I'm Warning You...

I'm warning you in advance, before you start reading, that this is probably going to be the most rambling flood of dis-organized, emo-licious, swear filled, angry and depressed post I've had in a while. It's my way of crying out for help. Yes, I'll admit that, I'm posting on this blog because I need validation, and I don't know where else to get it.

So if you're wise, you'll just ignore this post.

Here comes the flood.

FUCK THIS BULLSHIT RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

I'm sick. I'm sick in the head, and I'm not just talking about my head cold. I've been lounging around my house all weekend, and I thank God that today is presidents day, otherwise I'd have venture to work SICK the the fucking rain, which isn't supposed to happen, I live in LOS ANGELES for crying out loud.

I'm sick because I continue to torment myself on a daily basis. Yesterday I was already sick, and I was sleeping on my bed, and the phone rang, and I was so happy that someone would call, hoping maybe it was my older sister, who I love very dearly. But no, it was my God-Damn-Home-Teachers™. The good, Mormon me would have been excited to get a blessing, but I don't see the point. God already knows I'm sick, I've already asked him to help me heal, so why do I have to let two people who only care about me because they've been assigned to care touch my head and pour vegetable oil on the back of my head??? It's ridiculous... because I either believe the church, or I don't. And judging from the fact the I've not been to a mormon church since Sept. 2008, almost half a year ago, I'd say I'm pretty fully apostate.

Sometimes, destructive, abusive familiarity feels safer and more comfortable than the frightening cold unknown.

And I'm definitely in that territory now.

I basically told my hometeachers flat out that I only let them teach me because I know that they need to mark me off as "visited" in their report, and I'd hate to be responsible for keeping them from getting 100 percent of their work done.

It was a very uncomfortable meeting. I felt like flying off the handle at them the whole time spewing hateful venom at them, renouncing my faith and telling them to get the fuck off my couch, get the fuck out of my apartment, and never come back. But you can't get angry and two men who really believe that they love you, and speak softly and blah blah blah... what the hell are you supposed to do? It's just like in that episode of South Park "All About Mormons". Stan says:

Oh, stop it! That's another thing! Why do you have to be so freakin' nice all the time?! It isn't normal! You just weasel people into your way of thinking by acting like the happiest family in the world and being so nice to everyone that you just blindside dumb people like my Dad!

I laughed when I watched it. Now I cringe because I feel like it's true. I wanted to just flat out say, "I'm gay, I'm actively seeking a boyfriend, and I don't fit in your church anymore, so if you still want to visit me, then fine, but until I can be who I am within the walls of the church, then you can stop wasting both yours and my valuable time on this bullshit"

But of course, I didn't. I just said, simply, quietly: "I don't know what to tell you". I didn't engage. They got the hint, and they left, though not before one of them (the one I like less) tried one last time to passionately share that he does care about me.

Not the real me, not about my happiness, but for the me that I'm obviously "losing" the good Mormon me.

As if that even ever existed.

I turned down their offer for a blessing. No real point in getting on if I don't have the faith anymore. And when they left, I lay on my couch in a sickness induced stupor, and I started crying. I miss that fucking church so much sometimes. I miss that warm feeling of KNOWLEDGE. Of knowing, with absolute certainty the answers to all life's little problems and questions. I miss the hymns on sunday and my mormon friends that I grew up with, who are all getting married and starting their perfect mormon lives.

And here I am, sick, alone and crying. No one to make me soup. No one who will sit with me and watch a movie, snuggling up, not worried about getting sick from my contact.

I lay on the bed, and for the second time in a year started visualizing the bulk-sized bottle of Advil-Liquigels in the medicine cabinet, and how I could just walk over to that bottle, pour those fucking pills into my massive fucking gut and let that medicine, that pain relief action pump through every artery, vessel, and ventricle until all the pain of life was gone--until life was gone.

I'd probably get away with it too. My roommate if very respectful, and he wouldn't check up on me if my door was closed for probably a day or so. I'd be in the clear. I'm doomed to go to hell anyway, so why not cut through all the bullshit and just go now? What's a few more years of living worth when you have an eternity in hell to look forward to. It's not really worth bothering.

EMO-LICIOUS enough yet? Good, glad to hear it. I'm never going to find a guy because I'm too fucked up, broken, confused, fat, undesirable and angry to ever woo someone. Not to mention I'm picky and shallow, and I want someone who's good looking, but apparently I expect that person to see beyond looks since I'm fucking fat ass who while he's been sick has been binging up a storm and essentially putting on 5 pounds in a weekend. It's just what I deserve. I'm getting it all back, my feelings of being worthless and a waste of space and life are validated again and again, with every lonely night and every sad song and every cute guy I see who I'll never get the chance to talk to. Every couple and every baby, the knowledge that YOU'LL NEVER HAVE THAT. Fuck this life.

In the previous post, I took two doses (60ml) of NyQuil, which is two of those little dose cups full. Chedner had asked if it was 2 cups, as in 16oz? Well, sometimes I wish I had that courage--then I'd really be fine. My roommate had to work today. He wouldn't find me for almost 8 hours. Plenty of time.

Don't worry, I won't do it. I'm too much of a god-damn coward to take my own life. Too scared of the pain, and to considerate of the negative effect it would have on the people that rely on me. My job, my dear, sweet siblings who I don't deserve. My idiot, child-like parents who I can never talk to because they don't know how to listen. My loving, sweet grandmother who's always had more faith in me and more love for me than I've had for myself, who supported me and gave me money for college. All that would be wasted if I killed myself.

It's for those reasons I can't do it. But dammit, I wish I could. I'm done with trying to figure this shit out. It's too hard, and I don't care anymore. I want to have my biggest problem be that my TiVo can't record all the shows I want it to. I want to be a blindly faithful member of a church that fits me like a glove, who can't see the fact that maybe people aren't all supposed to be the same and need different faiths and denominations to achieve that same end-goal of being a good person who does unto others what he would have done unto him.

I'm getting tired now. I took more NyQuil. The benifit of growing up using homeopathic and herbal remedies is that when you really want the wallop, modern medicine seems incredibly powerful and wonderful.

Goodnight. It's nap time. I'm sorry you had to read this, but then again, I warned you that you should stop before starting, because all it is is a sad tired little boy who is crying out for help, for the pain to stop. He can't take it anymore... but every day it's just trying to get to the end.