I Really Want A Cigarette

It's been almost 3 months since my last smoke. The last time (and first time) I smoked since I quit on December 15th was exactly 2 months afterward on February 15th. No, it wasn't due to being alone on Valentine's Day, it was because I was absolutely frustrated with people annoying me at work. Since that day I haven't had a puff, a drag, anything despite the fact that I've wanted to for quite some time. And as I said, I told you that I'd let you all know if I did in fact break my vow. But now, at 2am as I'm about to sleep with "What's Shakin' on the Hill" in my ears (on repeat) and a particular knowledge of the past, present and future (and not to mention a few beers), I can't help but want to light up and have a pack. I know there are less than 3 weeks left of school, but it seems as though the world chose to hit me hard. Come the 21st I'll be free of all the difficulties of school forever.

Visiting home every weekend brings back the tension and the anxiety of dealing with a town that disgusts me. I've spent lots of time with my family. My ma has asked me how a person so young could develop so much hatred for the world. I don't know if it's necessarily a hatred for the world, simply for the town that carelessly brought me up and taught me that nothing was sacred, that disappointment was around every corner and that being "too nice" means being subject to misery and pain that no one can fathom.

If society dictates what's right and wrong, what's moral and immoral, then society has said that Andy Suarez does not belong amongst its ranks. When your entire life you've been left behind for genericism and told that having an opinion differing from the populous is blasphemy, that respecting people and being a reliable individual is seen as taboo and "desperate" you tend to lose hope in yourself. When having been claimed to be a "fundamentally decent" person or for being the person to help a friend stand up after having fallen down only to be pulled into the mud by that very same person happens on a continual basis, there's not much the "fundamentally decent" want to do. Simply put, the one "too nice" or the good person who frequently gets told that he is good or nice is avoided, neglected, put down, rejected, etc., they cease being the person everyone says they are and they become bitter, uncaring, depressed, hate-filled and empty.

I guess my problem is that I cared too much for a world that never bothered to give a damn about a kid trying to maintain some sort of dignity, pride, or decency toward the rest. For me the end of college isn't finding a job, starting a life in which I settle down, decide a career, it's the beginning of a search. What I'll find, I'm uncertain, but whatever it is that's out there has to be better than the false hopes and dreams that I've acquired and imagined over the years. But I wonder if even these thoughts that what comes next will provide a life fulfillment or accomplishment.

And yet I can't help but think that perhaps one day everyone will come to their senses. People once believed in a geocentric universe, but there were those that defied this notion. They went against popular belief and though they were persecuted, they were right. While it was scientifically proven later that the Earth indeed revolved around the sun, there's no possible way to prove to anyone that I'm worth listening to or worth fighting for. It seems as though I've been forced into exile. To everyone I'm wrong. Even when I'm right, my peers say I'm but a crackpot, living in times of old with standards no one adheres to.

Now the respectable gentleman who outwardly gives a damn is overshadowed by a trend and the least common denominator. My kind are going extinct and the world could care less. And here I remain, fighting for standards and a way of life that has been deemed obsolete. What's left? What is there to fight for if all say that you're not even worth holding on to?

I'm not perfect. I'm far from it. I'm just a guy who tries to help those in need. But what happens when I'm in need and no one wants to help? When you're too selfish to even consider the pain and suffering of others, what happens to those who fought for you? They get removed. Swept under rugs to be hidden and out of sight so as not to remind those of the shame they've brought upon themselves; for having forgotten the values of old. But what's swept under the rug doesn't go away. You know it's there and it haunts you. Remember that.

I know that as always my writings are ill-conceived, poorly written and idiotic, but if it struck a chord with any of you, then I guess it was worth it. when my ma asks me the aforementioned question, I never know what to answer. I know that my words on this website are often whiny, moronic and worthless, but I started this for a reason, and that reason was to relieve stress. Whether anyone reads this or not, I don't care. I will say this, though: I'll be buying a new journal soon. My two previous ones will be burned as a way of moving away from the past. No point in looking backward. Until next time.