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Written By: Matthew C. Tabarangao
Place: In the car, at the hospital, before work
Time: 7:30 AM
Date: Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Sometimes I regret that I don’t talk to Joey and then I realize that it’s always going to be that/this way. I just happened to be the one to get angry and make everything “official”. There is something to be said about me, however, I think. I must really be a terrible person/friend to not talk to a best friend anymore. This, too, may be the reason that I find myself alone/single so often. How do you let years of anger and frustration go? How do you let go of love?
And let me not blame everything on my past, let’s say I’m on my merit, in becoming the person that I am. Well, then that just makes me a bad person. And if I am simply a bad person that why do people like me? Or do they even? Am I the hunter and they the hunted? Am I a user? Am I two faced and evil for my own means of manipulation? And if I am this great manipulator why haven’t I been found out and set aside. Or maybe that’s just it. I am found out, then I move again to “fertile” ground where I can prey amongst the lesser animals? Am I the true snake in the grass? Or better the vampire in the dark? Waiting and watching for someone to take the life out of until they have nothing left to give me? Am I?
And to think, that if you’re reading this, you’re my friend (theoretically), which could mean I’ve used /am using you and it’s only a matter of time until you too are used up/fed up with me. Do you feel used, maybe on the verge of being used up? Who knows?
I guess this is beware…
Written by: Matthew C. Tabarangao
Place: At home, in the guest bedroom
Time: 10:09 PM
Date: Wednesday, July 19, 2006
I wanted it to be over as soon as it started.
I feel like I’m swimming upstream with one hell of current pushing me the wrong way, like I am slowly slipping backwards, like my goal is too far way and the world is too strongly keeping me in my place. I feel like I am running a race that I know I can’t win. How do you deal with that? I’ve been asking a lot of questions to things to which I would usually have the answer, or at least pretended I did. I mean SOMETIMES I did actually have an answer, other times I think I just put 5 and 6 together to make 11 hoping that there was not another variable somewhere in there that I was not anticipating; this is never the case mind you.
I feel plagued with more than I even I care to handle. I bare it, but like an elder to osteoporosis w/o medication, I am slowly but surely losing. Everyday sanity slips further and further out of reach and I find myself wishing for something that is not there. Even in complete and utter frustration I knew I had a rock and I knew that alone, no matter how hard I tried, I could not do it. Everyday I look around and hope that I find a new one, and everyday I look around to see nothing. I like to think about things, and how they could have not been this way if only I had made different, and maybe not so life altering changes. However, those do not matter. Things are what they are, and I must put behind and make change, because that is all I know how to do. I’m not sure I ever learned to cope.
I am sick. Sick with dread, with sadness, with depression, with disappointment in myself, with mundane tasks to pass my time, with life, with everything that used to make me happy. What is one to do when nothing seems to make him happy. I’m starting to realize just how much I’m pushing my “social” self. I’m stretching my self rather thin at work and it has not gone unnoticed. I’m reaching for something that I no longer have, that I thought I would no longer need, that I no longer want.
When I die sometimes I think I don’t want to be remembered. Someone is likely to remember my voice or my smile, my random out bursts, my cruel and yet funny jokes, or my insane love for shopping even when I had no money. But, will anyone remember me because I was great, because I was better than the next best guy? Will anyone remember me for me, and not my actions, will I have, maybe, left wise words on someone and changed a life? If I am only remembered for the material things that I could do and did do, I’m not sure I want to be remembered. If I cannot live on, I think I would prefer death in the solace of itself and not people searching for something to say to comfort my family members. When I die, I think I’ll be crying because of all the things that I have not done and all of the things that I never had the bravery to admit. I think that, when I die, things will be different, for everyone who knew me. A weight will be lifted. I’ve come to the conclusion that if I were to die I wouldn’t be able to write, and there for would not be able to worry, and I most likely would not be able to project my “life”, if you will, for lack of a better word, on to others which could, in the end be a happy thing for a few people; this makes me smile.
Of all the things….that I could have said, I have only said a few of them…more to come…at some point, probably soon.
And I should mention, if you are reading and are tired of reading about me bitch, then don’t ready hunny, it’s that simple.
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