All for......

Why let a template express how I feel at the moment, when I can state myself I feel horrid. When I first started this blog the design was to assess various harpings in the world and lend my somewhat warped perspective upon them. The harsh realities of life have shattered my writing plan along with my stoicism. Life alerting events, along with undesirable family traits have made me one never to really express my problems to others. Maybe I’m just saving my assortment of troubles for someone that requires a $200 hr payment, as some sort of solidification of there aptitude. More valid reasoning maintains a faithless view in the effectiveness of dispersing my problems among those close to me. To avoid crossing the thin border and leaving the lovely land of sanity, I choose to not talk to imamate objects, but write on them, such as this paper. Due in part to one of it’s symptoms (excessive thinking) , I’ve discovered my affliction of “Economic Depression”. In comparison with other forms of depressive malady, the economic type is by far most egregious. A persons truth worth is never derived from his wealth, but their self worth can be destroyed by lack of it. Poverty is currently desecrating my personal image. The funny thing about economic depression is it rarely strikes fatal blows, just multiple excruciating lacerations from events trivial, to those with importance. In one of her moments of clairvoyance while entrenched in a drug induced haze, my mother during my youth imparted upon me that….everything cost money…everything tangible or not, and damn….she was right. The cost of travel: This one has be killen my soul lately. My granddad, quite possibly the only male family figure I’ve ever loved, has gone though multiple surgeries lately, and I’m unable to support him or console his wife whom I possibly care more about than any being ever to grace this planet. Knowing that you are missing the finial valuable days of something unexplainably precious ruins a person. The acknowledgement that the only other person that truly understands your upbringing and, values you more than life itself never rarely see your face due to your personal faults also demeans character. After being appointed someone’s best friend years ago, and most likely best man candidate, the failure to find some way attend the engagement party sickens the writer who feels he has shanked responsibility some how. The cost of irony: I find it extremely odd and unsettling that when I’m fiscally secure the opposite sex often finds me mundane and average. When poverty hatchets away at my being though, somehow I transform into a ultra intriginging being, most desirable amongst the female species. The cruel irony is instead of enjoying the finer “things” in life I’m forced to implement stall tactics and diversions,. How do you tell some who is lusting for you at the moment that you can’t make it because of ya “gas situation” or you really would like to call em…but somehow your relationship with sprint went bad and you owe them a luxury car note size payment? The cost of reflection: The worst aspect of “economic depression" is trying to figure out how you arrived at such a fate. Only so much of ones day can be occupied begging various companies with a name and social security number or dispersing resumes like a junk mail plague. Eventually you come to a point where you try to figure out exactly how it is you came to be broke disgruntled member of the polity. No matter what path is chosen to find a explanation to the present decrepit plight, they all lead to personal blame bordering on hatred. Its never good to wallow in anything, but shame causes the utmost suffering when being drowned within it’s grasp. Maybe it was the various Kareem Abdul Jabar economic choices I’ve undertaken. It could be my fear of success that has kept me from attaining the position of prominence I’m told I should have already attained by this time. The apathetic nature undertaken at most of the non career jobs held by my person may have crushed my stability (I stand by my actions on misguided principle though). Ultimately the fate of being one of society’s peasants falls on me. The burden of accepting personal responsibility often creates a reclusive hypercritical Damien. I don’t care if one of my brethren is in a state of 3rd world IMF World bank type debt, I got them. When the tables or reversed tho, I feel like the failure and wonder why anybody would soil themselves with my company. It perplexing to me how my anger goes from 0 – 60 when repeatedly asked why I refuse to go to the club/bar. Somehow my friends and families skulls have be designed with a density that the military would….yes, kill for to apply to their armor. Maybe they can’t fathom that though entrenched in a downward spiral, I have yet to reach the point where I value a drink above anything else, and that a hangover is not the best way to avoid reality. Maybe I would like to be able to honestly to raise my hands and make noise if I have $5 Dollars in my pocket when the DJ directs me to after I’ve visited the bartender a few times. The last couple months have mad me believe that it is better to give than to receive, more than anything ever uttered by woman/man. Ultimately solace is found within the fact that my plight no matter how discouraging will be cured, hopefully via legal measurers. There is no other way to exist……………….