I’m Angry That

I came into the Leptich’s house, went in the kitchen, Oprah was on, overweight teens confronting their emotions, so I watched for a moment.  They went into this exercise led by this woman called “I’m angry that”  which can be used find out what people are really angry about deep down.

She pulled a kid out of the group and asked to finish the sentence and yelled “I’m angry at !” at her and the girl went off.  Soon these deep feeling of rejection, self-consciousness, suicidal thoughts, and all else came out and she was crying and venting a volcano of repressed feelings. Another Kid did it, and soon I was crying right along.  

I can be like a middle-aged wife left home alone to clean the floor and cry over Oprah in the afternoon.  I can’t handle the whole ‘standing in the face of other human’s real sorrow’ thing.  I get it from my mom, who bawls over movies about real wars and battles, where people really did lose their lives.  The reality of what it must be like hits me and, in my empathy, I soon breakdown like a weenie of the month.

But I’m not angry that I can breakdown over this stuff.

I’m angry that people have to go through such nightmares.

alone.

loneliness is relative.
the nights spent in groups, alone.
the laying in bed, alone.
being alone is something you can do anywhere, with anyone, when you are not with the person you really want to be with.
i wish writing a blog could solve my lonely sum, where i always equal one
i wish understanding some concept could crash it into a pile.
i wish the issues i had four years ago weren't still the issues i have today.
i wish new romances would make me deaf to the sound of my own heartbeat that's not for them
i wish God had not waited me out, and proved me poor, impatient, impoverished, and revealed how weak my trust in him was.
i wish i could write enough songs to express it and pray through it and fight it, join it, feel it off of me
i wish i didn't have to try.
i'm so tired of trying.
i wish i could cry it out.
I wish God seemed more of an author and less of a editor.

i wish God would let my heart change, or that he'd change this world

i want to constantly apologize to my friends and family "i'm sorry i'm still such a sad stupid boy" when God wants me to be a man

I don't know if i know who i am anymore, and i don't think i like who i know myself to be right now.
i can read the christian type "find your identity in Christ"
which to me sounds like "create a black hole by blinking your eyes"
if i could find Christ, maybe i could find out who i really am, maybe i'd have an identity again.

i realized recently that the problem with being good with words at all is that no believes a single word you say.
The people i've ever said "i Love you" to haven't believed me.
and i find that all my poetic honesty is labeled dishonest simply because it is poetic.
no wonder poets are often so lonely - they are good with words, and we are afraid to believe them.

no one believes me when i talk anymore, and i feel like my mouth is wasted on such a life.
how can being good at communicating and connecting with others alienate you and cut out your tongue?
how does it cause you to end out alone?

it seems everyone i talk to knows a Tony that doesn't exist, and the sad thing is, is that the real Tony still does exist, as shy, alone, and thoroughly insecure about being alone as ever. If i had some arch-nemesis he'd find this out and play on it to lead me down a path of destruction.
maybe he already has.
i feel destroyed, the best parts of me have all but slipped away.

let me loose of this listless life and loneliness,
or perhaps i'll pretend to be OK

if you're lost in the woods long enough every free place to step looks like a path.
if you're lost in the woods there are no paths.

Tinman Blog.

after much research, or none, ive decided.
I have no heart.
i'm like a waste of an artichoke, you get to the center of me and its blank.
i don't know if i can feel anything. i think not.
wait- scratch that, i can. i can worry and feel anxious, get lonely, laugh, feel unloved, feel appreciated, i can feel the pleasures of a good scare, a good kiss, a good flick, a good game, or a good converstaion.
i can feel inspired, and know when my friends are disappointed in me, or that they love me, but in the feelings department i'm like a offshore bank.
i wonder if i'll ever be able to love someone and feel more than that common anxiety of wanting others to like you.
don't go dramatic on me, i'm not being sad or... dramatic.
but i know it.
i sit and observe myself, and become astounded at the pessimisms that have grown up and encased me
for a really open guy, its tough to get through to me arriving at "feelings"
friendship i got down, but too many girls have had to sit across from me, trying to unlock me like i was a vault or a rubik's cube.
i try to tell them that others have done so and found the treasure inside to be less than what they expected, less like treasure and more like constant frustration.
its not like i lock myself up like a vault.
its more like i'm an open vault, and you go in and find nothing.
no apologies, i told them it was empty.
oh well, no one beleives me.
i'm sure i'll fall in love one day.
"sure" being loosely equivalent to "why not, i'm a sexy beast"

I was reminded yesterday that God has chosen to give me a chance at love-relationships, and to have a wife.
will he really bring me someone who'll actually like me for me- a potty mouthed artist theologian with the ability to out-talk Rush Limbaugh ?

Chicks don't me cuz they can't push me around.
ha

or because i'm the weirdest human being alive (not including celebrities, who get paid to be stupid and weird)
or maybe i'm insanely lame.
i feel insanely lame, the books that i read even call me lame.

i'm reading Richard Dawkins and he's not as bright as he claims to be.
i'm tired of empty arguments that are more limp than a Mormon in his wedding day.
i think i'll go back to GK Chesterton and enjoy my life again.

i like a good salad too.