That you still read this.
How about you just talk to me instead?
I have so much to say to you. So many things.
I want to yell at you, and be angry, and be irrational, ignorant and malevolent.
I want you to finally see me angry.
Maybe that’ll be enough to convince you.
Doubtful, though.
I’ve gotten into a pretty bad habit.
Scoffing at people who think they’re “in true love”.
Recite all the quotes and anecdotes you’d like about what “true love” is. Ignore the many bad qualities for the few good.
Mistake infatuation and attachment for love.
But don’t fucking patronize me by saying I’ll find a “love” as true as yours one day, like you’re a fucking expert on the matter.
This is one of the few times I actually prefer to be cold and analytical.
I hate sounding conceited, arrogant, pretentious and faux-omniscient, but I can see your impending heartbreak. I already know you’re gonna handle it in all the wrong ways, as well.
Just like I know I’m going to be alone for a long time.
But why add tart to such a “sweet union of souls”?
Live your lives, stay out of mine. That’s all I ask, really.
To you, the whole “half” thing is probably pointless.
But this isn’t about you.
Selfish.
Anyways, I’ve been thinking about writing here again because I have things that I want to write about.
Why else would I be doing this?
I found a job. Not as a bartender, like I was hoping, but as a barback. Close, but no cigar with that Green label Walker. Then again, everyone has to start somewhere.
My new job requires me to be social with others. Honestly, I didn’t think it would be as hard as it was my first day. I thought things would progress naturally. That I would kind of bloom into it like I do most things. That I would catch on quick. The work was not hard. What was hard was the socializing.
People would say things to me and I would regress into a stuttering and barely audible twelve year old boy again. Awkward and red faced, and making lame jokes in a vain attempt to seem intelligent and witty.
What the fuck happened to me?
Maybe it was just first day jitters…
However, I’m beginning to think that I’ve been spending too much time with myself. I don’t really have a social life here. I mostly stay in my room all day, or I spend time with my cousins, but I’m usually the quiet one.
Car rides have gotten kind of awkward. My passenger will sit there, not really saying anything. I do the same. It’s just quiet. I mean, I’ve always been quiet, but not really for lack of anything to say. Just out of habit. Now, though, I realize that I’m just at a loss for words. I can’t really relate to anyone here. I don’t want to open myself up to my family. That will be absolutely no good. I just… exist here. I occupy this space with the same amount of matter that always has and always will be.
I keep remembering fifth grade. Not knowing anyone, not wanting to know. Just being. Existing. Any attempt at social convention accompanied by that awkward realization that I was simply not capable of it. After a while, I relished being alone. I actively sought to distance myself from others, to have my thoughts to myself. In hindsight, that very mindset is from where most of my self-loathing stems. All that time to analyze and self reflect and philosophize.
Questioning my life at eleven years old.
Drinking and smoking at twelve.
Drugs and self mutilation at thirteen.
Attempts at complete and utter self destruction at fourteen.
In three years’ time, I was corrupted. I’m not sure that I’ve ever fully abandoned that mindset… But I have grown out of a lot of those habits. For example, I don’t drink so much anymore. Which is good, because that one was sure to kill me.
I’m not exactly sure what the whole point of this was. I know some of you want me to find some sort of sense of fulfillment and happiness. Sometimes, I want those things too. Lately, though, I’ve been wanting to spend more and more time alone. Away from people.
Sometimes, I’m terrified to go somewhere where I will have to socialize with strangers.
I stay away from restaurants.
I don’t go to clubs.
I fast-walk through friggin’ Walmart with my head down and eyes averted.
I even try to dodge my parents. My grandparents especially.
Agora, Greek for “open assembly”.
Phobia, from Greek phobos, meaning “fear”.
Put them together and you have something I thought I was completely done with.
I don’t know what to do with myself…
… I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.
A quick hello to the people who are undoubtedly reading this in some attempt to “check up on me”.
