I cry a lot. Just about everyday, I think. I try to only cry in the shower if roommates are home. I cry at night in my bed, on the way to work in the morning and on the way back from work. Sometimes its for no reason, just a wave of sadness rushes over me. Sometimes its for my uncle, hearing a song he likes or just anything that reminds me of him. Sometimes its for my mother and the rest of my family. Apparently, its not uncommon from my father’s side, on depression. Maybe I’m just a sad person, too much happiness scares the shit out of me.

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Trainspotting (1996)

(Source: supermodelgif, via hitlers-pubes)