This Post Went Completely Off the Rails, You Have Been Warned

by Noise Pollution

Generally, I don’t cry about my life. There are very few real-life situations that have ever actually made cry. The last time I cried from my own circumstances was during a day spent wandering around in the rain, desperately searching for a payphone.

That’s a really, really long story, and not one I feel like telling at this moment. Maybe we’ll get to the point where telling that story doesn’t make me incredibly self-conscious, but as of right now, that’s a story that isn’t ready to be told.

The last time I really cried prior to that event was when my girlfriend of three years and I broke up. That’s another long story, and thinking about it makes me feel literally nauseous, so we’ll skip that one too.

I just wanted to point out that the times I cry from things happening in my life are few and far between. I didn’t….. Hold, on. I need to shut the fuck up for a second.


Okay, sorry for the completely abrupt stop, I just realized partway through writing how completely full of shit I was. I cry far more often than your average dude. The point I was attempting to get at is that movies, books, and video games tend to make me cry more often than actual events, which is true, but claiming that I’m some kind of robot otherwise is total bullshit. Less than a month ago, I had a nervous breakdown and wound up bawling my eyes out for no legitimate reason. The events I was describing before both happened less than a year ago.

Three times of legitimate bawling in less than a year is more than average for a guy, from what I’ve picked up. So, maybe it’s not that I’m over-sensitive to media, which was my original point. Maybe I’m just over-sensitive in general. That would make a lot of sense.

My original goal was to point out how I cry at every dramatic death, cheesy love line, and loss that I see on a screen or read off a page and contrast that with my “usual” stoic attitude. Unfortunately, that all fell apart, as I realized that the entire premise of this post was built on a completely imaginary situation.

I am not as fucking cool as I think I am. I am not as smart as I think I am, and my entire view of the world is so skewed that people don’t even understand the pessimistic garbage I say in their direction. I must be living in some kind of fantasy land. I can’t believe I honestly thought I rarely cried. What a stupid, self-indulgent thing of me to think. I’m not “cool.” I’ve never been fucking cool, and I never will be. I will always react to the world around me in an over-the-top way. I will never have a cool head in a high-pressure situation. I will never save anyone’s life. I will never be looked-up to.

I have an attitude that is going to get me nowhere. I do nothing. I hate everything, but still want to continue existing in a world that I think sucks. I think I suck too, but I don’t do anything to change it. I just sit here, messing with my guitar, alone in this room that I repeatedly call a sanctuary. I write aimless, self-indulgent bullshit on pieces of paper calling them songs, then throw them away, rendering anything good that could have possibly come from them completely worthless.