I keep seeing all this Mother’s Day stuff and I can’t help but let my angst pique a little.
OF COURSE YOU WOULDN’T BE WHO YOU ARE WITHOUT YOUR MOTHER. YOU CAME OUT OF HER FUCKING(ed?) VAGINA. YOU’D BE DEAD WITHOUT HER, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER SHE STAYED IN YOUR LIFE OR NOT.
I dream it’s wrong I don’t sleep I think it’s wrong I don’t sleep I hope it’s right I don’t sleep I watch sun rise I don’t sleep I watch days die I don’t sleep I need the change I don’t sleep I fear the change I don’t sleep
I always thought the idea of calling depression a battle was lame, but now I kind of get it better: it is a battle, a battle against your own psyche- and what is lonelier than being at odds with yourself? You, after all, have more weapons against yourself than anyone else. Your life is yours to take and destroy.
But the same goes for motivation. You have greater ability to help yourself than anyone else. Except for hookers. Hookers and cocaine.
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