When You Have Been Alive 577 months and 30 Days

So now, I’m somebody else I guess. You know what I have noticed so far with this change? Way more females talk to me than before. It’s funny, when I had my gap it was always dudes with the you’re sexy whatever but now that I look like a regular average every day normal clown like the rest of you pieces of shit, girls are all, hey girl hey. Fake fuckers. You wouldn’t have liked me before so we ain’t friends now. I’m watching all of you. I really didn’t have a choice in the matter- the decisions to not take care of myself when I was younger because I’d really had rather die than keep living led up to the day when ultimately they caught up with me and only pain and deterioration was left. I say I didn’t have a choice because I was born into a family of self loathers, from a long line of them actually and who would have chosen that lot? It took a long time for me to stop behaving how I saw behaviors modeled and not everyone makes it that far. Plus, since you can’t opt out of being alive, and I’m not independently wealthy and I still have to make money so I can eat, I have to look at least less like the alien I would if I just let those rotted teeth make a bigger hole in my face. It didn’t matter to me. People see what they want to see. But it would have gotten worse. A vicious cycle, Ugh. I have to stay involved with my health whether I want to or not. Now I have replacements-which are painful too but a different kind and come with the added bonus of people who don’t give a fuck about you thinking you suddenly wanted to be more cosmetically appealing to a bunch of predead losers running around who mean nothing. Bollocks. There’s no winning anyway. I’ve also been desiring quitting nicotine for a while, I’ve made a few attempts but eventually couldn’t cope with how horrifying everything and everybody is, and went back to it just to not yell at strangers or get stabby. When a sadist pulls your teeth out of your face though, suddenly smoking doesn’t seem all that fun anymore, especially if they point to it as the cause. They don’t understand telling someone to stop smoking is stupid. Its slow suicide and the person doing it is well aware. They hate life and themselves, period. The question now is how much do I hate it because I could keep doing the shit but I’m not going to live the second half of my life as miserable as I did the first half. Fine, fuck it. You can’t choose who you were born to or how you were raised but at some point what you do is on you. I know this and I feel like making an effort. I guess smoking is over too. Honestly, I’m glad death is coming I wish it would just be cool about the shit and just come while I’m sleeping instead of making sure I watch myself decay, the ol’ hateful bastard. But I have no control over that and all I can do now is try to make my days as painless as possible. It makes me a tiny bit more appreciative of the little things, like hearing my grown child laugh out loud about something, or having someone tell me something I wrote or did made their day, or not having to wake up next to a fucking asshole who wants to manipulate, abuse or hurt me because he can’t let go of the shitty family in his head that ruined the first half of his life. I’m alive. I woke up again, goddamnit. So let’s pretend we care about ourselves. I’ma Lower my stressors. Ignore my triggers. Stay away from anybody of any gender or class or label who only wants to associate with me because of what they think about my physical appearance negatively or positively. I’ma do whatever it is that makes me calm and quiet and at peace and leave the rest alone. I’ll exercise for fuck’s sake. Eat like a human instead of a pig. Get some fucking sleep. Drink loads of water and be a happy healthy ex smoker. Let’s see what happens then. And Fuck you if you want me to fail, who gives a shit bitch I’ma DIE anyway and so will you! Getting angry just causes more pain so fuck it too, actually. That’s what the somebody else I’ve turned into, would do.