My Bipolar Journal - Episode 52

My Bipolar Journal – Episode 52

April 19, 2007

Someday, many years from now, someone may read my list of love. I merely sit here feeling the generalized rock coming from the people that I am the most proud of right now in my life. Despite my extremely overwhelming-really bad-more than most people should have to deal with in a lifetime-six hours of life in Chattanooga (by the way, FUCK CHATTANOOGA!), I can't help listening to the rock that I am fortunate to be a part of and just feeling complete joy and glee.

I'm so proud of you all and one by one I say it here because I care enough to type your names at 80 wpm: Johnny, Caleb, Lee, Matt (Mutt), Steve, Steve-O, Emory, Shaun, Jared, Kelly, Kelley, Holly, Wade, Felixx, Jodi, Matt, Byron (doesn't even matter that we haven't truly met), Kenny, Luke, Ian, Ben, Evan, Eliott, Bebhin, Matt, Tom, Brian, Matt (Vodka), Nate, Joe, Huberty, Wendy, Ben, Ray, Andy - you all rock my socks clean off. Maybe one day one of you will read this and it might matter. Maybe one day, one of you will read this and take your place in the list too seriously or not seriously enough, but I promise you that as of this moment in my life, you all make me happy to do what I am trying to so hard to hold on to. Those of you who know how much shit I've had to put up with in the last few days know that it matters not where you are on the list or why you're on it or why you're not, but all I know is that just listening to a few tracks of what you've created or remembering how much you're dedication is to making that piece of rock matter is what is keeping me going right now. I believe that was a run on sentence. You'll get that will bipolar bitches from time to time. I'm almost to the point that I want it to matter again. Maybe this pretending everything is okay has some merit to it. Maybe it's just a phase I'm going through. I'm sure I'm on some sort of exaggerated twelve step program and just going crazy rather than actually coping, but as of this moment it matters not.

I keep contemplating why I type this here at all. Sometimes, I read about your lives and I wonder why you think that I think it should matter (although usually it does), but then I remember that I'm typing the same sort of thing. I reconsider and realize that it's all important. If you think it's important to write, then it is and just because of that.

I'm so sad and so mortifyingly depressed, but this glimmer of hope that comes out through the music that you create and/or your dedication to making it work is that thing that matters right now to me.

I'm so excited for this weekend and being with my friends and bouncing up and down and banging my head and maybe even crying a lot that I can barely stand it. It's like feeling as though there are only two more days until I get out of prison. I want to make it three feet off the floor during Summer Day. I want tears to roll down my face at the gift that Jared will be giving me selflessly from his box (haha!). I want to be number 110 or 111 or wherever you are on your list (and you know who I'm talking to if you would EVER... READ... A... FUCKING... BLOG! But why would you? In the end, who am I really typing to? Most likely myself, but as long as it makes me happy in the end, what does it matter? I want to curl up in a little ball and cry like a baby for whatever reason it does not matter. I'm okay with that. I want you. I want what you think I didn't want. I wanted to tell you before it were too late and wouldn't sound as pathetic as it would sound now. I want it. I want it all. Call me selfish, but I want it all not just for you but because of you. Whether it ever matters again or not is irrelevant. It's just important.