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My life's Warfare

By: Ausmoore53190

Page 1, A short story about a young man whom became successful and acquired a wealth. This is about myself and the way I have coped with the depression inspired by losing my daughters mother.

-When does it all end, when can I rest. Not tonight so I'll crawl through the fire and sleep when I die. This life is a crazy and constantly changing thing. I was once a doer, a finisher, never was I a dreamer. The liberals and the lazy they always lose I would say. Two things happen, while I'm busy fulfilling what others can't, what others were dreaming about, I crushed the competition. Now I'm just another negligent narcissistic shit head son of a bitch with a substantial liquidity at my disposal. -Funny the way it is; life's strange way of unintentionally conveying these ironic signs. These probably meaningless, but only to be fair - maybe not. Ironic signs tend present themselves at precisely perfect times, perfect places, all circumstantial in direct correlation to you, your life, the current issue and some how they contain a resolution to a cure for reference. -I know that I can’t speak for everyone, but this always happens to me when I am radiating with disappointment. Emulating that of a crude pessimist. Its always when I'm so fucking low, just lacking that will to live righteously. Too often this occurs for lack of better words life's warfare. -I constantly just sit and loathe, I then manage to scurry for some relief, I get high in heavens sky via FDA approved speed, which seems to be my quick ticket to paradise. So tweaked out that essentially I scramble and in that find the quick easement I pursued. -So tell me, is this the lucrative "correct" way of maintaining myself? No probably not, regardless it’s my way, and it I have effectively and will continue to do so as best I know how. This mental prison I am crippled by is as secure as Fort Knox. I can't find the sanity I'm so desperate for. I am my worst enemy. -People around wan't to listen to me, I become an entertainer of some sort. They want to believe me as if I were the most interesting individual this side of the Mississippi. In realty I am nothing more than another Bar-Stool Prophecy at my very best. Vigorously I start consuming-beer to beer-to beer between scotch and tequila in a swift effort to effectively drink my way into sobriety at this point. -Then suddenly as I painstakingly force toxic cloudy urine from a shriveled cock in the little boys filthy bathroom; this I must say and I do so representing all of us men I'm sure. A man’s most viable time to review the life lead in general and I dwell on the continuing conglomeration of frivolity and recklessness. An ever so risky way to live, but the satisfaction of instant gratification in the little blue capsule I can't help but to occasionally consume has an answer temporarily. These times of adversity unfortunately reoccur more and more frequently as I progress in age. -Steadfast firm tight grip, knees bent a bit. I am drawn back by the plunge. So jittered and confused, with a 101.3 degree fever, dry elastic skin flushed bright red, significantly malnourished, yet still mind on one more thing. A quick temporary inquisition - Any young to middle age broad with a low rate of attraction just as miserable and desperate as I- now will do, a real steal of a deal. My neurological state is at a High-Risk point now. My catecholamine’s and flowing dopamine significantly dwindling into nothingness becoming less and less Euphoric, I'm sure very dangerously unbalanced. All of my neurotransmitters are quickly misfiring, synapsas not at all conducive. This implicating neurotransmission of all Cerebral Chemical Flow conveying a very near crash at a rate so fast the come down will be detrimental, one to recon with I'm sure. -All of the typical girls, the high class, the gorgeous, lovely little lying ladies become "Out of my League." This is to blame on the drug fueled chaos. Otherwise I'd so effortlessly pull them in at my peek. These pointless promiscuous pieces of top shelf pussy love to see me fold. -Unfortunately in the comedown I am disposable and left to settle for a stripper or two. Which is fine, I then adapt to their colloquialism and convince them that a Ménage à Trois with yours truly could be the road to redemption. -My mind still flying 90 to nothing, plus the 52 hour non-stop streak of toxic concoctions and unprotected sex are now making me feel miserable. I may not go down in history but I will go down on your sister, wife, mother whomever. I guess this is just my life, I am in fact definitively the rare but existing "Modern Day Massuer." A socially acceptable man whore, I think I may always be this way forever. -Its then I hear a sweet serenity of musical composure that generously spoken, to be quite honest it's a just good enough rendition of --The Eagles-- "Desperado"-- It's catchy melodic tune begins to play and I realize suddenly; its lyrics are somehow relative to the concurrent conduction that I've maintained, how I should just "come to my senses." Seems so damn relevant if only I had any sense to reference to it just excuses the relevance and I continue to rock on. -This in all of its inglorious ridiculousness seems as somewhat of an inadvertent ascription if you will. A sign so to speak, and it never fails to be significantly ironic. The Half-Ass cover plays while I have now initiated legitimacy in this flow which is now masking the