The Painting

On the wall above my dresser used to sit a painting on the back of a shallow Stovetop Stuffing box. Way back in the day, when I was still considered a teenager, I was broke and couldn’t afford to buy proper canvas to paint on. So I took it upon myself to use whatever I could get my hands on as a canvas, and having worked in a supermarket backroom being stuck on cardboard duty, I found plenty to work with.

There were three colours – blue, pink, purple – with two different shades each – lighter toward the middle, darker toward the outside. Overtop of the colours were the words “We are all addicted to something that takes away the pain,” written in black paint, in mediocre handwriting.

It was innocent when I wrote it. I was addicted to art and writing, both making great escapes for pain. Or what I thought was pain at the time.

Now, I can’t stand the sight of it.

My brother is dead. Killed in a car wreck last September. Still don’t know how it happened, and the cops on the case are being pussy-footers about finding out what did happen. He just disappeared one day and I’m supposed to accept that.

My brother was a nice person, heart of gold. He wanted everybody to like him. That was his downfall. He got in with the wrong crowd. He took up many vices, some of which I’m sure he would’ve never admit to me, if I’d ever gotten the chance to ask him. He was on the wagon, off the wagon, hiding his wagon and lying about it.

He was an addict. He was addicted.

He was addicted to something that took away the pain. Then he got killed. What good did his addictions do?

I took the painting off my wall, and painted over it. Red and orange and yellow. Then I hated it. So I painted it black. Pitch black. It currently sits on the floor by my paints, drying. I’m not sure what I’m going to paint on it now, or if I’ll paint anything at all. Or if I should just light the thing on fire.

Maybe the big blank space above my dresser can be a constant reminder that there’s something missing. A big part that can’t be fixed or replaced. That the only thing that takes away pain is as quick as two seconds. And what’s left after that? Darkness.

QM

New Year Ramblings

Holy man, it’s the new year already.

I don’t really know how to feel about it. This past year has been one hell of a speed bump that I would like to never relive again.

I can’t really remember what happened up until September, but after that, that’s when my life took a turn I wish it hadn’t of taken. My oldest brother was killed in a car wreck. He was twenty nine. He was just about to start a new job, and he seemed haply about it. He’d been having troubles with his vices, and I think he was so far into his substances that this new job was a light at the end of the tunnel. He was going to get better.

And it sucks. It really does. He made some questionable choices in life, but he did not deserve to go out like that. Nobody deserves that. He didn’t deserve to get taken out that way. He was trying to better himself. He never led on how bad his addictions were, yet he used them as a crutch. He was so engulfed in them that he was starting to lose who he was. But this new job, he was actually excited for. Being unemployed for a few months because of personal reasons, and also with the call of his addictions, this was a step in the right direction.

His “friends” who knew him in the addictive community probably wouldn’t think much of him, and how he went out. But, and I don’t care what anybody ever says, he did not deserve what he got.

Then, in early December, my great uncle lost a long battle with cancer. He was ninety. As much as all the signs were leading up to the end, it didn’t make it any easier. He was about to start radiation therapy, because his vitals were good. The next morning, he was tired and not as well, and then there was nothing.

That’s the biggest “fuck you” thing about it: he was starting to do better. He was looking up, he was starting to get his energy back. But then, it went downhill, and it went that way incredibly fast.

And now it’s January.

I feel like time has been flying by, and now it’s 2023, and it came out of nowhere. And I feel empty. Just… deflated. My head hurts all the time, I have to fight back the tears, and if I sit idle too long, my brain starts replaying everything back, reminding me that my brother and great uncle are no longer amongst the living.

It really sucks. Christmas felt fake, like those Hallmark movies: all put on for the sake of holding up a facade. It’s all a stage performance parading as real life.

I don’t know what the future is going g to look like. And the more I try to picture it, the more my head hurts. So I’m not going to look that far.

I’d like to say I hope happier times are ahead, but I don’t even believe that. I just want my brother and my great uncle back. I think that’s the old thing that will make me truly happy.

So. I guess I’ll just leave off by saying this: this is where I am right now, and I guess all I can do is take life one minute at a time. Because everything can change so quick.

QM

Another Year Older

Well, I’m another full year older.

I’m 25 now, but the only reason I know that is because I had to do the math. I honestly couldn’t remember my age. My mom had to remind me that it was my birthday.

Every single day blurs into the next. Keeping a calendar nearby does nothing to help. I’m too disorganized for a planner. Every day is just another day I’m still living.

It feels weird. It’s like I’m a character in a bad simulation game, and somebody keeps hitting the “respawn” button. I’m not advancing, while also not falling behind. I’m just in the same spot, doing the same things, day in and day out.

Just breathing.

It honestly feels so strange. In school, they always told you to think ahead, plan ahead, predict and create who you want to be in the future.

I was that kid that couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do that because I didn’t even know who I wanted to be, what I wanted to do. I was just myself: a bland being that blended into the wallpaper, the backdrop. I was the kid nobody loved and nobody hated. I was the ghost in every class. I wasn’t a star athlete, or the pretty girl, the bad boy, the smoker over in the pit, the nerd, the overachiever, the car stud, the goth chic, the metal head, the band kid. None of it. I was the drifter, the ghost, the nobody.

I didn’t know anything about myself.

And now, years later, I still don’t know. I’m drifting through life, like I did my highschool classes. I’m unsure of the unknown. I don’t have dreams or aspirations or hopes for my future.

I just breathe. That’s all I’ve ever done, because that is all I know how to do.

