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Reflective Sunday Update

Some more current pieces on my general state of mind and introspective understanding of life. These were all written in the past two months. Enjoy.


(Written 2-25-2014)

The definition of irony may be attempting to cure your social anxiety inĀ  by sitting smack dab in a sea of strangers. Been at this strange little battle for about 30 days now. Out of all the intense inner struggles I’ve been through, this one is a bizarre first. Living life through a decade of deep, engulfing depression and anxiety problems you’d think the eyeballs and judgments would have already caused some type of irrational fear. You my friend, would be wrong.

Maybe now I’m peering too deeply, terrified everyone else is doing the same. The close we become to someone the more we’re forced to open up and share. Even acquaintances on some level. It feels like we know each others stories without explanation or question.

School has always been a fun and fulfilling social experience. Loved the first day of classes. Finding new people to learn from and communicate with was exciting every semester. That plus the joy of learning new things has caused me to commit years upon years of my life to chasing a degree for a job I’m most likely not even suited for.

Self-doubt isn’t anything new. We’re old friends. Reflections have been mocking me for longer than they haven’t at this point. It’s the people that have always continued to keep me grounded beyond all the negative internal bouts. The interpersonal relations. The human connection. The social link. Building someone to care for, to build something to care for.

It’s come to a point where I’ve let those few in and I have no trouble keeping it limited to those few. The big problem is it tends to feel they’re increasingly decreasing. Of course this falls into my hands in some regard. Been becoming detached for some time now. Feels I keep cutting circulation to the portion of my brain that desires socialization. So what now?


(Written 2-27-2014)


Who are you kidding?

Only so much distance traveled until you hit another road bump.


How’s your traction?

Seem to be spinning into oblivion, unsure where this loss of control will leave you directed towards.


Ready to steer?

Grip the path, wheel in hand. Floor it to destiny.


(Written 3-19-2014)

Snow-capped, skyline scaling rocks formed into peaks of promise. This place isn’t nearly as cold as my city. Frostbite isn’t an actual death threat here. Sure, it can get windy enough to remind true mid-westerners of Chicago, but the air it circulates isn’t filled with smog and big business bullshit. The air here smells pure, with traces of peacefully exhaled pot smoke. My sense of smell actually has made it’s first appearance since joining the lung wreckers club back in ’07. The new-found scents admittingly made my stomach turn at first. Only took two days to grow accustom to being the proud owner of all five senses.

Preparing to fly back home today. Today it’s necessary to find my bearings first. This trip was meant to refresh me, both physically and mentally. Well, I learned of her pregnancy yesterday. Brought up more emotions than decipherable at first. I freaked. I’m still freaking. Pacing cliff-side, chugging beer and burning spliffs to the filter. “That should be my family” is what my selfish mind is stuck on. We talked about raising children together. We’d get a house. Have our kids. Live our life. You know, the whole white picket fence dream we had etched out together. Now some stranger is walking my shoes, living my future, stealing my dreams. He’ll teach my should-have-been son or daughter how to play catch, proper manners and most importantly how to respect their mother.

Figures Mr. Right-After-Me would be Mr. Right. Seems to be the case with most women I’ve dated or spent some chunk of relational time with. They must go through a learning period with me. One that’s apparently eye-opening enough for them to finally move on to true happiness with someone else. Maybe they learn their worth after dealing with someone that far from it. Who knew my life would amount to being a walking Dane Cook character…there’s gotta be more.

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Back-logging cont.

More past poetry about women. Surprised?



Spilled like paint.

Splatter the walls, with thick strokes of thanks.

Tell her that she’s pretty.


Before she forgets me.


Palms are even turning clammy

And I’m perspiring anxiety

So if you look you understand me.

Beads of sweat,

Piled up.

You’re gonna sense my nervousness.

Stop and play it cool, fool.

Gonna get yourself questioned,

Like what are you hiding?

While I’m still searching for the hidden lesson.

Can tell you got several.

Skeletons are piling high,

Willing to discuss ‘em

When you’re loved

Laying ’round, pillow talking between back-rubs.

When you admit it all,

Exposing beyond the built up walls you guard.

Takes a lot to trust,

Both keeping suspicions up.

But truthfully, you can use me.

Please abuse me, ruthlessly.

And your beauty, contains the answers.

Forces me to fumble flawless grammar.

Glamor in your goals,

Somehow back by morals

Your hair twirls,

Shaping your curls

Stringing strands through your fingers.

