Here’s serious advice. Even the nicest people have their limits. Don’t try to reach that point because the nicest people are also the scariest assholes when they’ve had enough.
If masturbating while stoned isn’t called weed whacking I don’t know how to live my life anymore
THIS FUCKING THIS
HOLY FUCK! SO FUCKING TRUE!(via
Seriously, just because it looks like we have everything we’ve ever needed, doesn’t mean we’re happy. And no we’re not ungrateful, or anything like that. It’s deeper. So fuck you to everyone who thinks, just because we have a good life from an outside point of view, you don’t know shit.
11:52 pm. I can hear a neighbor putting away the evenings dishes while a woman speed walks down the street. People are out and about and still awake because it’s hot as hell. It’s spring, I guess…but you can never tell what the fucking weather is here. Just a few weeks ago, it was thirty degrees with freezing rain. Anyway, while people are going about their normal lives, I’m sitting in my yard smoking a bowl. And I’ve waited for this high for two days. Parts of those days were great but later on in the evening, I started to feel miserable. It’s not because of withdrawal because that doesn’t happen, believe it or not. It’s because I’m not right with my own mind. Sitting alone makes me anxious and sad, even if there’s nothing on my mind at all. It doesn’t help that I’m nauseous 24/7, well, unless I’m high. And no, this isn’t a result of me smoking either. The sickness came first, or in between, I guess. Perhaps I’ve been sick all along. My whole damn life. There’s periods of euphoria and bliss, but they don’t last. Wow, I’m off track. I was talking about my physical sicknesses. The nausea, the drowsiness, the loss of appetite. I once tried to pinpoint when that all started. I guess after I became anxious. And after I spent almost a year going through periods of binge eating and restricting myself to 500 calories a day. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. Maybe some advice, or any input at all. But don’t tell me you’re sorry, I don’t care about that. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. If you want to feel sorry for someone, then it should be the one person that has to put up with the fact that one day ill be funny, energetic, and personable. The next I might have trouble getting out of bed. Ill be winey. I won’t want to eat. I won’t want to do anything. Ill want to smoke until I escape myself. I’ll want to be a better me, and ill mostly want to do this for her. Forget the sorrow, actually. I’m lucky enough to have this person in my life that will love me when I’m a shitshow or when I’m normal. Whatever that means. I’ve never been normal, I don’t think. But that’s a rant for another time. I’ve gotta go. And finish what I started.
pro tip: fill the piñata with absolutely nothing to prepare your kids for the letdowns of adulthood