I’ve always been able to write pretty fluently. It comes more natural than the things I consider myself to be “talented” in. I have never forced myself to put words down, or to let out how or what I am thinking.
So lately there is this sadness.
I’m so anxious that everything is going to suddenly blow up and everyone will be dead and everything we did wouldn’t matter because everything would be gone. I feel as though I am constantly wasting time. I’m waiting for something better to happen, knowing full well I am capable of making myself happy but fully acknowledging that I can’t bother to do anything about it.
I want to have the world but the thought of moving or trying or putting forth the slightest bit of effort sounds impossible, so instead I sit in sorrow that nothing in my life has turned out like so many others who felt like living.
I consider myself intelligent, or at least moderately so. I also consider myself an idiot in the sense that I’m not as experienced in different cultures and emotions and situations. Fears, hopes, beautiful landscapes and interesting people, all things I’ve yet to come across.
I have this mindset lately that this “happiness” everyone is experiencing is a fleeting and horrible delusion. If you really think, and think hard, about all the things that are wrong. Wrong with you, with the world, with our thoughts, with death and people suffering and the natural resources depleting and your puppy in fourth grade that “ran away” but you later found out a drunk driver ran over without blinking.
With all of these things that hang over us, and suffocate us, how can you genuinely feel okay unless you use it as a distraction?
I’ve used drugs as a distraction, for such a long time and I still do. I know I have to open the letters and bills that are stacking on my dresser and I know that I have to respond to all of the people that have tried to get a hold of me for days, weeks. I think about things I should do maybe once an hour, then I say to myself, “Not now. Don’t think about it now.” This process has continued for years.
I avoid. Absolutely everything.
The thing that gets to me, is that I don’t know where else to put my thoughts about all of this. I try to talk to people and while they look like they’re listening they’re doing the exact same thing I would, they are thinking about something similar that happened to them or a thought they’ve had previously about a relatable topic. No one actually and genuinely cares about anything you have to say unless it can somehow tie into them. We fake it for relationships.
Now you might be thinking that you aren’t this way. That you care, and you listen in depth, but if you even really think about that.. you came to a conclusion about yourself while I was describing something else. You thought about yourself, and how you aren’t like everyone else.
You either did that, or agreed with me that we are all inherently selfish.
Now I don’t believe we are evil, or that evil is a word that should even be used. I just think, maybe I acknowledge the bad over the good because
because it’s all I can see
pain and feeling alone even in a room full of people. Too smart to have religion, but too stupid to accept love and acceptance
But you never want to let anyone know about this. People would much rather see you smile then hear you cry so they don’t feel responsible.
The first time you cry in front of someone you love, they feel a sharp jolt in their system. It hurts them. It hurts you.
The next time you do it, it hurts less for them, more for you.
The more you cry in front of someone you love, the less they think about how much you’re hurting. Crying is just something you do, and they expect it and lose respect and start labeling all of your outbursts and horrible upset as drama.
I have to come back to this