Dead

It’s days like today, I wish I was dead.  Gone.  Rendered to the earth and forgotten.  With everything I’m going through, I feel so sad, so lonely, overwhelmed, and exhausted.  Why does life have to be so goddamn hard?!?!?!?!?!  You would think that a 39 year old man would have it all figured out, but I don’t.  I need someone to sit in the mud with me, but alas, I sit alone.

Abduction

Terrible night at work. So, here I am, I’m my garage, getting drunk to try and wash the anxiety away with beer. Then I have to get up and take a piss. I step out the back door, and while I pull my cock and balls out of my banana hammock, I wonder if aliens came down an abducted me, would anyone miss me?

Gone

As she watched him leave

Having given up on his dream

She never could have imagined

It would be the last time

She saw him

Freedom

What does freedom mean to you?

What does freedom mean to me? I don’t know. I’ve never experienced it. In fact, no one living today has. Freedom is an illusion.

Lonely

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I say that like anyone really cares. I used to believe that the worst part of being lonely was being alone in a room by yourself. But now I see that the worst part of being lonely is being in a room full of people and still looking at them as if they were ghosts.

-Graveyard Night

Keep Your Head Up…Yeah, Okay

Keep your head up, they say. Better days are coming, they say. It sure as the hell doesn’t feel like it. Feels like every day is the same as the last with not the slightest variation. My family doesn’t show they care until it’s apparent as to how fucked in the head I really am. How can a woman go from having sex with you, telling you she loves you, to acting as though nothing ever happened? My wife spent 17 years walking all over my heart; what difference does another woman make? Life is cruel and unkind; unforgiving. I just want to disappear and never be found.

Snapchat: waylonconover

Can’t wait until I’m Dead

Years ago, when I operated the blog Graveyard Night, I had amassed quite the following. It was a cultivated blend of my real-life rants, sex stories, and conversations with the caretaker. I particularly enjoyed the caretaker. He was a personable fellow with an aching back and gnarled fingers; a little creepy, but all in all, a good guy.

In case you never read it, the caretaker was the keeper of the grounds where my memories are laid to rest. But does anything really rest?

Readers especially enjoyed my sex stories. Who would have ever thought that people would enjoy reading stories about people fucking? I wish I would have kept up on it; I wish I hadn’t deleted it. Who knows what could have been?

I wonder what the caretaker is doing? Is he still alive? Or, like me, is he waiting for death to take the last breath of air from his lungs?

It’s disheartening to see a 38 year old talk like that, isn’t it? Then again, for all I know, you may be one of many who doesn’t give a shit. I can’t expect you to. It’s my life, and I don’t even give rat’s ass.

Back when I had that blog, I was a low-budget security guard. A rent-a-cop, but without the cop. I had plenty of time to write back then. Not as much these days, I’m afraid. Such is life, I guess.

Through hard work and literary license, I built up a blog, and with the touch of a button, I nuked it. Fuck.

I don’t know if this post has a point. It’s two in the morning where I live, my wife is asleep on the couch, and Scooby-Doo is on the television. Some Christian radio stations are playing on the Amazon thing in my boys’ room. I don’t listen to Christian music anymore. Uplifting and encouraging. Yeah, sure.

I don’t know. I’m losing my train of thought, and it’s not like talking about my problems is going to solve anything.

Fuck it.

The Price

What’s the price for being exhausted? How can I make those around me understand that I’m burnt out? After spending 17 years with the same woman, 13 of them being married, and being treated like shit for the majority, I have nothing left to give.

And I’m the one that feels like shit for it.

Because I’m human and because I’m tired, because I’m worn down, I feel like shit. I’m on the edge, and it feels as though there’s nothing I can do about it.

But according to my mom and my wife, I need to be medicated. Yeah, let’s put a gauze pad on a gushing wound.

(Bleep) New Year

I’m not one of these people who waxes useless words to characterize the first day of a new year. I don’t see hopes and dreams coming true; I don’t see new possibilities. I see a new year, the same as the last. I’m sure to those of you who are reading this blog post, that seems a bit morose, but I call them like I see them.

Never on a New Year’s Eve have I brought in the new year in a bar or at a party or fucked some random stranger. I’m sure to some of you, those crowning achievements seem a tad bit mundane, but for a guy like me? I might as well win the lottery.

Just as I didn’t go out of my way to listen to a single Christmas song last year or wish someone Merry Christmas, I’m not wishing anyone a Happy New Year. I don’t have it in me because I don’t believe it for myself.

Fuck it.

I’ll hear of vacations that others are planning to take, and I’ll be exceedingly jealous. Oh, wait. My family does have a vacation planned. We’re going down to Tennessee to see some preacher. Nothing says a fun vacation like being delivered from demons!

My mom says that I need deliverance; says I’m, in a way, possessed. I don’t feel possessed. I feel reality. I feel sad, lethargic, bored, unmotivated. They tell me I should go back to school to get my RN degree. I’m 38 years old! What the fuck is college gonna do for me?

Being married to a woman who has successfully anchored not only herself but me as well to the home and being the father of three autistic kids, I don’t see any great improvements coming. But that’s my life in a nutshell; wanting more out of life and unable to attain it. I’m miserable and living in despair.

But who gives a fuck, right?

I’m wrong for feeling the way I do. As my mom constantly loves to remind me-life could be so much worse. That’s not exactly the greatest thing to say to someone who’s standing on the precipice of self-destruction. In other words, my feelings are invalid.

No hopes. No dreams. No new year’s resolutions.

Faith in Crisis

I find myself questioning my faith a great deal. I have too many questions to fill this post. Maybe I’ll write more about it one day. But if God is a Just God, then why does evil occur in the world? It’s an age old question. And the cliche answer is free will. Sadly, the free will of some affects the lives of others. Why don’t we answer this question with a genuine response:

This world be a fucked up place.

A friend of mine is a victim of domestic violence on a daily basis. She’s also a drug addict. And I love her anyway. But I can’t be with her. She’s been abused and has never been given a chance.

How can God allow this knowing it’s happening on a regular basis? The guy is a waste of oxygen, as all abusers are. But if you kill them, you’re the one going to prison. Even though the world ain’t gonna miss that abuser one fucking bit, someone has to pay the price.

I pray for my friend constantly. And I worry about her even more.