I get so lost in my thoughts at night it’s ridiculous. I think about everything. And anything. And nothing all at the same time. My mind wanders into the shallow ends of insanity. It’s warm and I kind of like it there. I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I enjoy these cynical games a little too much, but I just don’t realize it yet. Because I feel like I put myself in these situations. I make my mind bleed and bleed and I spread that blood all over my body. I cover myself in the dark and twisted thoughts that pulse through my mind. Most of the time I want to explode and just splatter everything everywhere. I feel like no one will ever see it from my perspective. And not because they can’t, but because I won’t let them. I won’t accept it.
I constantly make excuses to put myself at ease and I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t live this lie. But it’s so beautiful. I can be empathetic though. I know what it’s like to be on the other side, which is what makes this so shitty. I know how he feels because I feel the exact same way towards someone else. And as badly as I want to be wrong, my intuition is pretty much always spot on. And it makes me hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him. But it’s all probably just infatuation. Lust is coursing through my veins, not love. Not hate. No meaningful passion except for the constant thoughts and reminders of how meaningless I really am. The thoughts that I know will lead only to Nowhere - a place I am too familiar with. A place where all my lost souls end up: the ones who might have been but never will be. My list of the forgotten.
And soon I will force myself to forget. I will push the feelings and memories out of my brain and into that place. The same way I’ve done with all the others. But I’ll come along and visit every so often. Every once in a blue moon my mind will return to Nowhere and I’ll reminisce on those forgotten feelings. I’ll take them out of that place and shoot them into my body. Through my veins. Straight to my heart. Feeling it all over. I’ll let it run it’s course. Like a drug. I’ll feel the sorrow. The nostalgia. The cold numbness all over. I might even feel a little warm on the inside. Maybe a little happy. But once I realize that it’s all fake - that it will never happen - it goes away. Out of my body and back to Nowhere. Back to where they all belong.
Maybe I am just a little crazy. Maybe my mind bleeds a little too much. Maybe right now I am too doped up and have no fucking idea what to think or how to feel. Because this numb feeling has been coursing through my veins for so long and I just want the warmth of another touch. But who knows? I may be infected. Tainted. No good left out thrown away forever. I may finally have a reason to push people away. To be alone and cold and live in this misery that I know I probably inflict on myself. My little self-fulling prophecy. But as I lay my head to rest. As I prepare myself for my mental journey of apparition to who knows where, I spill myself out and clear my mind. Because I know I may be crazy. Mad. Insane. I know my deepest darkest and most twisted thoughts may all seem meaningless. But I have a purpose, I know it.
But right now, I feel lonely. Just so desperately and utterly lonely. I can be surrounded by friends and still feel this crushing void. And it makes me want to scream. Yell. Shout. I hate it. And as much as I try to ignore it, I can’t.
Lately, the only thing I find comfort in is writing. And I know I’ve been rambling on about the same shit. For the past three years - three fucking years - it’s all been the same: me feeling lonely and blah blah blah. And I so desperately want this feeling to go away, I really do. And recently, I’ve felt so disgusted with myself (for various reasons) and I just want to feel normal again. But I don’t even know what normal is anymore. I feel like this feeling, for me, is normal. Maybe feeling loved and wanted and needed isn’t supposed to happen for me. And whenever it does I feel like I’m just waiting for it to end - waiting for something to get in the way and end it. And I don’t mean to sound negative. I don’t want to sound like some pitiful pessimistic person (even though I know I probably do). But seriously. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, honestly. I know I don’t have any super serious issues - just the typical problems that come with youth, I think. So I guess it is normal, to an extent. But I see so many people happy and carefree, and I wish I could be like them. And I try, I genuinely try. And as hard as I try to maintain my nonchalant attitude, sometimes I just can’t. So excuse the fuck out of me for being human and ranting about the pointless shit that’s been on my mind.
