The long haul

Then it hits. You suddenly realize you just don't care that much. All your efforts, all the things you work on, the schedule you stick to, the exercise, seeing people, eating good food, it just stops mattering. The change took place slowly you're sure, but the realization is in all one moment. You sit down, with your books, your writing, your art, your learning, your movies, your shows your friends your phone; Your privilaged lot. And it doesn't matter. It just doesn't. You just don't care. You are surrounded by blessing, and its nothing.
Because we care, that was your dying realization. I'm sorry. I love you. I miss you. I am becoming empty. 

Where did you go?

Some days, I lay in bed, and wait to wake up from this life.
A few days ago, I woke up to his voice says my name.  I walked around looking for him for a long time. I still see him out of the corner of my eye, every now and again. I still love you. My dear, I sure wish that I could see you again.
I have a lot of books by Camus, I should read them.

Far away.

Still.

I want to be better than this. So badly. Whatever this is, whatever I am right now, it doesn't seem good enough. Because no one ever cares unconditionally about anyone. It just doesn't work like that. And no one really cares that much, so I must not be good enough.
I must not be enough. I want to be enough. I hurt so badly. I wish I saw the world differently.
I will keep being better. I will get better. I will rely on no one, expect nothing from everyone, and stop hoping for someone. Its better this way. To hurt silently, to stop complaining, and just work on getting better.
No one needs to know me at all. And for those who do, I'm sure they don't care, and would rather they didn't.

Nothing

I just don't know anymore.

Identity

There's a theory of identity, that states you are more closely related to those who are dear to you now that you are to you in 30+ years or so. I mean, look at 10 year old you. Do you really get them? Do you relate to them, and think the same way as them, and worry about the same things you did then? Now how about your friends? Which is closer?

Some nights, I just hurt. I just sit and listen to music that we liked. And I cry some. Turns out you were a big part of me. And you killed that piece of me. I have to make a new person now, all by my self.

No one ever asked why I loved you. They though you were an ass. They never asked why I would date someone like you. You were kind. You cared about me. You never gave me a single reason to be afraid. You never hurt me. Justin, my dear, were the best human I ever met. I love you.

I will never see you again.
I will never talk to you again.
I won't hold you again.
But a bit of you is still here. In me. Its all thats left.

And if I could, things would be different. But I can't. So it isn't.
I love you. We never said goodbye.
So I'm saying goodbye to who I was. Because that person died with you.  And if I killed myself today, I wouldn't be getting any of that person back. I wouldn't be getting anyone back.
I'll never have you back, my dear.
Goodbye.

I miss you.

Sucess!

You're a failure to all! Your parents are disgusted with you! You are no longer welcome here! Good job! Good Fucking Job!

YOU HAVE NO ONE LEFT. NO ONE WHO CARES ANYMORE. ITS ALRIGHT TO DIE NOW. IT WOULDN'T MAKE A FUCKING DIFFERENCE.

On being alone

People tell me that I should be thankful. People say I have so much to live for. People say lots and lots of things. But I don't feel that way all the time. I go on and be happy and cheerful and keep on a good face. A smart stiff upper lip, and I'm learning not to whine. "Let it all out" They say. "Trust people" they say. "Take as much as you need" they say. But when I do that they all complain. "You don't understand how you feel" they say. "I'm real busy" they say. "Its time you moved on" they say.

So as it turns out, I fake for a while. A right good liar. I speak everything on my mind, I say. I trust all my friends, I say. They all help me immensely, and are always there for me, I say. Because it turns out people don't like me.
(Perhaps not dislike, they just find so much so much better than me. I'm really just not worth the trouble anymore.)

Time certainly doesn't matter. We all change, and how could I ask for someone to care about this thing I've become! We all drift apart, that's how things are supposed to be. Promises don't matter. No one can really be taken seriously if they say that they'll make time, or that they'll be there when I need someone to talk to. Life has far too much going on to make time, and no one really means that they want to hear what you have to say. They just want to feel like a good person for offering.

I'm horribly lonely, again. It seems this is what I can come to rely on. The pain. The empty white room, with no one in it. The fall. I have become Sisyphus, with my rock, and my mountain, to bear alone. Do not tell me I need to learn to trust, you have taught me that I shouldn't. Do not tell me that things will be good, you have taught me that they won't be.

I have learned that I am here to push my boulder up towards the heavens alone. I will tone my being, with every sinew, with every fall, with every success. I will be a worker towards the better. And I will do it by myself.

I will be that lonely rock pusher. Until nothing but my company is all I will remember. For there isn't a damn soul, who has convinced me that they will help me be otherwise.
At least my cat doesn't lie about what it thinks of me. 

Still here.

