I think I have finally gotten use to being alone.
Not in a sad, pathetic, rock-bottom sort of way, but it feels like my being often alone is entirely of my own choosing. Maybe it's because I am starting to exercise more or I am spending less time dwelling on the things I dislike about myself, but for some reason I feel like I no longer have to impress anyone. I feel that I am good enough for the people around me, and I have a right to be around them, and I can exercise that right or not exercise it depending on how I feel.
I think I have subconsciously decided that the reason I don't spend time with people is not because I am a sad and pathetic person to be around, but because I just don't want to be around them
Being alone no longer brings that hollow, incomplete aching that comes with loneliness, or at least that feeling is dulled.
I don't really know where all this confidence and self-esteem is coming from, but I'm just glad it's here.
I'm really glad it's here.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
I'm not okay; you're okay.
I have been listening to the same god damn song on repeat for like a god damn hour and I will probably keep listening to it for the rest of the god damn night. I don't even like this song at all. Not even a little bit. In fact I kind of hate it with every fiber of my being. But I am not one for being rational, so I shall proceed with the psychological self-destruction. It's not really that big of a deal.
If you are reading this, trust me, you really don't have to. It's a lot of stupid crap that nobody really wants to hear about. Proceed if you must, but you'll probably just end up thinking to yourself about how whiny and narcissistic I am. And you would be absolutely right.
I feel like I have so many people to talk to but nobody to really TALK to, you know? I feel like everyone around me is a cardboard cut out with motion-sensors for eyes and tinny speakers for mouths that spout standard useless advise. The analogy really starts to fall apart though when I realize a cardboard cutout is incapable of having a great time without me around, while real people certainly are. So anyway, this is what happens: I feel like if I try to talk to someone about things they will just get irritated with me, or give me some shitty cookie-cutter advice about life. Whenever someone feels the need to tell me about their troubles I just roll my eyes and sigh and thing "What the fuck do you want me to say? Deal with it yourself and leave me the hell alone." So I think I have kind of given up the right to talk to people about my feelings at this point. And then I end up ranting to my blog.
I guess I don't really have anything to complain about. I am only sixteen years old and I spent the last two days laying on my bed looking at animated GIFS and feeling sorry for myself. I am a young, straight, middle-class, white male. I have almost every possible advantage right out of the gate (gate meaning vagina). But I still feel like shit half the time. Then when I look myself in the mirror and think "You fucking asshole! You deprive other people under the exact same circumstances as you the right to be unhappy you colossal cockmunch!" And then I feel like shit for feeling like shit in the first place. It's probably because every now and again when I am about to fall asleep or I am walking home from my bus-stop or I am in the shower or some shit a thought strikes me. Well more of a realization. A realization that I don't think anyone has ever loved me that wasn't contractually obligated to. Not the people with whom I have spent long, cuddly nights (or awkward coming-of-age movie borderline sex scene nights), not the people who I have kissed or the people who told me they really did "love" me in some twisted sense of the word. There is really nothing I would like more right now than to spend time with someone who genuinely loves me, and someone whom I love in return.
But who am I kidding. It's just teen angst talking. I should just shut my mouth and go sit in the corner and be happy because I have no legitimate reason not to.
If you read this far, congratulations, do you want a cookie or something?
My metaphorical herpes has pretty much eaten away at my metaphorical heart's metaphorical genitalia far beyond repair.
If you are reading this, trust me, you really don't have to. It's a lot of stupid crap that nobody really wants to hear about. Proceed if you must, but you'll probably just end up thinking to yourself about how whiny and narcissistic I am. And you would be absolutely right.
I feel like I have so many people to talk to but nobody to really TALK to, you know? I feel like everyone around me is a cardboard cut out with motion-sensors for eyes and tinny speakers for mouths that spout standard useless advise. The analogy really starts to fall apart though when I realize a cardboard cutout is incapable of having a great time without me around, while real people certainly are. So anyway, this is what happens: I feel like if I try to talk to someone about things they will just get irritated with me, or give me some shitty cookie-cutter advice about life. Whenever someone feels the need to tell me about their troubles I just roll my eyes and sigh and thing "What the fuck do you want me to say? Deal with it yourself and leave me the hell alone." So I think I have kind of given up the right to talk to people about my feelings at this point. And then I end up ranting to my blog.
I guess I don't really have anything to complain about. I am only sixteen years old and I spent the last two days laying on my bed looking at animated GIFS and feeling sorry for myself. I am a young, straight, middle-class, white male. I have almost every possible advantage right out of the gate (gate meaning vagina). But I still feel like shit half the time. Then when I look myself in the mirror and think "You fucking asshole! You deprive other people under the exact same circumstances as you the right to be unhappy you colossal cockmunch!" And then I feel like shit for feeling like shit in the first place. It's probably because every now and again when I am about to fall asleep or I am walking home from my bus-stop or I am in the shower or some shit a thought strikes me. Well more of a realization. A realization that I don't think anyone has ever loved me that wasn't contractually obligated to. Not the people with whom I have spent long, cuddly nights (or awkward coming-of-age movie borderline sex scene nights), not the people who I have kissed or the people who told me they really did "love" me in some twisted sense of the word. There is really nothing I would like more right now than to spend time with someone who genuinely loves me, and someone whom I love in return.
But who am I kidding. It's just teen angst talking. I should just shut my mouth and go sit in the corner and be happy because I have no legitimate reason not to.
If you read this far, congratulations, do you want a cookie or something?
My metaphorical herpes has pretty much eaten away at my metaphorical heart's metaphorical genitalia far beyond repair.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)