Let me start off with you. You. Y-O-U. As much as I hate it, I seriously think about you about 85% of the time. And trust me, I wish I didn’t. I don’t want to think about you. I don’t want to constantly check your social media profiles to see what you’ve been up to. I don’t want you in my fucking head. But hey, tough shit for me I guess. And lately, I’ve realized how immature and childish you can be. And as much as that should bother me, it doesn’t. Because I still want to pin you down and kiss you intensely every chance I get. And I don’t think I want anything serious with you. I just want you - physically. And I want you to want me in the same way. And what bugs me the most, is that you don’t. You just don’t care. At all. You’re so carefree and whooooooo that I have no fucking idea what is going on in your cute little head. And honestly, I’m kinda jealous that you can do that - that you can conceal your true intentions and thoughts so damn good. Because as much as I’ve opened up to you about myself, I feel like you’re never vulnerable with me. And I get it. I get not wanting to let people in, I totally do. But it’s just so frustrating that I keep trying and trying to get inside your head and I just can’t. I fucking can’t. And some days I feel like you think of me as such a good friend, whoooo. But then other days (and most days) I feel like you don’t give two fucks about me. And I’ve been told that that’s just you. That’s just how you are. I’ve been told that you simply don’t open up to people. That you’re a confusing individual who is scared to feel vulnerable.
Well, I so badly want to tell you that you don’t have to be scared with me. Honestly, you don’t. Because I know what it’s like to get hurt. To feel pain. To feel rejected, left out, stranded. And I’m not saying that I want to have an intimate relationship with you, but I want you to know that I can be the person you turn to when you’re feeling lonely. I can be the shoulder for you to cry on. I won’t judge you. I won’t share your secrets. I want you as my close friend. But a close friendship is a two way street. I can’t be the only one exposing myself while you just sit there and listen with no input whatsoever. I can’t do that. Because if I’m going to open myself up to someone I expect the same from them.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this because I doubt I’ll ever tell any of this to you. I just want to be your best friend I guess. Someone you can always talk to and feel completely open with, maybe even fool around with sometimes I don’t know. I probably sound like such a fucked up person. I guess my loneliness is getting the better of me, and I know it shouldn’t. I know I sound crazy. Mad. Insane. But hey, that’s why I write. Because honestly, I do feel a bit better. But just a bit.
I guess I’m good at hiding my true intentions. My real feelings. I just don’t like being so open about everything, but then at the same time - I do. I can pretend that I’m happy. I can fake being angry. Sad. Upset. Disappointed. I guess for the most part, I don’t like people knowing how I truly feel, because then I feel vulnerable. And I hate that feeling. I hate knowing someone can possibly take the knowledge of my state of mind and use it against me - use it as power. It scares me to death. And I know I’m not as poetic with my words as I use to be, and I really do wish I was. But the simple idea of writing helps clear my mind, even if there is nobody to read it.
I don’t know what I am though. Anxious, maybe. Confused. Uncertain, unsure. Worried. Impatient. I want to just say “fuck it all” and simply be happy. Truly and utterly happy. And for the past year or so that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. But this facade I’m trying so hard to maintain is quickly crumbling down. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I’m sick of being in denial about what I want. What I know I want and have wanted for so long, but have been pushing it down. Hiding it. Pretending I don’t want it and, at one point, making myself believe that I don’t want it. But I do. I do I do I do I do. I am so tired of this void that never seems to go away. Only temporarily, sometimes. But it’s still there. It’s been there for so so long. I hate this empty feeling that I’m always carrying around. This feeling of despair. Am I really not good enough? Is anyone good enough? I hate seeing people I’m close to want the exact same thing, just not with me. Never with me. And it frustrates me, it makes me sad and upset. Because I want to hold someone and have it mean something. I don’t want comfort out of pity or remorse or convenience. I want real comfort. I want meaning. And I thought I had that. For a very short while I thought, stupidly, that this just might be real. I was wrong, of course. And I guess that’s okay. I got over it quickly. Or at least made myself think I’m over it. It sucks seeing someone I care about in the same situation as me, but I know there’s nothing I can do to help because that person simply doesn’t want that kind of attention from me. It’s pretty shitty, and unfair, but I know there’s nothing I can do. That’s just life.
