This is the time of year that it's always the worst. I don't know why. Maybe it's the heat. It keeps me inside a lot. I'm so prone to heat strokes that I don't have much choice in the matter. Getting sick is not one of my favorite past times. Suppose I'm funny like that. Anyway, maybe that's part of the problem. I'm inside a lot. When I'm inside, eventually I wind up feeling like the walls are closing in. Being claustrophobic sucks on its best days. This isn't one of them.

Tired doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. Not physically. No, in spite of being the fat kid, physically I feel pretty good. Emotionally…I'm sunk. I thought I was getting away, thought I was finally pulling myself out, but he's back and I can't seem to get the tapes in my head to stop. My friends and family telling me how much I remind them of him. I don't want to remind anyone of him.

I'm not him. I am not him.

Maybe I'm just crazy or the devil got inside
But either way my soul is gone, And I'll end this all tonight

It's exhausting hurting the people I love. My friends, my family. Never being able to keep a steady relationship because no one ever knows when I'm going to explode next. What they don't seem to understand is I don't know either. If I did, I'd stop it from happening. But I don't. I never have. One second I'm fine…the next, I'm nearly blacking out thanks to rage that I can't control no matter how hard I try. That's when I start hearing him in my head. That's when he starts screaming again. That I'm not good enough…that I've never been good enough. That I'll never be good enough. That's when I hear over and over again how worthless I am, how much of a screw up. That's when I start to drink.

Alcohol may not numb the pain, it may not turn down the tape that's playing in my head, but it damn well dulls it. It quiets him, even if it's only for a little while. The problem is…when I sober up, it's just as loud. He's just as loud. Reminding me that he always went for the bottle too. That he always drank himself into complete oblivion just to shut out the pain of it all.

I'm not him. I can't be him.

The one hand throws the whiskey, and the other throws the gun
As he cries out to the heavens
I am not my father's son

It all comes down to a decision, I suppose. Am I going to be him? Or am I going to be my own man? Am I going to continue to allow him to control my every move? Or am I finally going to put that, and him, behind me? Who do I want to be? I know who I don't want to be. I don't want to be a lonely, drunk, bitter old man. I want to have a family and I want that family to feel safe and loved when they are with me.

I know what I want. I want…to be me. Because I can't be him.

I can not be him.

And I've bundled up all these fears inside
And I've bottled up all of this pain
And no one or nothing can take this away
But I won't let it happen again
Never again
Never again
No