I've still got a brain. I'm still here. I can see when you lie with your face too, you know. Actions speak quite loudly, you know.  I would like an explanation, I hope you know.

The fog

Then the depression sets in. The numbness is pretty strong. You just feel tired. You want to die now not because of pain but because it just seems better. Nothing because you're dead seems better than the nothing of just empty.

This used to be my favorite holdiay.

But I've worked each Halloween night for the past three years, and the only thing that made it ohkay was that you were there. Today is hell. I'm miserable, I'm tired, I'm stressed and it was a lot harder to not cry in class today than it had ever been. Blackbird came on in art class, and I'm not sure how I didn't lose it right there. It hurt so much. I hurt so much. No one even said Happy Halloween.
Wish you were here.

Its hard

Its hard to escape myself. I think about hurting myself a lot. Right now there is a push pin right next to me, and I"m writing to keep my hands from picking it up and sticking it into my side. I'm listening to cheerful music. I feel sick; I've got a thousand things to do. I can't stand myself. I imagine this is what a lemming feels like. The pull into a greater unknown, a dark sight. The fear beckoner, the sweet enticings of that void crawler. An unknowner licking its lips with my being. I'll be with you soon... Or I won't. I feel like rejecting my stomach. The brain vicegrip clamps tighter each day. To be or not to be, it is indeed the question. Oh Hamlet, I'm sure you were happy for your death in the end. That poison was sweet and warm; a sleep well earned. I've taken up not eating much. Its that slow sort of knife, a simple one, an easy one. Befitting of someone so weak. I hate myself. I hate being around me. I'd like to 'jump ship' as they said about him. Ready to drown.

Help Me

Please. Anyone. Someone. Please. I'm so empty. I dream of changing the past. I think about time travel and miracles. I beg for things to be different. I am so hurt. People keep saying they understand. I don't want that. I don't want understanding, I want him back. I want the kindness back. I want those eyes back. I want to call someone in the morning and ask them how they're doing. I want that smell back. I want the sound of you walking down the stairs. I have apples and milk that are all yours. Just swing by and have some. What were you thinking, what were the drugs thinking before you went? Did you think of me? Could I have stopped it? I was awake that night, I wish I would have called. I wish I was there. Oh please... just come back. The world keeps spinning. I don't know what to do. I hurt. I hurt. I gasp for air and everything hurts. I'm crying and shaking and I still need you. I love you. Its all gone now. No ones here. No one cares. Help. Help....I can't do this anymore. Help.

I said I won't.

I've had a lot of people in my life kill themselves. It started when I was in seventh grade, the cutting, the pills, running away. Not me, but the people I knew. The important people.The ones I cared about and knew. After the first one died I made a promise. That I would never do that. I would never leave anyone behind like that. And each time it happened again, I promised a few more people that I wouldn't. But this is the first time that I've ever desperately wanted to. Where are all those people I promised? I sure don't have anyone one here. I've still got to deal with the same people, who are only friends because they want to date me. I've mentions them before, and I'll say again that I"m not yours. I never was, I was always his, and mine. But never theirs. I've got people I see every once in a while, I have a million faces telling me that they understand. I can't stand a single one of them. I can't stand this life. I hate it, all of it. I don't even have improv to cling to. I've got my sick self that can't sleep at night, I've got a thousand pointless things to do, you know, to just stay busy. To keep my mind off of things. To keep it away from the knives, and the pills, and the running away. The cars that veer off the road, the 'accidents', the going missing. The gas mask and oxygen, or carbon monoxide, either the most humane way to go. No mess, no pain, and just like falling asleep. I want to. I've stared into the void for far too long. Its calling. I would know, if there was something after. If it just ended then it would just end, and if not I might get to know. I said I wouldn't.... I promised I'd live....
And so I'm here. A shell. A mask that has a contract scribbled onto the front in black ink. There's an expiration date on it to. I don't want to die. I need to. Its calling. Its calling. Its calling...
I never got to say goodbye, so maybe I wasn't supposed to.
All that's left is for me to say hello.

Dear boy

I've been really, really, really lonely before. And horribly terribly sad. But its not much compared to this. I've never felt human, except when I was with you. Now I'm just rusting from tears. My gears are slow, and I'm missing my energy source. I"m not much without love. Not much at all.

River flows in you

I first heard this song my sophomore year of high school. I sat and listened to it over and over again, completely entranced. I wept, and I did not know why. I captivated me, and filled a cavity in my chest. I did not know what I was missing, but it filled me and captured my missing essence. I never learned the very end of it, even though I spent every lunch period in the room with a piano, desperately trying to fill myself with this music. I listened to it again today and realized that I had filled that void with love. With improv, with friends, with art, with music, and with you, my dear.  And now most of that is gone. And so once again I fill my void with this song. Its different now, but my tears are the same, while the loss is greater, and I feel my blood trying to escape my veins.