I feel like lately I’ve spilled myself to so many people. I need to stop. I need to go back to how I use to be. To my old self. And I know I sound so shitty and blah blah blah. I know I should stop worrying and just do whatever I want. And I will, I honestly will. But still. I want that comfort. I want the warmth of being with someone that genuinely cares about me and me about them. Because at the end of each day, when I lay in bed at night, I realize again and again that I am so sick of being alone.
Lately, I have become the guy that smells like tobacco industries. I didn’t mind at first, but now it lingers on everything. My fingers, hair, shirts, jackets, jeans. And for some odd reason that scent brings me comfort. The smell of a clean sweater with the stained scent of cigarettes brings me to peace. And I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because my mother was a smoker, or because my grandmother still is. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of those times when I couldn’t handle my loud thoughts, so I numbed the pain but made those thoughts even louder. I don’t know why, and I don’t want to know why. I’ve become a different person. Well, not exactly. Just to some extent. I’ve polluted my lungs and my liver. My heart and my mind. Every membrane of my body. With the thoughts and ideas that I never thought I would have to ponder. And it makes me realize so much more. I don’t want this pollution. I don’t want these cancerous clouds lingering inside my mind, my body. Spreading and taking its toll on my body. My body that has changed so much in the past two years. And I know change is inevitable, but to some extent it doesn’t have to be. I like change. Just not this change. I want to be the best I can be, and I know I can do that. I keep telling myself that I need to stop these habits. I need to stop this pollution. But words can only do so much. I need to act. I need to. I don’t want to be a disappointment. I don’t want to be looked down at. But instead, I want to be that person who sets some sort of standard. I don’t know. I can see myself going far, I just know that I have to work hard to achieve what I want to achieve. I need to stop getting distracted, I need to just focus on myself and forget about everything else. And I know I’ll get tempted. I know this will be hard. But it’s long, long overdue. It’s time to suck the toxins out of my life.
We were drunk, celebrating. American flags waving in the air, fireworks from hours before still echoing in the darkness. I had no idea all of it would happen. Had no idea I would ever feel this close to you.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Finishing the last of our bottle in that cold, dark park. Watching flames burn cardboard. Running away as if they’d catch us. Just sitting there, laughing. Racing back to the car. Stumbling while we quietly walked up the stairs of my former lover’s house. Us plus three. I only focused on you. Kissing you for the first time while we laid in bed. Undressing each other, laughing. Moving to the bed I had laid in just the night before. I felt so close to you. I remember smiling every time you laughed. Every time you kissed me. Laughing at how the slightest touch made us both laugh. And we laid there, just us in that bed. And I remember feeling so unbearably happy. A happiness I had never felt before. And it surprised me, because I honestly never thought I would be there with you. I never thought that being with you would make me happy. It just never crossed my mind.
But then the sun came up. The alcohol wore off. And it was like nothing ever happened. And to this day I want to talk about it with you. I want to know if you felt as happy as I did, or if you were simply so drunk you don’t remember any of it. I want to know if you regret it, if you wish you and I never laid in the same bed. I want to know where you stand, because maybe it will help me realize where I stand as well. And I’ve tried before, I’ve tried bringing it up. But the topic always gets changed, something always comes up. I’ll ask you, though. One day I’ll bring it up and let everything spill out. I just don’t know when. But for now, I just wish of going back to the day when American flags waved in the sky, and fireworks from hours before still echoed in the darkness.
It’s been a while since I’ve channeled my abstract thoughts into concrete words. I feel like it’s time to finally spill and seal everything that has been on my mind.
I’ve let myself go. Gone. I’ve become someone I promised myself I would never become. And for what? I feed myself mentally cancerous excuses just to make it seem okay, but deep down I know it’s not. This is not who I am. Last year I saw myself in a different place, and I have only myself to blame for where I am right now. But in some way, maybe I’m supposed to be here. Right now. Here, on my bed at 5:04am on a Tuesday. Waiting for who knows what. Maybe from here I’ll get myself up and become the person I’m supposed to be. Zip up my loose ties and clean myself up. Maybe from here I’ll actually be able to look in a mirror and see someone I’m proud of. Because even though I know this isn’t rock bottom, I certainly know I can’t fall too much further than where I am right now.
