Thursday, May 25, 2006

I was walking down the halls on my way to the washroom yesterday in Sociology, and I had this awful gut feeling as I saw the tree in the courtyard and the fuzz that looked like snow defying gravity flying around. It was this sickening feeling that I wasn't happy. Now, I realize that happiness is a manner of travel and not a destination, but then I wonder, what is my destination? Why am I getting good grades? And essentially, who am I? And who am I living for?
Then I think, even if I could be this ideal person, it wouldn't work because I could be the person I picture but it would never fit completely because I'd always imagine myself with a bunch of friends and being able to be comfortable with everyone, which doesn't just happen because you decide to dress differently. And even if I did have this outward version of a perfect self, I would still feel uncomfortable because I don't have that connection with people. I guess it's just a longing to fit in, except...not. I can't even explain myself...I have this version of myself...like I always classify myself as a romantic. My perfect life is just having love and being in love. Now, what does that mean to me as of now? Well, I have no boyfriend, no love of my life, and so I am no one, because I do not meet the criteria that is me. And, say I did, would I then cease to exist because I do have someone to love and there is nothing left for me to hope for?
I guess I'm ranting. I just feel incomplete and I know there's not a thing anyone else can do. I want to crumble and break and fall apart. I want love to pick me up. I guess I'm saying that what I want is for someone to save me, for love to save me, for fairytales and romance...I want life to be like Shakespeare, where there's always passion and words for each emotion and everyone speaks them with all their hearts not afraid of any other goddamn person that's going to criticize them, and Nintendo, where no one runs out of lives.
What's the point of getting good grades, going to school, getting a good job, if I'm not happy? What happens if someone can make me happy, but I can't find that person, or they don't want to be happy with me? What if I'm always going to be afraid of love, and never take risks? How will I know who to love?
It's as if my whole life centers on finding that passion, that romance. I just can't be alone anymore. It's so hard. I can't be independent...I'm just not strong enough.
It's so stupid. Maybe this is desperation, but how will I know that I won't grow up and never find love? My whole life will be unfulfilled.
And I can't get close enough to someone to really let them know who I am. I'm so afraid of connecting with people that I hide myself until they seem like they care and I can talk to them without trembling and wondering what I'm going to say next.
I just don't want to deal anymore. I want to crawl into a corner and write and write and try to rid this love from my mind...so that there's nothing left but a hollow shell and a book of love and passion and what I wish could've been. My essence on the pages, burning with entirety, the smoke filling lungs and pressing close to heartbeats.

I must applaud anyone who read through all this, but, next time, don't bother.

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