I don't know what to write anymore.

I'm not even sure what to say.

I understand that. . .I'm not really here anymore. Or I am, or I'm pretending to be. Saving face to ease the complications. Except the complications seem to grow when you least expect it. And I guess I've grown to a point where instead of staying on guard, I just close up, and let them come. I'm tired. Partly because of my medication, but very much emotionally. The activity I'm very good at these days is taking very long naps, because I just don't want to deal with this crap anymore, so I might as well sleep through it. Amber would be calling me an idiot right about now and I probably wouldn't blame her, but if she was living in my shoes she might understand where I'm coming from.

The fact that I care so much is the reason I've stopped. It might not be healthy, but I can't be weak again. I can't whine. Yet it seems whenever I open my mouth or explain myself, there is always something pathetic coming out. So I stopped. I'm tired of complaining about the same thing over and over again. I'm tired of making the same mistakes over and over again. It feels like everything blows up in my face, and if it doesn't blow up, it'll certainly try to crawl under my skin and attack me subtly.

You know something is wrong when I sit in a car with Chad and say nothing. When normally I'll be talking non-stop the whole time, even if Chad doesn't say a word.

My Mom told me today that the doctors are pretty happy with her results. She's pulling together stronger than they thought and she should be with us for a little while yet. My response?

"That's cool."

No exclamation. No big, strong hug. I didn't know what else to say. What am I suppose to say when it seems like every week the diagnosis changes? I want nothing more than for her to live long enough to see me graduate college, and married, and to see her butt ugly grandkids. And I'd like to think she will, that some divine intervention will wisk away the pain, give her some longevity. She needs it. I'm tired of seeing her in pain and I'm tired of standing there and watching it all happen, yet I can't get myself to move. I can't feel that anymore. She told me she needs me to step up, be the man of the family. That I can make this easier. Make it better, but I feel useless. Redundant. Tired.

I'm just so fucking tired.

I don't know how we manage to afford to live the way we do. Our house runs on $5,000 a month most of the time, and we're broke. Dead broke. Yet we keep on trucking. I think. I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up one morning and there will be UHAULs in the yard taking all our stuff away because I'm not being told everything I should be. I'm suppose to be a "grown-up" now, yet I feel like I'm being put in the dark.

Every time Amber asks me what I'm thinking, I usually respond with something about comic books. Why? Because that's all I try to let myself think about nowadays. I'm escaping inside my head. In my imagination. I'm buying as many books a week as I can afford just to keep my head under wraps. I don't care if the stories are stupid or the concept is cheesy. I just need to escape. I need to get away. But I'm needed here. So I stay. I stay out of the love I have for my family, because running away completely would just be a cowardly move and the last thing I want to be is a coward.

Yet I'm so very scared. I don't like having emotional attachments anymore. I don't like getting close to people. I block out my family's advances. I don't leave the house unless I'm forced out for whatever reason. And I don't know what to say.

For an entry that began with, "I don't know what to write anymore," I certainly found some words to say. But I'm not really sure that is what's all there. I try to say my life isn't bad, yet I always find curve balls that make me think otherwise. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing that other people survive on far worse, under far worse circumstances and that's when I realize I can't be selfish. Where I can't complain like I'm doing now. Where I have to suck it up and move on.

Yeah, well. Eh.

"You were my baby boy. You were the child I always dreamed of having. Don't you get that Nick? You're immensely special. And this. This anger. The things you've said. They hurt so much. I'm so confused because this isn't you."

---

"I'm moving out because everything will be better if I'm gone. I almost told Stephen that I wasn't going to do it, but when you told me that I was killing you inside. I knew I had to leave."
"Did you ever think that leaving might kill me more?"

---

"It's never been the family's fault. My anger is my own. It's just the family I took it out on. Everyone else is amazed when I tell them I get angry. As if it's impossible to be so. When I told people I got put on anger medication, they laughed because they thought I was joking--And I hate that."
"And it will cause you to end up without having any family if you don't stop it."

---

"You need to stop coming to the conclusion that I forget about everything that happened in our lives before Harriet died--All I do is think about those things."
"You don't act like you remember."
"Because no one else does either."