This is only the beginning. My mind is so warped and twisted sometimes I can’t even put my thoughts into words. But I’m here. I’m starting again, to see where it will take me. If it will help me. So I can look back and see the person I used to be and hope that one day I’ll finally see the person I’ve so longed to become. And even though I plan out ways to fix the broken pieces of my determination, my own flaws tend to get the best of me.
Acceptance. It’s hard. It takes time. Things change. People pretend to change, or simply decide to reveal their true colors. And we must move on from it. We must accept it, take it as it is, and just continue walking forward.
So many things change in our life. I mean, come on, college is here. Now. Friends are lost. New ones will be gained. And no matter what, I won’t always be happy. And that’s fine, as long as I can regain that happiness. Like right now, I don’t know what I am. I’m not happy, but I’m not sad. I guess you can say I’m content. Just, here. Living. Right now.
I’m not going back to how I used to be though. That’s what got me in this mess. There’s always a time to change, and the past few months have taught me that this change is necessary. I’m still the same person though. I’ll still have so much to say. But this time I won’t say it.
A lot of people say that the past is the past, and nothing more. But I don’t believe that. The past is so much more. I’m not saying it’s good to dwell on the past, but forgetting about it is never a smart thing to do. I certainly haven’t forgotten. I never forget. But yesterday is yesterday, and all I can do is move on onto tomorrow. But I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I’m losing my mind. Slowly, but surely.
I finally did what I’ve been meaning to do. I am feeling the change. The little beings inside of me moving and growing. Commanding my body and soul. My mind. My heart. Do this. Do that. I can feel it. I can hear it. Taste it smell it see it.
And I no longer wallow and soak and sit. No. Because that leads nowhere.
I am finally doing what I want to do. And as of now, right this second - this moment - the change takes effect. Just watch.
Aha. Finally. This is X.
I write when I’m bored. So this is me, bored. Blabbing on about nothing. About everything.
Now that it’s summer, all the days seem to just mesh together. Monday becomes Saturday becomes Wednesday becomes Sundaytuesdaythursdayfriday. It’s all a mess. But I love it.
I think I’m a pretty great person. I’m loyal. Honest. Right? I’m not strong though. And I can admit that now. I go through great efforts to make myself look stronger than I truly am. No, I don’t actually. I think everyone knows that I’m weak. I flip-flop. One minute I feel like I’m on top of the world, the next minute I feel like everyone is just so annoyed and through with me. I’m a walking contradiction. Honestly.
I don’t even know if I’ll ever change. I think I’ll always be the person that can’t stand being alone. That sad little dependent individual who will always be so desperate for attention from that one special person.
The fact that I’m only seventeen makes me a bit sad. It makes forever seem so far away. So fake. I feel like all of this won’t mean anything in five, ten, twenty years. But I want it to. I want forever to happen. Is that bad of me? Am I a horrible person? Being so young and feeling this way it’s just… I can’t even describe it. And I should be able to. I am the writer. Right?
Confessions. Right here, under the stars. Let us lay here. Alone. With each other. Flying. Soaring. Deep into nothingness. Into everything we will ever be. Let me confess all my secrets. All of the thoughts I’ve been holding back. Maybe we’ll fly even farther. Or maybe we’ll fall, fall, fall. Down into the depths of emptiness. Voids slowly being filled. With what? Is this real? Is it a lie? Take hold of it all. Embrace it. I don’t think I should be questioning everything. Doubting so many words and actions. Holding in my jumbled thoughts that make no sense. Breathe. Let us breathe.
Fly. With me. Up, up, up into happiness. Into bliss. Into the never-ending light that fills our insides and makes us feel warm. That sacred warmth we can call our own. The warmth that is ours.
Fear. I am scared. Change, change, change my thoughts. Fear, fear, fear. Joy, joy, joy. Fear. Joy. Change. Everything will change. Everything is changing. For how long? What changed? Why? I have so many questions. I should let them go. Does it even matter? Isn’t this what I wanted? I can’t be vulnerable. I can’t let attachment happen again, again, again. It’s happening.
Love, love, love shall grow. Or die. Flourish or suffocate it. Let us grow change heal love embrace feel. Let us open each other up and learn, learn, learn.