underlying illness probably conveyed once within my urine for now the booze has brought clarity to the cloudy stream that I had previously excreted all day. -These weird signals we become aware of every now and then never cease to amaze me. I being a naturally superfluous individual in terms of analytical dissection- Admittedly I will say this makes up for a large majority of all that I do. I detail things, sometimes I’m up other times I’m down this per my state mentally at the time. Addiction isn't the case, I just binge through the bad times. Though wrongful, I do it anyways. -It’s my purgatory I guess really, expensive drinks, illicit drugs, and beautiful women all seem to give me the brief peace I'm in pursuit of. Most woman want something more serious, I somehow succumb them into my unique charm and subconscious promiscuity. It must be my tenacity to flatter a female. I diligently pursue interest effectively. -The fact of the matter is I’m never really all that interested, but regardless I find myself telling them all how beautiful they are anyway. ‘Because it’s true really, all women are, in one way or another. There’s something about every damn one of them, it’s either a smile, a lovely curve, a dark and interesting secret. You ladies really are the most amazing creatures, my life’s work, I have all of your albums and know each songs lyrics verbatim. I just get women, I have yet to meet one I haven't fallen in love with- Whether its for 5 minuets or 5 years. -Then there’s the morning after, a brutal hangover, and the painstaking realization that I’m not quite as available as I thought I was the night prior, then they are just gone. Leaving me here haunted by yet another road not taken. -I know what you all must be thinking, what an ass hole he is. To the contrary I am quite the gentleman to be so honest. I wouldn't feel right about stringing some broad along for the better half of her child bearing years. -All you ladies deserve the pretty veil and the long white dress, I am just not the man to give it to you. I will never be one to roll with the marital discord only to find myself across from the big couch across from Oprah with my fingers crossed. I don't purposely try to be so openly short with my emotions. I just fare to send them up the flag pole and see who the fuck salutes. -The fact of the matter is, here now I reside in the land of the lotus eaters ineffectively able to migrate, I'm so fucking disgusted with myself and I'm not entirely unhappy about that. A man mutilated by misery, I have lost the love of my life, I rarely am able to see my daughter, all I have now is an obscene amount of money I've managed to earn in the service rendered to the mighty, throbbing erected cock of corporate America-The most successful cocks-man to date and still remains to be. -Sex, money, and drugs are the Tylenol of life. It's all just a temporary alleviation from the real life gift we are all given of adversity. I'm so tired that I can't sleep; I hope that I can find peace for just one night. This success means nothing without the love that I lost. I cant seem to be the great father I'd like to be and leave all of my self-destructive bull shit at the door. -There is no life without love. None worth having, anyway. Everyone thinks they have found love but the turth is rarely does one ever find true love. We think we do because everyone is the star of their own romantic story, I found it. She said one thing. I said another. Next thing I knew, I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. Now It's gone, I'm gone, and all that was once beautiful is now beaten to death by my ability to disappoint all those around me. -I want to believe in happy endings, I do believe they exist. Yet on the other hand I think the unhappy ones get a bad rep. They are just as real and interesting as the happy ones the validity within them just as compelling and considerable. -Things fall apart, they break, and that’s part of life. In the end whether it’s me hoping and wishing for my family back kicking dirt, becoming inebriated nightly in an alcohol Infused libation, It's all a part of the plan. Everything in our lives happen for a reason. Settlement is an enemy to an individual, satisfaction is the eternal death of desire. Ya know, wine is fine but whiskey is quicker and a lot more tolerated in a delinquent community by night. -"She won't always love you no matter what"- they said. Hearts were broken, harsh lessons were learned. It was the best of times it was the worst of times. "Fuck it"- Those were the two words that led me to a lengthily law suit I soon lost, a family I lost forever. Im only left with my dirty meaningless money, a way with words. I sit and I wonder if I’ll ever stop serving these golden dreams on silver platters. I don’t have to let the crushing pressures of the workday world interfere with the richness of my life as a sexual being. Even still I am unhappy it is an unbearable thought I will never effectively domesticate myself. -So I ask you all- To quote the clash- "Should I stay or should I go" because at this point I have no real understanding of anything anymore. Here in Nowhereland, Alabama there is no help credible enough to save me from myself... So I am only left to do what I know best, ease the pain and have another drink I presume. With that being said, bottoms up to all of you. I’ll hit the bottle because it really helps, I’m not sure I can put it down anymore honestly, Cheers!

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