Now who am I?

Versification

And now 8 years have passed since I became motherless.

I'd say my progress is slow, but progress--is still progress.

Love you forever Mother, dear.

28

Viewing The Rum Diary (with an old friend Johnny Depp depicting the work of Hunter S. Thompson) was a good time to be had.... alone, and by alone I mean with an elderly couple and two additional elderly men on a chilly, quiet, and rainy Friday afternoon.  I'm not exactly sure what that type of equation equates to in the quantum of generational gaps, taps, and slaps.  Mostly I just conclude that no one knows or even notices real writers at work anymore.  And so it goes.  

 And for a multi media message for no reason or purpose:

Mending the Melancholy?

What have I got to hide from here anymore.  Perhaps nothing, in essence everything. 

This is log one, from psychology session 1.3.  

(I've detracted psychiatric sessions 1, 2 because after 30 minutes I was already being prescribed brain corrective antidotes.  No, thanks.)  

It turns out I have multiple, constraining, sometimes debilitating mental issues keeping me from being a "functioning" part of society.  I knew that already, it's blatantly obvious if you take one look at me, or get the rare chance to say two words to me.  It was for the benefit of the unexpected reader.  Do I really even want to be a part of a rotting society?  Not really.

I've slipped through the cracks of my own self worth and it's going to take extremely painful and uncomfortable measures to get myself anywhere in the same vicinity of the tracks, let alone on one of them.  After all this time I didn't want to believe I had to pay someone to talk to me.  Seems irrational, useless, a waste of time.  Yet, all I do is waste time and resources, how is this any different?  Years of suffering has lead me to becoming a living rock bottom analogy. Asking for help apparently takes me 7.9 years, roughly estimated, seeing as substance abuse is allegedly not actual life assistance.  

Whether it seems pointless to you in the end or not; if what you aren't doing is killing your very being, take a chance at it.  This perception, although true, makes the, "you'll never know until you try" line rise annoyingly to the surface. 

At least I was able to reach out for once, somewhat, since I don't think anyone will ever hear the whole story.  I can barely stand having the memories, let alone speak of them.  

For my week's task, I am to write where I would see myself in 5-10 years.... IF there were zero limitations restraining me from obtaining said dream world.  And boy will it ever be a figment of my imagination.  Yet, I really just see this as a note defining my failures: making my definition of success an impossible feat.  We'll see.

Any of you have a no-holds bar fantasy life to speak of?