The very best at being the worst.

I love all of my friends. Every last one of them. All of them are good people that are fun to be around.

Else I wouldn't be friends with them.

They're all talented people.
And when I'm around them, I can't help but feel incredibly inferior.
I'm not talented.

I have friends that are amazing writers, actors, artists, etc. Name it, and there's a friend I have that's amazing at it. Exceptional at it, even.

And here I sit, kinda halfway decent at anything useful.
I mean, I'm funny, sometimes. I don't even think half of my jokes are funny, and a lot of the times no one laughs at them.
I'm good at video games, which is the product of days upon days spent sitting on my ass and playing them all day because I never had anything else to do. Nothing worthwhile, anyways.
You can put a word in front of me and I can make more words out of the same letters than most people. I don't see how that's useful at all, but, I mean, it's there.
Anything logic related I seem to be good at. Puzzles and shit.
I can do funny voices, so I mean, that's something.
I'd be a great actor, if my laziness and anxiety wouldn't get in the way of it.
A few have told me I'm one of the smartest people they know, but when you look at me struggle with academics, you'd swear I was an idiot.

Despite testing for being gifted in creativity, anytime I try to do anything creative I hit a massive bout of brain death and can't think of anything to save my life.

I can't draw anything that's not a stick figure.
I can't write anything that's not an essay or some sort of rant. This blog is entirely rants.

One of my friends is getting a book published, another is in plays left and right, a lot of them compete in poetry slams all the time, some friends sell their art and take commissions, and here I sit, happy for and proud of them, but seething with envy over their talents.

I mean, hey, I might have a job.
Maybe I'll be good at
I dunno
Pressing buttons on a cash register.

I want to be talented at something, but I never try to improve myself. I know all of these things my friends do take practice and aren't just a natural skill.

I guess I'm good at being a hypocrite.

Hi, I'm Taco.

When I meet new people, and they say “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

I always start with what I’m not.

I’m not tall, but I’m not short.

I’m not a social butterfly.

I’m not a people person in general.

I’m not good at math.

I’m not very trusting.

I’m not physically fit.

I’m not fond of mustard.

I’m not the most attractive guy

But I’m not the ugliest.

I’m not a sweet person

I’m not a generally kind person.

And then I move on to what I can be.

I can be mean.

I can be vindictive.

I can be the guy that rips you open with a knife sharpened with insults specifically tailored to fit the hole your insecurities leave in your armor.

But if I like you and we become friends or what-the-fuck-ever?

I can be the guy that never lets you down.

I can be the guy that will always do anything he can for you.

I can be that guy that drives 20 miles with some pizza and a stack of movies because you didn’t want to be alone tonight.

If only I had a car.

Now I’ll tell you what I am.

I’m rude.

I’m loyal.

I’m anxious.

I’m depressed.

I’m scared.

I’m angry.

I’m funny.

What do you mean you want me to tell you a joke?

I just told you all about my favorite one.

Cynicism.

I've been told I’m a cynic.

A cynical piece of shit that needs to lighten up and see the beauty in the world.

Well, let me tell you, it’s not that easy when you grew up only seeing the worst in people.

For someone my age as introverted and antisocial as I am, I’ve seen a lot of things.

I grew up bullied. I've been called every name in the book ten times over. There’s nothing you can call me that I haven’t heard before. It taught me that people are cruel.

I grew up friendless. I never went places. I never hung out with anyone. I sat in my room playing Halo alone until the blister marks on my fingers looked like halos. It taught me that I don’t need anyone.

My family is full of drug addicts and ex-gang members. My aunt overdosed and nearly died on my couch when I was 15. Another aunt died from an overdose right after I left California from visiting her. So don’t be surprised if you offer me a joint, pill or needle and I say “No thanks”.

I learned early on that death is unavoidable. If I remember correctly, my first family member died when I was 6 years old. I've been to 11 funerals in the past 9 or 10 years. It taught me to accept the mortality of myself and everyone around me. Most people, I don’t know and won’t care about when they’re gone. A handful of people I care dearly about, I’ll cry when they’re gone. And another handful of people, I’ll dance on their grave.

When you grow up bullied, friendless, and constantly betrayed by people, you learn to perceive everyone as a liar and an asshole. You never let anyone get close because of it.

When everyone you know is dying, when your family is dying of overdoses or getting murdered, your entire worldview changes.

When you get used by people throughout your entire life, you start to get in the mindset that no one really gives a fuck about you, and you start not giving a fuck about anyone.

Wanna know how I see things?

I see that there’s absolutely no meaning to life. We’re born, we live, and we die. You ever think about how big everything except us is? In the entire perceivable universe, Earth is nothing but a speck.

And that’s only the perceivable universe. There’s more that we can’t see.

