“But for all I aspire, I am really a liar…

…and I’m running out of things I can do.”

Those aren’t my words, but I truly mean them.

You know when you put on music because your head’s just brimming full of shit? And you wonder if you’ll be able to just let some of that shit go if you ram your head full of noise somehow? So you put your headphones on while telling yourself that you’re justified in doing this, because it’s better than storming out of a room with your fingers in your ears whilst shouting, “LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU HAHAHAH SHUT UP WHO CARES” all in one breath. Yes. At least you wouldn’t do that, right?

Except today, the lyrics feel like they’re a bit louder. So you’re going through your device settings or whatever, to see if you selected a different equaliser, just in case. No, that isn’t it. OK, fine. You switch tracks to try and get the words – any words – out of your head, because fuck words right now.

But for all I aspire, I am really a liar.
But for all I aspire, I am really a liar.
But for all I aspire, I am really a liar.
But for all I aspire, I am really a liar.
But for all I aspire, I am really a liar.


But… for… all… I… aspire…


I am really a liar.

I know that it’s a symptom of mental illness to take things too personally, like this song is about me! personally. Not everyone is talking to me. Or about me. Thank goodness. I know this. But that thought seems not to matter when I need to remember it most. When I feel small, when I feel vulnerable, when I feel far too shitty for words, the rational thoughts are just… gone.

Of course, this gives way to the irrational stuff. Convincing myself that maybe I feel this shitty because I am shit. A shit person. Made of shit and full of shit. A shit person who does shit things for the shit of it. Who wastes their shitty time thinking about how shit everything is. What a shitlord. That’s me. I’m a shitlord. Not #1 Shitlord, though. I’m so shit that I’m #2.

And maybe I can’t pretend that music will chase away the shit that I’ve invited into my shitty life. Not today. Maybe I’m just a horrible liar who deserves to eat shit and die. All the things I’ve done are shit. Everything I do to hide my truly shitty nature just makes the whole thing shittier. Rotten. Stinking. Foul beyond belief, to anyone with a nose and half a brain.

I am a disgusting liar.

I am sick.

Twisted filth.

I must be stopped.

How do I even begin my daily routine of kidding myself? How have I been doing this for so long? And why can’t I just do it again today, like every other day? Have I finally reached my tipping point? Is this the point where I completely lose my mind because I finally see myself for who I am and can’t get away from it this time? Am I finally at critical mass, ready to pollute anything around me?

Or am I just

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in need of reminding that these awful moods are transient? Temporary. Not so brief, but also not so permanent.

When I’m happy, I am sometimes inclined to tell myself that it isn’t always going to be like this (yeah, I’m great at parties…). Yet, I can’t seem to do this when I’m sad. I guess this is why people have those Live, Love, Laugh signs in their houses, maybe? It’s why I want to write Lighten Up, Asshole on my mirror, definitely. I won’t, though.

Mental floss aside, I guess I’m just glad I don’t feel so miserable right now. I’m not at that level of neat-o, gang! excitement, but it’s nice to be able to cross the street with a sense of purpose, instead of contemplating just giving up and lying down in the middle. Almost anything’s better than that.