WHAT'S THE POINT?

Yep it's been a while.

Been busy. Been overwhelmed. Been lazy ... and damned near to the point of wondering what's the point.

Sometimes even good things can disrupt your life to the point of well, where the good isn't always good.

Too much of anything is overwhelming to the point mental melt down. Lose parts of one's self that can never be reclaimed ... and all around people never know why ... because it becomes easy to slip the mask in place ... it wavers occasionally ... and the habitual replies slip off the tongue so easily. You know, the "I'm just tired," line Or the "my thoughts are just a little jumbled right now," excuse.

But what really wants to come out is "Goddamn it. It's just too fucking much. I need a break. I'm lost. I can't find myself. Because it's just too goddamn fucking much. I can't breathe. I'm suffocating in my surroundings. I'm suffocating in my own mind, and beneath my skin. I feel like a trapped animal seconds away from gnawing off my own paw."

But nothing like that can ever slip past the lips. That only happens in the movies. Coward.

Loved ones don't really want to know what's wrong. Because then it has to be dealt with. and all that crap about you can tell me anything and I'll understand. It's bullshit. What they want you to tell them is that everything is alright. And that no matter how close you are to breaking ... you'll keep it to yourself and just get over it... hold it all in until you die.

And if one were brave enough to actually admit the truth ... to share and confide ... it soon becomes apparent that truth sharing is a grave miscalculation. A horrible mistake that only leads to more anguish to pile atop the shit already weighing down the camel's back.

No good ever really comes of telling the truth, does it? Truth only produces "the treadmill affect."

Hurt feelings. Yelling. Apologizes. Promises that things will change and then nothing does change. So then everything gets bottled up again. The cycle continues until something finally breaks ... and when things break ... in my experience it's usually unrepairable.

Do I sound bitter. I'm not really. Just realistic.

No one has to agree with me. In fact you can go on deluding yourselves ... that nothing I've said here is true ... and stick to your own excuses as to why there are things you bury deep inside ...

So any way ... Here's my latest addition to the poetry and prose

Surface Matters