So maybe I’m a little behind times but . . . uh, why is there an energy drink named 51Fifty?

I got this image on my kik this afternoon:


Today is the last day I feel like seeing some stupid shit like this. Are you 51Fifty? I’ll show them a real 51Fifty by shoving 51 of their cans up their asses. Their slogan is “Live The Madness”. Thanks for adding insult to injury.

Here’s the irony of it all: on their Facebook page they promote things like the 7th annual “Rock N’ Ride for Autism”. If I were promoting or involved with any autism awareness groups with an offer to be sponsored by this disgrace of a business, I’d send a ripe ole’ “fuck you” straight to the head of their department. The last thing people struggling with autism need is another label of crazy or mad tagged onto their already infamous labels of unsociable, weird, awkward, and retarded.

What dumbass in their meeting room suggested that name? And who’s the dumber dumbass who came up with that slogan? I’m dead serious, I want names. You can tell no one on that team of marketers has ever experienced the severity of mental illness.

And just what the actual fuck:

So smooth it’s crazy.

That commercial doesn’t even make sense. They don’t they show the reality of their label. Why not have someone running down the streets with a knife in their hand threatening to cut the chip out of their head if the government doesn’t stop reading their thoughts? Or, better yet, tell the story of the man who drove to the cliffs four minutes from my house a month or so ago, put a revolver to his temple, and blew his brains all over the cab of his truck. Put that in your fucking commercial and tell me it increases sex drive and energy.

I’ve taken statistics and I really hate bringing them into a conversation, or even thinking about them really, but 1 in 4 people live with some form of mental illness and there’s no doubt in my mind most all of them have been called “mad” or “Crazy” by someone with little understanding of what mental illness means or the mental anguish we endure just to live through another day. I know I have. I’m sick of products and people desensitizing and glorifying our reality. It’s not a joke. I laugh at some stupid shit, but I find nothing about this product entertaining.

People in their fifties don’t drink energy drinks. Teens, people in their twenties, drink energy drinks, the one group of people we need in this fight against stigma. They’re the ones who can take the stereotypes of old, disprove them, and spread the word of our reality. Thank God Girl Scouts can earn a mental health awareness badge and Thank God the International Bipolar foundation created such a thing. We need kids aware of the truth before they can walk into a gas station by themselves and buy this filthy drink. I hope it fucking tastes like the blood of a thousand suicides and a years worth of psychosis.

Carlos Vieria. Found him. He’s some race car driver who used the term 51Fifty because everyone always called him crazy. What a dumbfuck. All over the foundation website: “Race for Autism! Race for Autism!” God, does he even know how stupid he looks? Does he know what irony is? Can he spell irony? Or is that too hard of a word for him?

51fifty bs

Maybe Carlos is a nice guy. He’s just too stupid for my liking, though.

From my understanding it doesn’t have the success of Monster or Rockstar, and it shouldn’t.

I may just visit and be one of probably many who will slash their name to pieces in their face. I’m one of those people who spam emails until I get an answer. You don’t insult me without getting insulted back. Maybe that’s a bad track of mind, maybe an eye for an eye does make the whole world blind, but there are too many stupid people with the opportunity to be stupid for me to let them take both of my eyes without me taking one of theirs.

I’m tired, It’s late, and She’s Loud

Addiction runs pretty deep in my family. I’m surprised I wasn’t born with a bottle in my left hand, a meth pipe in my right, and a cigarette behind my ear.

So it’s not a shocker I’m either on or thinking about technology twenty four hours a day. I suppose it’s better than inventing a creative way to kill myself or worrying that the slight ache in my calf is a blood clot or the thumping behind my eyes is a brain tumor. I don’t even like typing this shit.

Technology is a good escape. I find connections with technology more satisfying than connections with people. If I’m on my desktop, I need to have my phone playing a video on YouTube as background noise to drown out my wandering thoughts. It’s like I never stop thinking. As good as it is for school, it sucks ass when I’m trying to relax. I don’t even know the definition of relax. My shoulders are always tense, my teeth are always clenched, my muscles are always twitching.

I wish I could be comfortable in my mind, but I can’t. And now that my moods fallen south all I can  look forward to is the berating little voices in my head. Maybe it’s wrong to want to hear degrading comments about yourself, but it’s what i’m familiar with, it’s what lulls me to sleep at night, it’s one of life’s bittersweet pleasures.

I don’t hear voices externally, I just recognize them as the little people in my head. Well . . .little person. I always see a woman with straight hair and an angry face and she’s the one shouting insults at me all the time. She doesn’t sound like me, or look like me but she comes around when I’m depressed to make sure I stay depressed. My own thoughts are drowned by the volume of hers and it only gets worse at night when I’m tired. To her, I’m a fake, a piece of shit, a fucking this, a fucking that, a failure, a bunch of things I already knew about. She’s only echoing my thoughts, I know, but these are the moments I feel myself cowering in the back corners of my mind waiting for someone to save me. I’m sick of saving myself because I always end up in the same situation.

To think, all this triggered by a few simple words in a phone conversation, words that weren’t even offensive.

I try to be positive for other people’s sake but it’s not always feasible.

Healing is a road, not a destination. And I think I’ve sunk into another pot hole from hell.