---

"After Harriet died, you were the only one to go off on the deep end. Out of everyone in the family, even in HER family. You were the one that exploded."
"Sorry that I'm not like everyone else. Sorry that I ruined the last four years of your life. That I didn't suck it all in like Tony and Savannah."

---

"You have a family. You have shelter and food and an unending supply of internet. You have parents that love you dearly."

---

"No, but I'd rather have a son who is fun to talk to, who keeps his promises to me, who believes I'm worthy of a smile or even a hug once in awhile."
"If you haven't noticed, I don't hug anyone anymore. If I do get stuck in a hug it becomes very awkward for me."

---

"I said I can't change. That doesn't mean I can't improve. Or evolve. Humans were still humans 3000 years ago, but they evolved, adapted, improved in the environment they lived in. Same basic principle, different concept. It might sound far fetched, but it works in this case. I know that there's a lot that I do that isn't favorable, little ticks and clockwork. But I can work on them. I can improve them, make them an advantage and not a disadvantage. Like I said, I can't change who I am, but I can change what I am."
"I'm sorry, but I have months. Not 3000 years."

---

"My worst fear is that I'll die or you'll die and I'll never have said I'm sorry."


---

"I don't get it. Then why are you so unhappy? If you believe that there's nothing wrong in your life then why did you stop smiling?"
"I know exactly what I want to say, but I'm afraid to say it."
"Just say it."
"I'm unhappy because...I don't need three thousand different complications in my life. It wouldn't change anything. All I have is one, I...I just have one and....and because....I'm unhappy because the one. The ONLY thing in my life that's wrong. Is you dying. And you can tell me that I don't think about a lot of these things, but I do. All I do is think about all of them. But I tell myself that you're not dead. And that's what matters. And that's what I try to focus on, but it doesn't change the fact that the most important person that I will ever have in my life is slowly disappearing, and the only thing I've done...in this last half of the year, I've done nothing. First I was in denial, then all I did was make jokes, as if it would make it go away, or seem less threatening. And it wasn't until I realized that time is actually passing and that I'm running out of it. That I got scared. Truly scared. Yet all I've done is be an asshole to you. You're getting one short stretch to define your place in this world, and I'm making you miserable and I hate that. I hate that I'm that guy. That I've done this to you. And. And and and, I just. I thought I was more than this."

---

"You always talk about saving the world. What about saving your family first? You have that power. I know you do. You have a gift. You have such a big heart and everyone else gets to see it but us. Save us Nick. Please."

---

"You're so unhealthy."
"I stopped caring."
"How can you care about anyone else if you don't care about yourself?"
"I do care, that's why I don't worry about myself."
"But you need to. You're a mess. I love you Nick. I don't want to see you do this to yourself."

---

"It's going to get worse Nick. This. This is nothing. It'll be worse before it's over and I need you. Your family needs you. Don't you get how important you are? You could be the one thing that makes this whole thing bearable. I need you to be there at the end, Nick."

---

"Don't give up on yourself and don't give up on me."

---

"What's an asswipe anyway? Is that toilet paper? Are you calling me toilet paper?" - My Mom

I recently had a conversation with my friend Felicia (shout out to you baby cakes) about relationships.

Before you groan, don't worry, this isn't all about girls. In fact, I'm going to try my best to steer clear from the dating scene topic as much as I can. Bare with me, it all makes sense in the end....at least to me.

I came to the conclusion, and this is my own personal theory, that the universe's existence is a relationship. Whether it's with some etheral force. An omnipotent being. Or just merely a coincidental boom that blew existence into shape. It doesn't matter. If you break the universe down to atoms. Sub-atoms or whichever. There is a relationship there. A connection. A company of atoms that coexist, and must coexist peacefully and cooperatively in order to maintain balance.

Imagine if the atoms that make up your body suddenly "broke up." It'd be the worst shaft in history because you, technically, would be nothing. Actually, you'd be something, you'd just be a bafrillion of something dispersed in whatever direction the atoms go after the break up. The point is you need that relationship to survive, just like you need the blood to keep flowing in and out of your heart to the various places in your body. You should have a very good relationship with your liver, but a lot of people in this current generation seem to forget they have one.