Your exit always seems to,

Leave this trace of you that lingers.

So now you got me walking busy streets,


Listening completely

Hoping your voice, will be the one to greet me.

Face it, we both know

Quiet remains the evening.

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Back-logging posts continued

Things behind the scene for the book are finally coming to culmination. Until I can release any news about it, here are once again some older, random writings from the past. These will be popping up in the next few days. Enjoy.


Too drunk to deny you.

Too in denial to stay sober.

You and I, we lie through

The night ’til it’s over.


Shut off our brains,

So we’re guided by passion.

Taking precautions,

Our results could be tragic.


We pretend it don’t matter.

We sway forth and backwards,

Spilling guts on my mattress

Is always what happens.

What you’ve been given is lacking,

Common sense plus a habit.


You’re trying, move past it.

I’ll wait, clean up after.

Cause you think you don’t matter.

Clearly you don’t see my, tattered heart

Gifted to you on a platter.

Simply pieces scattered.

Don’t matter.


We’re now swaying backwards.

You’re flattered.

Hopeful yet shattered.

So you keep moving backwards,

Then profess on my mattress

That it matters, we can’t just

Start penning new chapters


We keep moving backwards,

But I keep moving past that.

Leaving me confused after,

Those nights up with you on my mattress.

You tell me it matters,

So I keep moving past that.


We can continue on backwards,

Or live like it matters.

Just keep lying to and with me,

On my mattress.

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Take a Step Back.

Here’s another random excerpt.
Written during vacation in Key West. Slightly important note for the subject matter.

Life gets busy.
Is that an excuse or is that just a product of our routine? As a society we’ve become so attached to the things meant to simplify life and the tasks it hands us.
Smart phones.
GPS navigation systems.
Anything pumped out of the Apple corporation.
Each product or service meant as quick fixes to basic problems. Ones we ourselves have created and perpetuated.

How many times has the misplacement of your cell phone nearly induced a panic attack?

People sustained years ago before cell phones and smart technology, so why have we so deeply embedded it into life?

It’s funny. Perhaps ironic. Every time I escape the dastardly throws of 4G and WiFi true solace arrives. None of the silly noise, none of commands, none of the disturances. No notifications, no timeline, no digital connect. Just pure and utter silence. Bliss. Frozen moments. The break allows your mind to work alone and enter overdrive, suddenly accepting and noticing the details of your surroundings.

It’s a basic concept.
Dis-connect, and you’ll connect more.
Pretty simple right?

Quick question, how many windows are in your house? Only 16% of people can give an accurate answer without double checking.

Okay, okay, so that statistic is complete bullshit. But really, think about it. Do you have any idea without going room to room to count? Honestly, I don’t.

So the computers, the phones, the people, the drama, the distractions, and the unnecessary can go to hell. Put them on the back burner once in a while and take in what life has been trying to offer you. You’ll be much happier with your newfound ways of understanding things.

If you’re not on alert (not drug-addled methed out alert, but merely mentally checked into the present) you’re going to miss quite a lot. Things like karma can’t be grasped without living in the now and reflecting on the then.

There just simply isn’t enough time to ignore what life hands you. Make due. Do your best to accept and not force change. You can’t control the world but once you can be aware of that, that’s when you can truly make a difference.

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Don’t Change a Thing

As promised, this post is the beginning of some older writings. Dug through mostly filled notebooks, some old, some new. Some of these excerpts are from 2014, 2013, and on, all the way back to 2008.

These were written to women, for women, about women, or about life and stuggle. My topics don’t vary much as you’ll see. Some written in the style of an open form letter, some written as poetry, some scribbled nonsense.

Love, pain, heartbreak, self-doubt and depression tend to be the reoccurring themes. Sometimes I’ve tried to capture happier moments but they don’t seem to verbally flow as well.

Won’t give a set up for any of these writings because they’re personal and usually include someone else, but if you’re reading these thinking “Hey, that sounds like me/our time together” you’re probably right.

Thanks for giving me something to write about. Enjoy.

Don’t change a thing for me babe, I ain’t worth it.
You’ve got things about you that makes it nearly impossible to leave, yet there’s portions I can’t stand.
There’s an unbalance.
Little stability, we could fall.

