Voids, Rants and the Mafia.

I hate feeling like I need something. Some void I just have to fill.
It dawned on me that I'm not good at filling voids. I'm so self destructive. I wish I could learn how to be okay, you know? Take up yoga or knitting or some healthy outlet.
Writing helps sometimes. But even then, sometimes I feel betrayed by my words. They fall short.

For some reason, I always seem to be waiting for something. Someone? But I can't ever be sure.
I know I'm on a dangerous road. But it's almost like I need the adrenaline. The suspense.
Just SOMETHING. And I guess until I figure out what that is, I'll keep doing whatever it is I'm doing.

I guess my great-great grandfather was part of the italian mafia. He was sent to his wife in pieces by mail. Pissed someone off. He left behind some rotten apples.
His son beat his wife, and his son's son left his. My father has problems with alcohol and depression, last I knew. And then there's me.

I know that none of it makes me who I am. I know I'm the one who controls my life and all that jumbo. But it just makes me think. Maybe Im destined for travesty.

Sorry to be all depressing. I guess I'm in one of those dark places that everyone talks about. Probably a cave.

Anyways, I don't know where I was going with this. Consider it a dead end.