Welcome back, and all that shit.

Whoopdie doo. It's been a while.

And boy do I got a post this time.

My house smells of cigarettes and poverty.

No, I don’t smoke. I made a vow that I never would because I’ve seen the way it slowly kills people while they knowingly shorten their lifespan with each puff.
My parents smoke like chimneys. My mom’s teeth are gone and my dad’s lungs are black and shriveled.

I smell like cigarettes and poverty.

The smell of secondhand smoke sticks harder than the smell of weed, and I’ve been around both plenty of times in my life. I don’t smoke weed either. I don’t even smoke e-cigs. And I won’t. I’m glad my parents only stick with cigarettes, because if they were also spending our precious earned government-given money on weed and e-cig… stuff, we’d start having to borrow tap water.

My dad can’t work. He’s disabled, on account of his shit lungs and his shit everything else. There’s not one thing about him that’s healthy.

My mom can’t keep a job. Personally, I think she just doesn’t want to. Hell, she dropped out of school because she didn’t like it, went to work, then went back to school because she didn’t like work. The last time she had a steady job was 2 years ago.

Yeah, I’m a drop out too. But I didn’t drop out because “lol fuck school”. No, I dropped out because the stress of school and home life was literally killing me. I couldn’t sleep at night. I would sleep at school and sleep when I got home. I was 11 credits behind. I couldn’t handle it. If I kept on, it would’ve killed me. I swear it would’ve. I’m gonna get my GED, and I’m gonna go to work, and go back for my full diploma when I’m ready. And when I get a job, I’m saving enough to get out of this house. I realized that I want out more than anything else last night, 4:30 in the morning, taking a break from a sleepless night reading comics to make a PB&J sandwich with what little bread we had left and trying to master the art of painting the whole of the bread with the sticky peanut butter.

This isn’t even a house. It might as well be the mayoral building of a Shantytown.

Tiles are cracked and missing. Doors don’t fit their frames. Heater nearly explodes every time we use it. Toilet won’t flush. Toilet seat is loose and almost snapped in half the last time I took a shit.

I don’t know what happened to this family.

We were doing great. Never above middle class, but we were living comfortably.

Then 2007 happened. September 2^nd, to be exact.

Fucked my whole life up.

My dad’s health declined. He couldn’t work anymore. It was up to my mom and my dad’s disability checks to keep us afloat.
And so we sank. From nice house, to okay house, to nice trailer, to shitty trailer, to run-down hovel.

We don’t even have food to eat.

And I’m aware of all my parents sacrifice for my sister and I. They sleep on the couch in the living room because we could only afford a 2 bedroom and you know how kids need their privacy. My dad won’t buy the prescriptions he needs just to function daily until we have paid rent, bought enough food to eat, and have enough gas to get us where we need to go. And that usually doesn’t leave us with enough to get him those prescriptions. He’s sacrificing his health for us. I don’t mean to sell my mom short, because she works as hard as she can for us. Sure, I think she doesn’t want to work. But I know that’s not the only reason. She has to stay home and take care of my dad. She’s stressed to no end. About our money, about my dad’s health, about us, about everything.

I can’t get a job because no one wants to hire an inexperienced drop out.

My sister can’t get a job because she needs to focus on school.

So here I sit, on my old shitty mattress, writing this with the few luxuries I have because I’ve had them before we had to take out loans to pay loans that we used to pay loans. My laptop, and the internet (Which is actually shut off at the moment, but I know my way around a router).

And I’m slowly saving up enough money to move out. My parents have done so much for me with the shitty circumstances life tends to throw us in.

So yeah, I’m getting out as quick as I can.

But I’m keeping the house key.

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.