I could make a list. A countless list of things that relationships relate to. Whether it's people, places, or things it's all there. Even a presumed mentally challenged person like me can see it.

Quite honestly. I know shit about physics. I hated the last biology class I took (minus meeting my good friend Whitney). I hated them for their text book resource. It's where all the information I ever need to know would be, but to me, it was just a book of words. Just like this entry is. You could be like me in a physics class, and groan while reading this, or you can be text book smart. Where the words come naturally to you as these words feel natural to me. I'm not text smart. I'm not street smart. Heck, I'm your average american democrat (as of yesterday) trying to do his best to get on the morning news. Probably about getting whacked over the head during a robbery or something...

Getting back on track. What I meant to say is that there's a science to it. I'm smart. Much more than I give myself credit for. What I mean to say is that relationships are a science and it's a science I understand. Just because I don't understand the anatomy of a human as well as Andrew doesn't make me dumb. It just means I'm not well versed in anatomy. If you asked a baker to decode the genetic structure, he probably couldn't, but it's not to say it's impossible.

If you ask a geneticist to make an elegant pastry, chances are it won't be as swell as the baker's, but it's not to say that he won't do his best.

Relationships. The majority of the world, from little of the world I've walked around in, takes for granted the magic and mysticism of this science. A long time ago, in a time no one remembers, love was created. One would say it was an act of evolution, a better method of keeping a species alive by creating a means of endearment. Or maybe it was just a word. But it's spawn several Backstreet Boys CDs, so we know it has some flaws. No offense to the BSB fans.

Some philosophers would say that love is what keeps the world alive. It's what keeps the universe alive. What's the point of having something exist if there's no love in it? At least that's what a human would say. If there are mystical forces at work that are higher than any mere human comprehension then maybe there's an angle we haven't sighted yet, but for what we're allowed to know at present is that everything revolves around love. And the sun. And J.K. Rowling's next book (word to self, keep reading Deathly Hollows).

Even though humans have a knack for willingly taking the life of another human, it's not to say we're the only ones. Other, lesser animals do the deed. Hell, some of them have a regular habit of eating eachother more than humans do. Anyway, the point is that humans thrive on relationships. If not with loved ones, then with the alarm clock that wakes them in the morning. They rely. Nay, depend. On that alarm clock to get them up at the appropriate time so they can manage their day correctly. It's a relationship. Sometimes it doesn't work, and you get angry. Sometimes it breaks, and you seek a new one.

Good lord. See the connection. You think finding a girlfriend or boyfriend in your life is so important yet it holds the same characteristics as an alarm clock! I think I know where my next love interest is coming from (a.k.a. Wal-Mart).

This entry has deviated into a swarm of thoughts on a subject that for our age, is too large for us to care. We care about the little things. The intimate things. Y'see, it's the intimate parts of science that I love. It's the technicalities between the lines of Chapter Twelve: Biowhatchamahoots that I'm really interested in. It's the science I can see with my eyes. Touch with my hands. Feel with my heart.

It's an amazing science.

I don't get to understand the world like Stephen or Andrew. Or Tony Black. Or Chad. Or Tiff. I look at them, and I almost wonder how they deal with a guy like me. Is it my public face that keeps the connection going? It couldn't possibly, because they've read entries like this before and still call me out to play.

Ah. It is love. The power to see the imperfections of someone and find that perfect. Not to necessarily say that one flaw of being that they like to play the bongos upside down while singing in a really raspy voice to the Macarana doesn't get annoying sometimes. But at the end of the day, you look past that. You find a way to cope and you enjoy life beside that flaw.

Because of relationships. They keep the world moving. They let us breathe. Let us begin anew. When one fails, another begins. It's science.

Just science.

And love.

Sometimes a ping goes off in your head.

Not a light bulb. Just a ping.

Ping. Ping. Ping. It's not a bright idea. It doesn't make you the next McGuyver.

