I try not to complain. I find it easier to be content with mostly everything, except for myself. I’m done talking or writing about how I feel about myself for now though. I want to express how much I love NYC. I could be having the worst day ever and once I hit the town I instantly feel like a new person. I’m so lucky to live here, learn here, and most of all grow in New York City. I know the “Empire State of Mind” is over played but it seriously sums up my feelings about NY. I want to raise my children here. 
City Lights and Bar Fights.
Old Blog Post from June 2007 - YIKES
So I decided I would write a book. As I start writing I made an error and wrote “right” in stead of write in the first sentence. Again I find myself questioning what a joke this is going to be. I don’t know what is driving me to do this. Who the fuck is going to give a fuck about my life? That doesn’t matter anymore. I haven’t even finally come to terms with being comfortable with myself. Yet I know that I want to do this. Ever since I can remember starting school I was always in those programs for kids with disabilities. I was told for so long that I was different than all the other kids because I was a “much slower learner.” I can’t say those people were wrong. I know I’m not the smartest or the prettiest. For fucks sake I sure have learned I’m not the dumbest or the ugliest either. I was born in Hartford CT unfortunately. The year was 1988 on May 17. I couldn’t tell you the weather, but would that even matter? I hate when people are like I was born on this beautiful fall day and the sun had never shined so bright. Reality check bitch nobody gives a fuck how the weather was. I also couldn’t tell you the time of my birth. My mother doesn’t remember, nor does my father. Whatever. I’m breathing 20 years later. I guess that’s what really matters. I’m happy to be a human. I will admit I am blessed to have my family friends and some what of a conscience to keep me living my merry life. When you’re told all your life certain things by “professionals” you are subject to believe they are all true. I was convinced that I wouldn’t make it into college and I would end up a drug addict. I didn’t think so low of myself but apparently some faggot doctor in junior high called a conference with my mother father and teachers after running “a few tests” he came up with the hypothesis I would be a push over who would get easily influenced by others to give up pussy and smoke dope for a living. It couldn’t have been more perfect timing to hear this from my mother. She would nag me and tell me almost every day what this waste of a doctor had said about me. In her mind she thought that reassuring me of my pathetic future would make me want to rebel against the stupid fuck. It wasn’t about rebelling it was more about being true to myself and not selling my self short of a healthier life style.
I like songs about drifters, books about the same. They both seem to make me feel a little less insane
Blogging for the hell of it? Or Blogging because I want to stay relevant.
I want to be relevant in my mind. I want to feel I’m not worthless. I want to look at a picture of myself or in the mirror and honestly know I’m worth everything and that I’m the most beautiful person I know. That is my idea of “loving yourself.” I’m good at lying to people who don’t know me. I’ve perfected it actually, whenever someone asks me “how are you doing?” or ”What’s going on?” I’m quick to respond with a huge smile and inform my that person that I’m fantastic and that life is great. I figured it’s a positive lie because maybe I will start to believe it, kind of like when you smile when you’re crying thinking the smile will over power the tears - instead you end up looking like a meth addict clown..or maybe that’s just me. I want to start writing again. I’m going to keep up with this blog for me. I need a therapeutic hobby that lets me express myself to myself. This could make no sense to anyone, but I need to genuinely feel like I’m beautiful, and perfectly amazing in my own right. I deserve it, that I’m aware of. I deserve to feel good because I’m an amazing person who would take the shirt off of my back for anyone and I would take a bullet for the ones I love. I wonder if I would take a bullet for me though..
I feel like I’m the worst so I always act like I’m the best*
tumblrbot asked: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?
My Cell phone.