We’re nothing.

And everyone tries to ignore just how insignificant we really are.

So yeah, I’m a cynic.

But that’s only because I’m a realist.

Heritage kills brain cells.

"Sometimes I feel like it's just me
Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy
But take a look at my family
Cuz the apple don't fall too far from the tree."

First things first, I'd like to thank Eminem for that opening quote. Can't sue me now, fucker

The above quote is from the song "The Apple". It's also a quote that applies to me heavily.

See, I have a fair few mental issues. Depression, anxiety, stress, anger, maybe some more that I haven't learned of yet. I even get chronic migraines. Now, none of this is special in it's own right. A lot of people have these problems. But that's not the point of this post.

All of those things run in my family. Depression, anxiety, stress, anger, migraines, all of it.
There's even more things that run in my family, like addiction and diabetes.

Now, depression, anxiety, migraines, addiction, and diabetes, are hereditary, and several studies point to stress and anger problems being hereditary as well.

So basically, my mental health was fucked before birth.

Anyone who has met my father will tell you, the dude's fucked up. He has a lockbox where he keeps all his meds. I don't know where he puts it, or where the key is, but I've seen it, and I've seen all his meds.

He takes meds for: Depression, anxiety, anger, stress, seizures, and every bodily problem he has due to his younger life of gangster-ing around Los Angeles and drug abuse. And that's just to function daily.

Sooner or later, I'm gonna be on meds. While it won't be as many as my dad (so long as I never get addicted to drugs and fuck up my body), it'll be a lot. It's another reason I went back to therapy, to see exactly what problems I have and what I can do to fix (or lessen) them.

I'd better start going lockbox shopping.

I did the thing.

You know what's great?
Firsts.
And by far, the best first is the first kiss. At least, of all the firsts I've experienced.

Which is something I experienced.
Like, literally yesterday. (Technically 2 days ago, as it's currently 2 o'clock, Sunday morning.)

Frontier restaurant, sitting in a booth with my friends who I was hanging out with that day, around 2:30 pm, and the girl I've been talking to (And flirting super hard with) for the past week or so walked in. One of my friends knew who she is. He's the one who introduced me to her (He's like the bestest bro ever now). And then he promptly threw the friend that was sitting next to me out of the seat so she could sit next to me.

So she did. I've mentioned before that I have anxiety, and oh man I was shaking. My mind and heart were in an endless sprint for the gold medal, and my leg was vibrating at such a high speed I felt like it was going to phase its molecules through the floor.

And we all talked, her, my friends and I. I put my arm around her and all that shit, and then we locked eyes.
And then, bam.

First kiss.
It took me 17 years but god damn it I did it.

And then second, a couple minutes later.

She only got to stay for about 20 minutes, but it was a fantastic 20 minutes.

I walked her to her car, after that.

Bam, third kiss.
It seemed like neither of us wanted to stop. I sure didn't, but she had to go.

The rest of the day, I was on this feeling of just pure happiness and such and ego boost to my mediocre self-image that if I watched my best friend get hit by a bus, I wouldn't stop smiling and I'd immediately heal him.

That's how great I felt.
And I'm still feeling it.

I can't wait to see her again.

Woop woop pull over dat ass too fat

title unrelated.

So, I started therapy again today.
Maybe it'll work this time, maybe it won't, but I'm not holding my breath.
It did absolutely nothing 5 years ago.
Partly because talking about my personal shit is extremely difficult for me, but mostly because it seemed like they wanted to just hand me meds and shove my shit under the rug.

Now, I'm fine with taking meds, but the therapist I had last time didn't give a shit about my problems. All she wanted to do was play board games about feelings and shit to get me to say just enough so that she can prescribe me some placebo shit that solved none of my anger, depression, or anxiety. It was a waste of my time and my parents' money.

So I stopped going, and I've been extremely cynical of therapy since.

Over the course of 7 years, as 7 years ago some fucked up shit happened that fucked my life, and the lives of my family up, shit has been piling and piling on top of me, to the point where I have to use 110% of myself just to get out of bed. I'm stressed to no end, I'm constantly angry and irritated, and the anxious thoughts are ceaseless.

These are the reasons I'm missing 11 fucking credits in school. The reasons I sleep all day when I get home, because I'm too worn out to do anything. The reasons I lay on my bed with my Xbox on, and my laptop open, not touching either of them because I'm too disinterested in everything to do either.

And it hit me that my life is bullshit.

So, I went back to therapy.
I seem to have gotten a not shitty therapist this time.
Maybe it'll work.
We'll see.

Inevitable future alcoholism.

This past Saturday, I did a thing. I became a cool kid.
I drank alcohol for the first time.
My first few sips of the Bacardi and rum I was given tasted strange, but the more I drank the more I enjoyed it.

