I wanted to change my password for this account.
Having forgotten which account it's attached to, I ended up going through every e-mail account I've had over the past five years.
But I couldn't remember the passwords to those.
Then I ended up coming across all sorts of happy messages between myself and various persons; certain people who "loved" (wanted something from) me were overseas, whilst others just liked sending e-mails, and so I saw preserved in their entirety some past version of myself, happy and smiling and holding someone in the photographs that were there.
Photographs of myself and various past lovers, all of the way back to the original - the first, the only, the one who suffered the most...
Life is ultimately not worth living when the past is full of love, of purity, naivete, sweet, harmless fun and kisses and the future is filled with dull, boring people, the world is drained of its colour like an old boiled sweet on the floor of a rusty car, the girls in those photos; M**** can no longer wear that cheer-leader costume because she's ten years older, a lot wider, and works in a laundromat with bags and wrinkles under and around her eyes. She never smiles anymore.lllllllllllllll
I look so happy in these photos, and I know it's not the drugs: they never made me happy (never made me unhappy) but on a long enough time-line, everyone's life turns to shit.
I've literally spent years attempting to help everyone. But people don't change. First question out of rehab is "Hey, *****, how can I shoot these Subutex?"
"Aren't you missing the point of being prescribed them?"
Then he died, too, of course.
People just die and leave you alone, or they live and leave you alone. Hurt and jaded and full of p Alone with a library full of all human knowledge - fine.
Maybe someone could tell me why people always make the exact same choices; "mistakes" in the eyes of others.
Weighing it up, life and death are equal.
Is suicide really a bad thing?
Having forgotten which account it's attached to, I ended up going through every e-mail account I've had over the past five years.
But I couldn't remember the passwords to those.
Then I ended up coming across all sorts of happy messages between myself and various persons; certain people who "loved" (wanted something from) me were overseas, whilst others just liked sending e-mails, and so I saw preserved in their entirety some past version of myself, happy and smiling and holding someone in the photographs that were there.
Photographs of myself and various past lovers, all of the way back to the original - the first, the only, the one who suffered the most...
Life is ultimately not worth living when the past is full of love, of purity, naivete, sweet, harmless fun and kisses and the future is filled with dull, boring people, the world is drained of its colour like an old boiled sweet on the floor of a rusty car, the girls in those photos; M**** can no longer wear that cheer-leader costume because she's ten years older, a lot wider, and works in a laundromat with bags and wrinkles under and around her eyes. She never smiles anymore.lllllllllllllll
I look so happy in these photos, and I know it's not the drugs: they never made me happy (never made me unhappy) but on a long enough time-line, everyone's life turns to shit.
I've literally spent years attempting to help everyone. But people don't change. First question out of rehab is "Hey, *****, how can I shoot these Subutex?"
"Aren't you missing the point of being prescribed them?"
Then he died, too, of course.
People just die and leave you alone, or they live and leave you alone. Hurt and jaded and full of p Alone with a library full of all human knowledge - fine.
Maybe someone could tell me why people always make the exact same choices; "mistakes" in the eyes of others.
Weighing it up, life and death are equal.
Is suicide really a bad thing?