I had a ping. I've actually had it before but I didn't pay attention.

I'm a movie guy. I watch movies. I can handle a brainless action flick, but truth be told, I want to watch the movies that make me think. So that when I go to bed, I see things differently.

Tonight. In this early morning, I watched the movie Blood Diamond again. Currently, Blood Diamond and Last King of Scotland are my two favorite recent movies. Why? Both deal with Africa. Both deal with the civil strife that's ripping the continent apart.

It might be fictional stories, but they borrow from reality. From the massacres and horrors that have been committed to those innocent people. I see that and I cringe. Throughout. And I'm here, stuck behind a computer with only my words and no action to speak of.

I want more than that. It scares me. To even have these thoughts. Because the second I get up, there's no sitting down and there's no coming back the same person I was.

Truth be told. I want to leave. I want to get out of here, but for all the right reasons. I'm not going to leave people behind, I'm showing them the way.

I want to go to Africa. I really really really want to go to Africa. I want to leave my comfortable room. My comic books. My friends and family. I want to go to Africa and I want to stand on their soil and walk in their shoes and carry them on my back when they cannot walk. I'm not a doctor. I'm not a soldier. Truthfully, there are no power in my hands.

What I am, is a man of words. If I can just crouch down, help a child up and tell him or her that everything will be okay. That they will be safe and that I'll protect them. I will do that. With my words.

At the end of the day I'm a spinner of tales. An imagination avenue. I think so much yet produce so little. I pretend to be something I'm not because it's easy. Except life isn't easy, and for those poor people across the Atlantic, it's never been easy.

I can't change the world. I can't save it. I'm not the superheroes I read about in my comics. Fuck, they don't even save the world half the time. I'm not super.

I'm not much of anything.

But as long as I believe that, with myself, I am doing something good for others. Then that's all I need. I don't need to be the smartest. I don't need to be able to quote Nietzche or memorize the periodic table. That's not my forte. I'm smart with my heart.

So yeah.

This is me. Making a decision that I can only hope. I can dream. I can cross my fingers and be lame and wish on stars every night. I can save every penny. I'll have to get a few shots in the ass, but that's a slight bit of pain and hardly a spec of what people in trouble go through around the globe.

I want to go to Africa. And I want to help.

It seems like I suffer from multiple realization syndrome on a daily basis. It's like that quote where you never know what's going to happen minute by minute because life is constantly changing around you. Expect the unexpected, which is expected.

My mind is constantly evolving and devolving. It shifts into new eras, then folds back on itself, collecting whatever I've learned or experienced that's altered me in any way, and mushing it with what was before. It turns me into a hybrid of old and new. Technically, evolution is about the survival of the fittiest. The weaker aspects fade away as new, stronger aspects take their place. Just because they're new and stronger doesn't mean they're good. I have a terrible time of shedding old quirks and traits that I'd rather be done with, and when they mix in new forms, I get kind of cranky and overwhelmed by myself.

It's kind of corky.

There was a girl that I met, and I started to pursue her, but when it seemed kind of useless and nothing was happening, I stopped actively involving myself in an affair with her. I mean, what's the point? Didn't seem to bother me, I've been through the routine so many times now. But it's always weird when you suddenly find out they're hooked with someone else. Like, you should have expected it. It's not like they had to think about you before moving on to someone else, when nothing was happening, but deep down, you wonder if you were important or made a dent at all. I mean, a big part of me is apathetic to the revelation, so it's not going to shatter my life. Just kind of....ironic, I guess.

Then again, I keep so many different potential love interests at arms length these days. I'm just not feeling it anymore. I'd like to be out on the dating scene, I'd like to be in a relationship. But I've gotten to a point where I realize I'm at this age where it's more probably worthless to continue filling up my life with girlfriends when they don't lead to any place spectacular most of the time. Y'know?

What's the point? Andrew said that two things happen in a relationship. You either break up or you get married. I'm definitely not at the age where I'm ready to get married, so the only thing I have to look forward to is a breakup. And I've looked at a lot of those.