And I’ve be doing it for 25 years. Or so my mom tells me.

QM

Candy

It’s interesting, how small things – as ordinary and simple as they seem – can take you down a rabbit hole of thought.

I’m currently working my “nine to five”, and I still have a long ways to go. I had to take an extra strength ibuprofen when I got to the job place, because, to quote a quote I should coin: “I am Mother Nature’s least favorite child.”

Also, because some wires in my brain don’t connect well enough, I have to chew my ibuprofen into smaller bits, then chug a bunch of water in order to take them – I do not recommend it, it’s fucken disgusting – and since I had not been expecting to take painkillers today, I didn’t bring anything to get the taste out of my mouth.

Candies are usually something I’ve been meaning to carry, but I always forget.

This little thing – candies – got me thinking about somebody I went to school with. For the sake of the story, I’m going to call him Aragorn. (Because why the heck not?) Aragorn was a sweet tooth; ever since I knew him, he always had candy on his person. It didn’t matter what kind, either. Candy was candy.

As we got older and went to high-school, Aragorn less and less had candy – there was once day I can remember, when somebody asked him for a Werthers and he said he was out, it was like a bomb had gone off.

I graduated a year before him, and I didn’t see him as much. I went to a beer blast with a different “friend” – they’re a stranger now – and, wouldn’t you know it, Aragorn was there, too.

He was drinking, as was everybody, but every twenty or so minutes, he’d go with a group of these guys who were notorious for being dealers in the side of their football jock personas. And Aragorn wasn’t watching them smoke and snort and whatever. He had joined right in.

At the time, I thought they’d made him cave. Those jerks corrupted him.

I’ve learned candy, or something sweet, can help calm cravings. Smokers turn to candy or gum when trying to quit, ex druggies try to get into something sweet, and on a movie once, I saw an ex alcoholic constantly have lollipops in every scene in an attempt to stay sober.

Maybe from a young age, Aragorn knew he wasn’t going to win his battle with drugs. But he just attempted to prolong the start date.

I don’t know what he’s up to today. I heard he might have graduated, or he dropped out just before school ended. A year after that, I’d heard he was dealing.

And now, that was six years ago.

I hope he’s doing better. I hope he’s okay. If I knew where he was, I’d bring him the biggest candy stash he’d ever see.

But yeah. All that – the past coming back to haunt me – triggered by a craving of candy.

QM

A Rant In May

Hello, hello.

Last time, I said I hope that the next time I write, it’ll be about something better.

Not too sure if that’ll be the case, but here goes nothing….

Honestly, nothing much has happened since last time. I just remembered I had a blog, and my brain went, “You should update that.” Not that there’s many reading this, but I guess it will just give me good piece of mind.

I’m still working my “nine to five” because I’m broke. Everything blurs together. The world around me makes me not want to be a part of it. I haven’t written anything consistent or passionately in probably quite a few months. And, I don’t even know if I’ll ever get back into writing long-term.

I used to be about screenplays and playscripts – putting into words what would make a great scene. Like, all of the details and little aesthetics. I love building up stories like that. But, I paused writing things like that at the beginning of the year – unintentionally and subconsciously – and I just haven’t gotten back into it. It’s a terrible writer’s block, I guess, and it won’t go away. I can write small snippets every now and again, but it never adds up and never sticks. And, after a piece is written, I forget about it almost instantly.

When it’s not memorable, it’s beginning to die.

I think I just don’t want to write something I deeply love, and let it sit and collect dust, which is my ultimate fear. So, that alone stops me from continuing, because I get stuck on the notion of “what is the point.”

I really do want to change that way of thinking. But I’m not sure when that will be; for the past week or so, I’ve been trying to bring works-in-progress with me wherever I go, in case I get a few seconds to scribble in them. That’s an alright first step. But, so far, nothing sticks.

Anyways, that about sums up my life in a sob story, at least for a while.

Most likely, I’ll forget to write for a long while, because that always seems to be the case. This used to be a short story blog, and now it’s just for rants that don’t make much sense.

I apologize.

Until the next post, whenever and whatever that may be, peace.

QM

New Year Word Vomit

Hello, again.

It’s currently January 25th of 2022, and it’s almost six at night. I have a late night shift, and it’s the eighth shift in a row. Tomorrow and the day after are my two days off, then an early shift the next day….

But let’s not talk about that.

I really don’t know what I want to talk about. I feel tired, and for the past few days I’ve been lost in the depths of my head. The all-too-familiar symptoms of depression has been setting in, as much as I wish they weren’t. I’m trying to dig myself out of it, but I’m just too tired lately. The constant “go go go” of work hasn’t been helping any. But I need money to live.

Into other news, I started working on a playscript that I haven’t really touched in over a year. I fixed a few plot holes, may have found a few new ones…. The project has been nice, but then the demons come back in my brain and whisper profanities there. Still, I think just the act of doing something has helped me a bit.

I constantly want to sleep. I’m tired all the time. I’m wondering when I’ll be happy. It’s all weird feeling. I don’t know the right way to explain it.

Other than that, nothing much has changed. I’m doing best to not get lost in my own head, but it just feels hard sometimes. I’m managing. I’m just… tired. I’m just really tired.

Sorry, I thought this rant was going to be longer, but it isn’t. I’m working a lot, I’m tired all the time, and all I ever feel like doing is sleep. And thinking of words is getting strenuous when tired.

Hopefully I can write something more interesting next time. Until then, be safe, and peace.

QM