Ghosts

Now I understand why some ghosts do nothing but wail and wander looking for someone. 

Dear Justin, my darling boy.

This morning, you shot yourself. I will miss you forever. My heart has broken before, but not like this. I talked to you only a few hours before it happened, and you were doing well. It seems that your mental condition did not feel that you should stay so well. It decided that you needed to have another episode at four in the morning, when there was no one awake to stop you. How I wish you would of called. How I wish I would have been there. How I wish you were still here. How I wish that i could see you smirk one more time. Hear you laugh too loud. Or just talk too loud, you were always loud, excpet when I needed some quiet. I have never met a man who so thoroughly understood me. I ccould not touch people before I met you. I could not trust before I met you. I was so little, before I met you. And here I am now, a little more than two years later. Two years was not enough. A life time, would have barely been enough. Oh my dear. My precious darling. My cutie bum, when we were alone, and you were being cute. I saw you at the mortuary today, you had a towel over your head because you had shot a hole through it. I put my hand on your arm, it was your arm. You are dead. How cold it was, how pale.....you are dead. But I"m still here. I'm still thinking about moving in with you next summer. Thinking about going on a trip with you this next Christmas. Still debating about dragging you along to paris. Still looking forward to you finishin the play. eagarly waiting to feel your hand in mine, for me to run my fingers across your head..... all of it. I need all of you here. I'm going through such a hard time, you saved me from myself before.... and now I"m all alone. Justin James, I miss you so much. I have never loved more, or been more happy.
In philosophy, we went over a theory that states a part of you is in those people around you. The happy part of me is gone. The part of me, that felt free, without inhbitions is gone. You are gone. And i hurt so much. please come back my dear. I need you so much.
You are the best man I ever knew, and I loved you for it.
If you can ever come back, I would be happy. I would hold you as tight as I could, and bawl, because I was happy.

I was hoping to get by.

But now I'm not sure too. No improv for another year. All the other people I know who want to do improv can, but I can't. I don't even have enough money for a damn art pad for my art class.
Fuck.

In reality

In reality, there are just some who want to get laid, and some who just want my help every once in a while because its easier that way. They don't really care. No one, really cares. Maybe its time for me to stop caring.

The wrong skin

I look dainty. I look pretty and sunny. I look best wearing a dress.
I act rough. I act heavy and trudgy. I act best wearing some jeans.
I always wished I had a an ugly face. I don't really know why, but that's what I wanted. I wanted to have a crooked nose, for my arms to not quite match, and a scar across my face. I wanted to to have lanky, clunky legs. I wanted to have a notch in my shoulder. I wanted to look how I felt about myself.
But I'm not. I'm pretty as a flower. People tell me that I need to be more comfortable in my own skin. But I don't want to be. Well, I do, but not in this skin.
The only time, I ever, ever considered actually cutting myself is when I was going to cut myself across the face. I'd rip up my dark pink lips, I'd slash my cheekbones, I'd cut off half of my tiny cute ears.  I didn't. But I wanted to.

I want to feel like I have earned my right to live. When I was young, I met so many people who told me that life wasn't worth living. After a point, because of them, religious beliefs I held, and how I saw the world, I believed them, to a point. Life was worth living only if you deserved it. It was something you had to earn. You had to be good enough.

I don't have to be perfect. That's not what I want. I just always need to be getter better. I always need to be improving. One day I'll be good enough. One day it won't be hard to sleep. I deserve this insomnia. I must not be trying hard enough to sleep. I deserve to struggle with depression.  I haven't done anything good enough with my life to be happy, and I'm not trying hard enough to just snap out of it. Its my fault I don't have very many friends, and its my fault I don't know how to keep the ones I have very well. I'm just crazy, after all. I just need fixing. I'm just not good enough. I just need to work on it all, and get better.

I hate, so very much, that they are attracted to me. I don't like you. I don't like you at all. I just wanted a friend, but I see how you look at me. I see how you take every opportunity to spend time with me, how possessive you are of me. I'm not yours to have. I though we were just friends. That's all I fucking wanted.  Now I have a man who spends time with me because a part of him is slowly becoming entitled to me. Who doesn't say their real opinion and tires to be perfect all the time, so I'll fall for them. I don't like you. At all. I just wanted a friend. I have people I'm attracted to, and they aren't you. I don't care about your devotion. I don't care how much you care. I am not yours to have. I will hang out with you. I will study with you. I will help you out, and listen to your problems, and I will be a damn good friend. But I will not be a tiny bit yours. Not one fucking bit. Get a girl friend, and learn more about yourself. I'm not for you no matter how much you think it should be.