---

Today (yesterday actually, but it feels weird to say that so close after midnight) was comic book day. I ended up having my Dad buy them for me because I don't get paid until today. He was very reasonable about it and I managed to get all the titles I was hoping for. Some noteworthy choices was the relaunch of Thor, which was both movingly written and beautifully drawn (with amazing colors by Laura Martin). Another was Action Comics #851, which continues the exceptional (but heavily delayed) Last Son storyline co-written by the original director/writer (Richard Donner) of the Christoper Reeves Superman films.

I'm suppose to go the beach tomorrow. I even bought a Spongebob beach towel to show off my manliness, but I think it'll be canceled and that's fine by me. I'd rather hang out with Maddy (and Ben) anyway.

There are no ordinary moments. Buried into every occasion is something extraordinary. The purpose of the purposeless is to find their purpose, thus negating there ever to be a lack of purpose in the first place. Everything we say and do. Every motive and action that we produce is another cog in a great framework of life. Lately I've been thinking about my own, crippled humanity. I tried to think of what separates me from a squirrel. One thought is that we just evolved differently. I can understand that. But is poetry a part of evolution? I've never seen a squirrel write poetry before. The only music is the chatter as it chips into it's chestnut and carries it to it's home. I've never seen a chipmunk sit in the middle of a field, staring up into the sky and wondering, "What if?"

My own, crippled humanity. My own selfish motivations. My own story. The story of my life that will continue many generations after I'm gone. The only thing that truly matters in your life, because it is finite, is that you leave something for the next life to carry forward. So on and so forth.

Sometimes I get angry at myself after telling a new body the life and death of Harriet and what she means to me. This is merely an example, but my anger stems from the fact that Harriet is more than a story to me. I'm a writer, even when I don't write. I'm always creating stories in my head, both fact and fictional. I feel that emulating a past incident or occasion with catchy dialogue and punctuality loses the romance of the past.

The entirety of this post so far feels static and lacks electricity in the words. It's a collection of jumble that just happens to roll of the tongue poignantly. I spend a lot of my time spouting values and beliefs, many of which I don't follow through with on my own accord. Sometimes I feel like the Operative in Serenity, who is trying to create a better world, even though he cannot exist in it. I'm not really sure what I'm suppose to be doing, but I'm always lending the service to others so that they can find their way, even when I can't.

I talked to my Mom earlier and asked her to set up a meeting with a local homeless shelter so I can discuss working with their children once a week. Give them someone to talk and hang out with. It's something I've been meaning to do for years, but only now am I overcoming my greatest obstacle. My fear.

It's my fear that prevents me from accomplishing those which I can with the talents I've been given. It's my fear that stops me from getting truly close to people, while only allowing a shadow of myself into their comfort zone, as well as mine. The origin of violence, anger, and hatred all stem from fear. Every morning that I've woken up for the last few weeks since my birthday and snarled in anger was out of fear. Fear of something I'm just beginning to grasp. Something that I've started to overcome. It's time I overcame my fears and battled my tribulations and became the man that every little nook and cranny in my life has brought me towards.

Earlier I jogged up and down my street, only stopping momentarily so that my lungs wouldn't burst. Andrew said that the pain that you feel in the exercise should drive you to continue the effort no matter how much it hurts. I'm incredibly out of shape physically, so I couldn't manage much, but as I started back towards my house, mere seconds into the second half of my jog, I could feel the pain swelling up in my legs. I wanted to slow to a walk, but I pushed myself to continue the moderate but rhythmic beat of my feet hitting the pavement. I had the sound of music churning out of my ipod through my brain until I made it to the foot of my driveway. Along the way some douche bag tried to open his door so I'd get hit, but I dodged it. There are people that will always open their doors to stop you from the efforts, but with the large amount of space that the planet provides. There is always room to dodge. Unless you're stuck in a narrow tunnel, then you're screwed. Sorry.

As much as it hurt, I didn't want to stop running. I can still feel the dry burn in my throat.

