand in hand.. no, food and anger.. no, food and disappointment.. no, food and jealousy? UGH. I can't even make up my mind about a damn stupid trivial definition. I know, it's a combination of all that bullsht. Oh, and you can't imagine just how hard I'm hitting these keys to type right now. Moving on. So this is what I found on a website. I quote. "Indeed, comfort foods -- which are almost always high in bad fats, sugar, salt or a combination of the three -- provide instant gratification and pleasant feelings (albeit often short-lived ones) 100 percent of the time you eat them." Okay let me translate. Indeed, men -- which are almost always successful in making you jealous, irritable, pissed the f off or a combination of the three -- provide instant gratification and pleasant feelings (albeit, always short-lived ones) 100 percent of the time they use you and you don't know it. Well, sometimes you know, you just let it happen anyway.So why hold on? Because you're a little lonely? You're a little desperate? You want to hold on and never let go? That's bullshit. And you just let your mind plays games with you thinking it's the other way around sometimes, that you're the one using, that you're the one playing the games. But it just isn't that way. And all this because a damn bag of oreos were purchased today. Eff.

Composure

It's scary when you let yourself go. When you find things you thought you lost and then they have a power to bring back painful memories. But the memories, no matter how harsh, allow you to see how far you've come along-- how much you've actually recovered. How much you've grown, and how much you've moved on. When I saw all of them... I think I wanted it to hurt me, to hurt me in the present like it hurt me in the past. It would have been evidence that I still felt the same way. That I still had a crying passion, even if it was hate or sadness or disappointment, a sense of feeling regardless. But nothing. Tears rolled down because I couldn't feel what I wanted to. In the moment I realized it just doesn't matter anymore. Not even less than it use to, but at all. This was the end. This was it. Now I have nothing in the present to write about. Nothing is here to write about.

Lazarus

"It's hard to see you again, now that you're back from the dead." I have to say.. the joy... the rapture... the ecstasy that I got elsewhere is not here. This is pointless and yet I go on waiting? And for what? Nothing's coming, I know that for a fact-- see, now that's reality, that's the bitter effing truth. And sometimes I have to say I'm glad. Because the people that use to be around me are awful people inside. A little part of me decays each time someone leaves. I'd rather have it decay then spread however-- their nothing pure, nothing short of deceiving, rotting, sons of bitches. And the most painful of one, is the one I'm most glad about for leaving. Everything will be better, later if not sooner--- but later, later will come. Some people are awful inside, torturous, manipulative, cheating, deceiving, lying... something I need nothing more of. I'm a handful to myself already, and I'm fine, treading alone because this is what I'm getting use to. And all that other stuff? The fakeness, the temporary moments, it's not real. They're not solid, just waiting to disappear. As far as I can tell, they already have. You already have. Nothing. Nothing to me.