It’s alright. I honestly don’t mind. However, I would rather that the topics discussed in these posts remain in these posts. I give you guys the benefit of never letting you know that I know what you don’t think ANYONE knows. I know what it’s like to need to get something out. To write something down. Hell, I’m doing it now.
Actually, I think I made this post to clear up some things…
I realize that in past posts, I make an astonishing number of vague references to “she“‘s and “her“‘s and “you“‘s. There’s also a good amount of self-loathing to balance it all out. I want to reinforce the fact that it’s not just one girl. I mean, there’s ex’s, and what were, at the time, interests, and there’s relatives and friends, and a plethora of people. They all just happen to be female…
That sounds bad.
Is there really any way to make that sound good?
Not really.
Nevertheless, it’s the truth. Unfortunately, my lack of clarity has caused quite a bit of trouble for certain people who occasionally drop in on my writings, not to mention, endless lists of questions and resulting explanations on my part.
They all assume that I’m talking about them.
A lot of the times, they’re wrong. Sometimes, I leave more than enough hints. Other times, said people have misinterpreted the situation I’ve displayed and shaped it to fit what they think my thoughts towards them are.
While it’s understandable to be concerned about your level of involvement in my writings, it’s actually kind of annoying that some people think that these posts are about them.
Haha, look at me, still writing in first person limited.
Maybe this should be in second person, though I have to admit, I’m not too used to it. Despite my hatred for odd numbers, I’m far better acquainted with the first and third persons.
I understand that you think some of these posts are meant to be about you. Really, only one of you has jumped to ridiculous conclusions about posts that are in no way related to you.
Also, while going over my past posts, I’ve noticed something else.
The way I narrate certain articles is bound to create some confusion about where you key players stand in all of it. Also, my intentions from those posts could be misconstrued as relevant to a certain number of you, mainly due to poor paragraph construction on my part.
Okay, maybe I didn’t make this post to explain things. As I’m writing this, I realize that the whole reason I write here isn’t for other people.
It’s for me.
If you guys have questions, just ask them.
Shit, this is gonna have to be more than one part.
You’ll make it through this.
Keep your head up.
Don’t give up.
Even though the mere thought of you flares my temper…
The fact that you’re being unjustly villainized by that guy who lost all the respect he Gaines from me, surprisingly, makes me want to stand up for you.
Then again, you pretty much did the same to me…
Hmm… A dilemma, indeed.
Maybe I should quit creepin’ when I’m bored…
And if you’re reading this, maybe you should too.
You’re a big girl, you can handle yourself.
Peace!
I’m a fucking waste. I’m a fucking nightmare that you can’t wake up from. I’m in a fucking slump. What’s your fucking excuse? You think I’m here to lead you to good times and great advice? Fuck that and fuck you. I’m dead. I’m dead and no one here realizes it. Did you think shit was gonna magically work the way you wanted it to? Did you think that higher aspiration would get you to that cloud nine you’ve wanted since you were a child?
Keep fucking dreaming.
I’m not some goddamn Confucius.
I don’t have parting bits of wisdom after every adjourning of souls.
I’m a fucking drunk with nothing going for him in life.
I merely tell you shit that I SHOULD have done, but don’t have the fucking balls to do.
You don’t want my advice. You don’t want my opinion. You want to live in your naive little world, undisturbed by the harsh realities of life.
I commend you.
I, for one, wish I could be so ignorant.
But alas, it is not so. But what do I know, right?
“All love is different”
“All stories are the products of our very own imagination”
Your dreams and aspirations are no better than those fucking rip-off movies that embarrass themselves continuously, playing day after day, trying their best to will themselves to the top of the most viewed list, waiting inconsequentially, as their names printed in those credits are burned and forgotten in time.
Don’t make me fucking laugh.
It’s gonna be something magnificent. Until then, for one night, I’m giving up all hope on everything. Fuck my problems and fuck the world. I’m getting drunk.
