home on the range, blown on the range

No sleep and early mornings are a lovely combo. I don’t feel exhausted yet, but I’ve definitely been more tired lately. I think it’s a combination of the failed sleep and the depression.

I got up early this morning to go to the gun range. I love shooting. It gives me a sense of presence and power. It makes me feel in control. When I’m holding the gun the only thing in my head is my target and the feel of heavy metal against my palms as I prepare for the lineup, shot, recoil. There is no anxiety, there is no crying, no thoughts of failed relationships, of pain, of struggle.

No, those thoughts do not come when I’m shooting, but they do come in between. I sit and listen to my father talk. I try and absorb the information, but as I do the back of my head stores it for purposes of self harm not purposes of positivity.

He explains the power of different hand guns. I take note.

He explains the difference of bullets and how some mushroom when they hit their target while others are less powerful. I take note.

He explains the places to strike the body for fatality or injury. I take note.

Shooting guns is so freeing to me because I feel in control, but I also know that I hold an object in my hand that could dictate my life or the life of another. One slip and serious damage could be caused.

I often wish I could enjoy things without turning them into a darkness within my mind, but at this point it’s so hard to redirect those thoughts that I don’t. I just let them sink in.

I wonder what it is like to be truly happy with your life, truly healthy in your head. For a time I thought “Maybe this is it. Maybe this is happiness.” But that happiness has been ripped away, and what remains is a dull distaste for existence, and a constant pain in my gut that will not subside.

Oh well.. wish me luck I guess.

– G

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