Because I don't feel like getting people hooked on my various series yet...



Control.

We all strive for it. We all take every effort to attain and hold it. What does it really mean though?

Do you control your life, or does your life control you? I think I read that in some shitty ad campaign. Let’s face it, we all like to pretend the circumstances of our life are a reasonable means of diverting responsibility. “I fucked him because I was lonely.” “I killed them for God.” “I failed because the teacher hates me.” “I cut because life’s not fair.”

It’s all bullshit you know. Every single iota of it.

The truth is, we do what we want to do because at the time, we want to do it. Maybe later it becomes harder to explain why we wanted it in the first place, but that doesn’t change the fact that we did want it. We all search for control and we all panic when we find out we don’t have it, but let’s face it, no one really wants absolute control. Absolute control means absolute responsibility and we just aren’t cracked up to have that.

In short, we deny ourselves control to avoid responsibility.

Hey, don’t feel bad about it. Christ, I do it all the time. You have no idea how many times I’ve blamed extenuating circumstances for my own personal bullshit. At the end of the day, no one controls what I do and don’t do. Nobody makes my decisions for me. It’s all on me. Every last bit of it.

Remember, just because I can’t cope, doesn’t mean it’s your fault.

So lie back. Enjoy a cold one on me. Drink up and abandon every last bit of responsibility you carry, if only for a while. Feel free. Truly free to do whatever you want. Go punch out the guy who’s been looking at you cross-eyed, or get smashed and fuck a thirteen year old girl in the back of a musty Cadillac. Forget that you’ll have to deal with these things when the hangover wears off and the dull embrace of everyday life takes you once again. Forget about the lover who’ll either be mourning or betrayed. Forget everything. Lose reality.

Trust me, you’ll be happier for it in the end.




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It’s indescribable. The feeling of escape. The feeling of giving in. Like everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ve ever feared, all bound together within the confines of a blade and broken skin. You bring everything to the forefront. Every fear. Every bit of unrequited hope. Every last problem in the whole universe and for a while at least, it feels like you can just cut them away. Cut. There goes the loneliness. Cut. There’s my academic failings. Cut. Bye parental disappointment. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.

Needless to say, it gets out of hand pretty quick.

Some people think to themselves, “Man, I shouldn’t bitch. My problems aren’t anywhere near as bad as some people’s.” That’s simply not true. Your problems are always worse, because they’re yours. No one in the world has to deal with them except you. Sure, there may be friends and family who deal with the backlash, but at the end of the day the problems are still on your head. Who can blame you if it gets a little overwhelming sometimes?

So you cut it away. Or drink it away. Or smoke it away. Or fuck it away. Whatever. The point is, at the end of the day, millions of people are doing everything they can to forget just how much they hate their lives. It’s only natural after all. God knows the hardest part of life is just living. Especially under the age of twenty. I mean, after that mark you can more or less coast in general apathy if you’re unhappy with your life. As a teen, everything feels so drastic. If you’re upset with the way your life is going, you decide to try and kill yourself since it’s just not worth it in the long run. I know. I’ve been there. Six times. Wasn’t fun. Then again, it really shouldn’t be.

So you do what you can to cope. Cut here. Drink there. Cut. Drink. Cut. Drink. Cut. Cut. Cut...it gets old real fast. Trust me.