The alcohol affecting me allowed me to function in a social environment in ways I never had been able to before, due to my introversion and antisocial tendencies.

I held a conversation with a complete stranger.
I was cracking jokes with everyone in the room, and I only knew 3 of them.
I was enjoying myself at a party that consisted of more than 5 people. (There were about 10 people.)

I didn't get drunk, though. I managed to stop at, as my friend put it, "That point after tipsy but before drunk where you're supposed to stop but no one ever does."

And I loved every second of it. And since, I've wanted more, constantly. Even right now, 8:47 pm, Monday night, when I have school tomorrow, I'd love a drink.

I handled my alcohol surprisingly well, as when I was in my inebriated state my motor skills were perfectly intact and my brain was functioning at full capacity, with only a shorter attention span.
It was great!

But the way I handled my alcohol so great reminded me
Alcoholism runs in my family.
Addiction in general runs in my family.
And I enjoyed my first time drinking way too much to be healthy for someone in my family.

I've even stated, multiple times, that "alcohol is my new favorite thing."
My friends and I now crack jokes about how I'm going to be the constant drunk out of all of us.
How, I'm gonna get wasted any time there's even a small party.

And part of me is EXTREMELY worried that it's true.
Because I've seen the kind of shit alcohol can do to someone.
And even though I'm a happy drinker, that does not mean it doesn't hold the potential to completely fuck up my life.
Because it can, and odds are, it'll come close to, if not completely ruining me.

I have a 7/10 chance of becoming an alcoholic, roughly.
I also have a 6/10 chance of becoming a functioning alcoholic, which a good portion of the alcoholics in my family are.
That's a 65% chance that I won't completely ruin my life if I become an alcoholic (It's 65% because this is completely dependent on if I even become an alcoholic.)
But a 70% chance that I will.

Roughly.

adfgadsfgasdfafh

I didn't expect this blog to be as fun as it is.

That is all.

Expectations are poopy.

As a gifted and intelligent guy who has no problem speaking his mind, people have high expectations of me.
High school should be no problem for me, and I should have scholarship offers coming out of my ass. I mean, at 5 years old my IQ was higher than that of the average adult's.

Life should be easy, yeah?
That's bullshit.

High school is the hardest thing I've ever had to go through in my life, especially when plagued with anxiety, and depression. I'm missing ~11 credits, last I checked.
Eleven credits. Each class is worth one credit.

There's no way I'm graduating with my class. I should've dropped out by now. Any sane person would've.

But not me. I promised myself, my parents, and my grandparents that I would get my fucking diploma, no matter how long it takes me. But that's not what keeps me in school.

Telling me "you're smart, you can do this." isn't going to motivate me. I've heard it a million times, and it only makes me feel like the world's biggest disappointment. But when people tell me I can't do something,

Hohboyherewego

My freshman biology teacher told me I had no hope of passing her class.
Guess what I did?
I passed. just barely, but I passed.

And I rubbed her stupid fucking face in it.
How dare you tell me I can't do something? That I have no hope? Fuck you. The only person allowed to do that is me.

I fail to meet most expectations.
Unless I'm expected to fail those expectations.
#contradiction

Darn gosh little kids.

Now, two things about me. One, I love little kids. They allow me to bring my inner child out and interact with them on their own level and just have, pure, plain, childish fun.

Two, I'm a huge introvert. Spending a day with a friend or two means I have to spend the next day or two completely alone (physically, at the least) or I will just not have a good time.

I have these 2 little cousins. Love them to death. The younger is about 4, and the older is 6-7. I'm not entirely sure. They've come over a lot in the past few days, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I went to my friend Avery's house with my friend Connor, and we played video games and shit and had a fuckton of fun. I went home the next day, which is today.
My little cousins were there, and all I wanted to do was just not.
I wanted to lay on my bed, listen to music, and not talk to anyone ever.

But you can't do that when you're the only one in your family who your cousins want to play with.
Never have I wanted to punch a little kid in the face more than I did today.

When I got home, the first thing I did was go to my room, pack my things, and lay down for a nap.
Immediately, I hear a knock on my door
"BYRON, ARE YOU PLAYING PLANTS VS. ZOMBIES?"
"No."
"CAN I PLAY PLANTS VS. ZOMBIES?"
"No, I deleted it."
"UNDELETE IT."
"No."

Thank based God their mother came and took them out of my hair so I could nap.

After my nap, I got in a Skype call with some friends, and me and my friends are not a suitable habitat for this cactus little kids.
"Hey Byron, can we play now?", the oldest would come and ask me.
"I'm talking with my friends, maybe later."