Lately I've just wanted to be left alone, even when I make plans to leave the house and venture through the area with my friends or family. I have the urge, something that I think every person goes through on a daily basis as well, to lock yourself up inside. Not just from the world, but inside your own self. I don't want to interact with my own mind because I'm afraid of what I'll find inside. But I'll never know who I truly am, or what I can truly do, until I accept my flaws and failures as a part of my being.

The most important aspect of life. Whether through a chemical unbalance and sweaty palms or an act of evolution. Is the power of the human heart. Not quite the organ you have pumping fresh blood throughout your circulatory system, but that inner connection that links you to the rest of humanity, no matter how crippled yours or it is. I only wish to follow my heart and let it take me on whatever journey I go through.

Because true happiness is found in the journey. Not the ultimate destination.

Today in class, my english teacher posed an interesting point. He began talking about arena football players and discussing their pay. He said it was worth a pile of shit, he was sure, but they continued to play regardless. Why? It certainly wasn't for the money. My teacher said they wanted to make it big (NFL) and that that was the driving force behind keeping them where they are. It was hope. The aspiration to be something more than what they are.

I mulled this around my head for awhile, zoning out from the teacher's discussion to focus on running around in my head.

I'm going to use professional athletes/actors/etc as examples, because they're the easies to understand and relate to. Though truth be told, you could use a baker as an example. Not everyone wants to grow up to be Tom Cruise (god, I hope not). Just because you don't live in a mansion doesn't mean you live a mediocre life.

But dreams. Ambitions. Aspirations. The words rolled around as if they'd never been there before. If every day has a theme, then today was the theme of hope. Something I've written about countless times and in countless variations, but it's a key word that continues to infiltrate my life and put me on a specific path. Not just for myself, but for others as well.

A lot of people look at professional stars and feel envy. Subsequently they tell people that they'd never have a chance in a billion of making it big, and resign themselves to a life they live in by choice. But life is choice. We're born out of habit, but we continue to exist because we want to exist. We believe that we have a purpose, however big or small, and that drives us to continue paying our taxes. If we didn't have a purpose, why do we exist?

It is much like the life of a star. I'm not referring to a person, but the actual entity of a star. They don't just randomly appear out of nowhere. Our sun wasn't formed overnight and in a way it continues to grow and build. Stars take lifetimes to become what they are, and the most fascinating thing about stars is that even when they die, you can still see them shining brightly in the night sky.

That's what I love about life. You're born, you copulate, and you die. You think that's all there is to life, but you forget to realize that you can create an impact that people after you will carry on. If you choose, your star might die, but your light continues to shine on for years to come.

Most actors lived in humility. They resigned themselves to sidestreet diners just to pay the rent for their low-end apartment. They spend years stuck in a rut until they finally make their big break. Some never do, but when you truly believe in yourself and the talent you have, then your chance is far higher than that of someone that is just doing it to do it.

I love this quote: "Writers' write. Dreamers' Dream."

I love it because it's true. You can have dreams, but if all you do is dream about them then you won't get anywhere because realistically, dreams aren't real. You prove that you're a writer in name because you continue to produce piece after piece. It's a stamp. I'm not a writer, I'd like to think I am, but I don't produce one work after another or even write all that much. I can be good at it, I've even dreamed about it. But you can't just dream your life, you have to make it happen.

I have several dreams. Some of them might stay dreams, but others I'm positive that if I push myself. I push in the right direction and I continue to prove my worth and the dream's credibility, then I have a shot of making it a reality. My sole dream. My magnum opus is simple. I want to help others. I don't have to become a rockstar or an athlete. I just want to help people and to me. To me that makes a brighter star than any multi-million dollar paycheck. I will never give up on it, because you don't give up on dreams. You might doubt. You might worry. You might reconsider, but your true dreams always stick with you. You can't fail if you never give up (I love that line).

The human dream is to become something beyond what we are. We can't physically fly, so we found a way around it. We reached for the stars and we found a way to grasp them. This is something for everyone. Everywhere. Everyone has a talent, a purpose, and something to share with others that makes them an important piece in the tapestry of existence. I'm not trying to reach uncomprehensible measures here. I don't want to write too epic, but this is how I see it.

Never give up. Never surrender.