Some old writiting that brought up current thoughts:


I'm so tired of sleeping. I'm wasting this life away. My mind fell asleep back before I was ever fully awake. I fell into the pit I have been trying to avoid. I feel like this work is a cover-up. Everyday I have to do something that doesn't fully interest me feels like it can be ripping away at my soul. It is ripping away at my will to live. We all have our art and our poetry and our inspirations. What do we ever really do about it though? We all sit here and talk about the amazing things we know but we can never do anything about them. I have made some small attempts myself. I have tried to break out of this shell. I have tried expanding. People seem to be downsizing. Take what is easy. Take what you need. Become a drone. I am in fear too. I want to do so many things but my environment has been influencing me too much lately. I care what people think and that makes it worse. I don't really know how we all gauge the amount of care we place in people. There are so many places I have seen in my mind that I have been always hoping would become my realities. It seems like such an attainable emotional state. I can always touch it. I can never grasp this. It's always the things I see and feel right when I am about to wake up from the dreams I can't really remember. It's the feeling that all forms of art I enjoy can instill in my body, if for only a moment. It's for only a moment. You can see and feel and hope that someone has truly felt. I have a hard time remembering the last time I truly felt. It seems that everything now is becoming more distant. It seems that memories are vivid with love. How many decisions have I made in what order to bring myself to this point? I have still been pondering lately what would honestly make me happy. It seems like no one out there is really having conversations anymore. It was all fiction to begin with. I remember these things but my mind doesn't seem to have the same capacity for communication. I used to crave these things. I used to initiate life in myself. I want to do that again. I don't want to give up because sometimes it seems that I have.

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"Excuse me sir, I seem to have lost my dignity the last time I was at your establishment. Do you mind if I have a look around?"

"I love you, please don't leave."
"Sorry."
"Please come back."
"I may visit soon. So, how's life?"

It's hard to revive yourself beyond this tragedy. If I have only myself, then I have only myself. There are certain words that can make me sick because I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe in those words that make me sick because I realize they are only ghosts. They have proven themselves non-existent.
Believing in something like Jesus won't make it any more real than the tooth fairy. Believing in something like love won't make it any more real than Jesus.

I'm twenty-four. I'm an over-eater. I'm an over-spender. I'm an over-achiever. I have an addictive personality, mentality and physicality. I am worried about being average. I have obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I carry a lot of baggage throughout life based on my past mental and physical abuse as well as abandonment issues. Nice to meet you. Call me.
I never seem to get exactly what I thought I wanted when I was offered these things I passed them up because I didn't want them. Now I want them, is that fair? Is it my fault that I didn't take what was offered and expect things I may never have? I am in limbo.

I miss being the muse. How can I enjoy being the muse even if I still am that muse? I'm not around and I only cause pain in those who seem to want everything. I had something of a muse. I just feel that my gestures are unappreciated or found to be overwhelming. I guess this would go back to caring what other people think. I guess I am scared. Sure, I didn't write that poem or song. I was afraid you would think it was ridiculous and not good enough, or even worse, maybe you would say nothing at all. There is so much inside that becomes stagnant while silent. Maybe I am afraid of being misunderstood or even understood. Have I wasted any time? I remember a time where I could express myself freely. It has been years since I've felt that confident. I sometimes wonder who I really am. Who was I?

"I'm in love with you."
"I'll just ignore you then. I'll even go so far as to act like I don't really know you."

I have done nothing today. There is no part three. How do I expand while I retract? I'm so tired of being asleep it makes me more tired. There is a cycle to this. It is becoming so involved it would take me becoming a genius to develop the formula to unravel what I have spun. It can't be the end of my mind. I have not reached the edge. I have so much more to discuss and explore with myself. I think I'm at least still listening. I think I whisper. I can read it, but as I read it only whispers back to me. I think I may be quickly coming up to the morning where I wake up introverted. If I am the only one who can understand myself since I and everyone else is so afraid, maybe it's better. It is also worse. Push and pull. Back and fourth. I'm swimming in a circle and living in this plastic castle.
There is no one to impress. What makes people happy? How do people become happy in solitude? Does this happen? Would we really even know? Surely someone in solitude would never tell us.
What do blind people look for so intently with no avail?

Should living right now make me this sick? I am in more pain living than I could ever imagine anything else could bring. How does it stop. I don't feel like it's ever going to get better. Does anyone actually care about me? Do they care how I feel, how I think? I wish I couldn't feel. I almost can't. It's just the sickness that continues. The misunderstanding of my purpose lingers with me everyday. My discomfort is my comfort. How could I possibly live without the feeling I mean nothing. If my memory isn't completely failed, I believe I did before. I am not a person anymore. I feel more alone now. I don't even have my addictions left. They are gone except my addiction to perpetual pain. I think maybe this addiction is worse than any drug and may not even have a cure. I haven't read my science journals lately.
I'm sick today. I don't know if it's due to contraction or subtraction. How long can a winter last? It gets longer every year.

"OK, I'm back."
"You're dead to me now."