I had no intention of playing with them later on, but that did not stop him from barging in every 10 seconds and saying "How about now?"

I don't know where I'm going with this, I'm just typing.
Eh.

He did this for about an hour straight until I physically had to push both of them out of my room and call his mom to get them.
They tried to block me at the door.

They failed.

I don't want them here as often as they have been ever again.
This was Hell.

Ignore my venting. Ignore it.

I wrote this a long time ago to vent.
It's not as relevent anymore.
But I still feel it belongs here.

You're not going to read this.
Why would you?

You're done with me.

I told you.
Didn't I?

I told you it’d happen. It always happens.
But you never believed me.
You always held strong to the belief that you’d stay.
Whether your faith was in yourself or me, I can’t say.
But we can both agree you were wrong, and I was right.
I’m always right, yeah?

I wish I wasn't.
I wish that I still had my best friend by my side.
I wish I didn't push you away the way that I did.
I wish I wasn't the way I am.

I wish you didn't hate me.
Because I could never hate you in return.

I know why you abandoned me.
And I completely understand.
That doesn't change that I’m depressed, though.
It doesn't change how I've been broken up since February.
How I get quiet at the mention of your name.
How I can’t handle seeing you in person because then all I do is remember.

I have a fantastic memory. You know that.
I remember every good time, and every bad.
And there were a lot of both.
I can’t see a duck without thinking of the time ducks attacked us, and chuckling.
I can’t go to Nob Hill without remembering every single spot where I made a stupid joke.
Every store we stopped at just to check it out.
It’s because of you that Nob Hill is my favorite place in all of Albuquerque.
I can’t go to the duck pond without at least staring at where we sat for 2 hours.
I can’t see your name on Facebook without remembering how we spoke all day, every day, no exceptions.

And you know what? It hurts.
But just because it makes me sad doesn't mean I’m not angry.
I’m furious.
Fuck you.
Fuck you for seeing me as some kind of broken thing to fix.
Fuck you for never realizing that I am the way I am for a reason.
Fuck you for taking “I can’t change” as a challenge.
Fuck you for failing to understand that I don’t want or need help.

But thank you for trying.
Maybe next time I’ll think of you and give it a shot.

Y'know, I didn't intend this blog to get deep, ever. I thought I was just gonna fuck around on it.

But that doesn't seem to be where this is headed.

I came out of the womb telling a knock-knock joke.

I had Psychology today. We were talking about the psychology of superheroes (WHICH IS MY SHIT LEMME TELL YOU), and our teacher had us stare at ourselves in Photobooth for a minute while thinking of our 3 best characteristics.

Humor was at the top of both the list I wrote, and the list of a survey I took which is neat and it's right here. That reminded me of a quote and a belief I've always held firmly to.

"Heard joke once. man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, 'Treatment is simple, great clown Pagliacci is in town. Go see him, that should lift you up.' Man bursts into tears. Says, 'But Doctor, I am Pagliacci."

Funny people are the saddest you'll ever meet.

I'ma tell a little story. I was never the most popular kid, growing up. I've been called every name in the book so many times that now, words bounce off me as if I was a Verbal Superman. Fuck Superman. 

But little seven-year-old Byron wasn't so tough. Every word stung, every noun, verb, and adjective stabbing like a knife coated in prepositions, right in my self-esteem, making me hate everyone as much as myself.

One day, I cracked a joke. I don't even remember if it was intentional. But people laughed. Almost as if they liked me. Words still hurt then, yeah, but now I could hide it and pretend it never bothered me in the first place.

"Hey, you hear the one about the comedian who croaked? / Someone stabbed him in the heart, just a little poke. / But he keeled over because he went into battle wearing chainmail made of jokes." - George Watsky

Actual real posting time.

Well, after that doozy of an introduction post

Let's get to some real shit.
It's 10 PM. I'm in a Skype group with some dudes.
They're cool dudes. Except Will.
I only went to two of my classes today, so that's neat.
I don't know where I'm going with this.
I'm just typing, and listening to these guys be idiots while I type.
Now Connor's beatboxing. Damn honky.
Tap tap tap.
Onomatopoeias are great.

Oh yeah, I was told I look exactly like the lead singer of The Killers. I don't know who that is.
Connor said "That poor bastard."
I quickly, and very cleverly responded with a well worded "Fuck you."

I'm going to be living with these guys in the future. Except Will.

I guess this post really went nowhere.

Welp.
Fuck y'all, I'm beautiful.

Ah, shit.

Hey.
This is a thing.
A thing that I made.
In which I will be posting stuff.
That I write.
Yep.
This would be better if I was better at articulating my thoughts without being vulgar, combative and contradictory.

Fuck it.
I have a blog now.
And I'm gonna use it.