Time to sit and relax. Waiting here watching time pass us by is slowly killing me.
Won’t create empty promises.
Won’t pretend the time you’re taking isn’t driving me crazy.
Probably best to leave. Foolish to think you weighing the choices this heavily will alleviate any pressure.
Girl, you’re weighing me down.

No, don’t change a thing for me babe, I ain’t worth it.
Time’s changed enough for the both of us.

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You caught me.

Anyone who read that previous post and expected an update yesterday clearly did not absorb it. I’m a runner.

Runner by nature.
Runner by choice.

Even ran track in high school until I ran away from that in favor of drivers ed. A license gave me the freedom to run farther than ever before.

This never just sprung up overnight, I’ve been nomadic since I learned the meaning of the word. If you’ve met my mom or dad, you understand that I was born to keep moving.

My mom did the hurdles back in her school days, fast enough to graduate and marry before 18. She’s always had endurance. Able to withstand divorce, bankruptcy, addiction, you name it. All in the sake of her children. She’s run faster than her competition, beating out others for big jobs, proving doctors tests inaccurate, telling cancer to fuck off not with one but two diagnosises within months of each other. She still shows up to every meet even if its just to support the silly habit her daughter picked up after years of watching her place low, misstep, and trip over those same hurdles.

My dad, much like my mother gets that life is a race. Though it may not be measured in laps or time, it can be measured in things like knowledge and life experience. Likely advice from him would be to slowly, cautiously take it all in. Absorb social schematics and blunders like a sponge while keeping pace with your surroundings. Don’t lose focus, but allow yourself to wander.

He can get on my nerves but only because his words have this truth behind them that nags at me. I know they’re right because of all the shit he’s been through. All the semi-arrests, missed weekends with the kids on account of a drug binge, and the women that came and went through his revolving door was proof he’d lived a range of life. That range never would have been achieved had he not run. Sure, he may be instead toting Olympic men’s hockey medals if he hadn’t. He may be working some sleazy corporate sales job, working his way up the ladder step by step, stab in back by stab in back. Instead, he did run. He lived. He drove motorcycles, threw parties, did drugs with rock stars. Really he embodied the 80′s. It didn’t always bring him the best results but ultimately his running brought him to a tropical island where sobriety and a great gal have become his fraction of a foundation.

My genes say “run”.
My mind says “run”.
So what’s wrong with a little running?

Here I go, leaving in the AM to run off to a cabin to run from an ancient anniversary date that consumes me. All this running and I’ve still never been able to escape her.

Be back when my heels permit.

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Hey Guys.

If you actually follow this blog, you may be aware that I don’t update it frequently. This is due to many things. Being a busy and highly depressed 20-something can pretty much sum it up though. Somedays (more often then not) I have the time but not the balls to be so honest with the world wide web, much less myself. I spend a lot of time running. Running from everything and everyone. This is just another thing to run from.

Lately, I’ve been running for longer and further. Keeping my distance from society as a whole. Deleting facebook, ignoring phone calls, cancelling plans, taking day trips alone, skirting eye contact, and all around avoiding people at any cost. I want to keep running; Until I’m exhausted, out of breath and in some forgien place that will somehow save me from this state of mind.

Yes, this has got ahold of me. Yes, it’s been getting the better of me. Yes, I’m still trying to fight.

This battle is probably the hardest because internally it is not one that I have the motivation or want to defeat. In all honesty, it’d be easier to roll over and let life fuck me until I turned into a mangled mismanaged corpse. Of course as all things in life are, it is not nearly that simple. For the sake of the few who love me I decide to continue fighting and trying to defeat this ugly, ugly disorder.

You didn’t really need to know any of that if you don’t know me in real life, it’s mainly for those few. But if you can relate, I sympathize and hope you keep up the fight for the ones who love you as well. That’s the funny thing about this particular fight: even though you are the only one to have a say and it constantly feels so lonely and helpless, the outcome is going to have much larger impactful repercussions on a scalable amount of people.

So, to those who care. I’m alive.

Gearing up for the hardest personal day of my year. This Thursday is going to test my stability more than most of the recently failed tests did. Desperately need to make it through this one.

In order to backtrack from the running, and find some lingering sense of ground I’m going to just be honest. This is me putting all the cards face up with zero ill intent. During the next few days I’m going to share some of the most private excerpts from buried notebooks, it would be great to hear from you guys. Link me to things, hold me accountable, ask questions, send an email, comment, whatever works! Looking forward to building social situations with you folks.

Until tomorrow,

-Samantha Koshiol


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