I can care for myself. I can accept myself. Its just hard to get over things. Its hard feeling like I'm not good enough. I found a reason to run away from some things. I made myself far too busy, because I'm trying to drown improv forever out of my head. I love it, its great, but it hurts so much. I loved it too much I think. I'm still jealous. No matter how hard I try, and how happy I am for the people I see succeeding, I'm still so jealous. I just want to feel like I have a group of people that are happy to be around me, that think I'm funny, and that I can contribute to the art that we are all doing together. I want nothing more that to make other people laugh. I want it so bad. I practice, I work, but I'm still not good enough. I'm not confident enough, I think too much and I just don't "get it". I'm all wrong, and its just not quite for me. I'm suffocating. Every time I run away from it I just kind of go numb for a while. Every time I go back, even just for a bit my veins erupt, I go out of my mind and I can't look and my best friend. He has so much, and he doesn't even realize it. He may not like himself, and he may have a lot of problems and a hard life, but he has so much. I hate that I'm so jealous. I've put it far away, and I don't ever mention it to him. But he is amazing. He is hilarious, and handsome, and if he tries something, and works hard at it, its his. Granted, there are some things he wants, that's hes just too scared to try, and I don't think he would ever admit he's afraid of them, but he is. He doesn't want to become his brother, and so anything that reminds him of his brother in himself he shuns, and destroys. And yes, that is hard. That sucks a lot. And he feels so much guilt for so many things, so many things he shouldn't, and he carries so much pain, and yes, that is hard. But he has an escape. Once a week he can go on stage and put that all away. Once a week he can get up on a stage and make people laugh away their pains, remember the good in their lives, and feel better about their lives. Once a  week he can do the very best thing you can do for lots of people. Once a week, he becomes perfect, just for a little while. He can feel the exhilaration of the power of creation. He can be in love with the moment because he can desperately feel the power he has to be alive. I want him to be happy. I want to hang out with him and have a good time. I want to listen to his problems, and want to be a good friend. I want to be the one who remembers that he doesn't like spiders, and that is most favorite smell ever is vanilla and that cinnamon is once of the best ingredients ever, and that kiwi would be soo much better if it didn't have a weird texture, and the friend that deals with the fact he puts ketchup on quesadillas, and the friend he can talk to about how he worries that he is never going to have a girlfriend, and how much the friend zone sucks, and how he really, really is freaking out about this next audition and how badly he wants the role of Puck, and how Peter should really take note of that, and everything else. I want to be that good friend. But I'm still jealous, and I'm still socially awkward, and I still have a hard time talking And I still need to work on myself as a person.  I'm a person who needs fixing, and I person who deal with depression a lot more than I'm would like to admit. I try and talk about things that he spends his time avoiding. I fuck things up all the time. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I don't take social cues very well, I'm sorry that I just don't deal with my own stuff well enough, I'm sorry I'm just not good enough. I'm sorry I'm crazy, and I'm working on it it all.

I hate living in my own skin. I tried fitting in with people once, and I hated it. I know how to get people to like me, but I can't live with myself like that. I just cant. I'm don't really fit into and niches, and I don't know what I should do about myself.
I'm thinking of crawling into a cave of 'busy' and never coming out this semester.  
I still fight the urge to run away.
I can't help but feel like people only stick around long enough until I've either disappointing or offended them, and then they find as many ways to leave as possible.

Its raining today.

I think quite often. Most of the time though, I just make up stories in my head. They're not very good, but they're there. That's what my head is stuffed with. Stories. They explore people, and worlds. How things work. How things could be, if things were a little different. How things could be, if they were completely different. What things matter, what things don't. How those things could change...how they do change. Many times, this is how I try to deal with my ineptitude. How I try to deal with my social inadequacies. I run away from where I am. Any time I try to talk about things with people, it just doesn't go well. I have very few friends. I don't know how to talk to them about things. Every time I hang out at all I feel like I'm tripping around in sand. I don't gt very far at all. Its hard to think that people like being around me. I don't really understand things nearly as much as I'd like to. I will get better. I hope. I'm certainly working for it.
There's a mangy, thin cat out side my house. I want to let it in and feed it, buts its scared of humans. The food I left out for it got knocked over and drenched by the rain. 

I am nothing.

I only write, because I am nothing. I write because that's what they told me to do. You're crazy kid. Write all that out of your head. Put it all away. just put it all on a page and then burn it. Its not really you. You know better. Much better. Did you know, that it used to be honorable to kill yourself? In Rome, they would slowly, painlessly bleed themselves out over the course of a day, it was like going to sleep. Just write till you're sane. write it all away. You an scream on a page, until you can't hear your imperfections anymore. Just keep saying things until you are nothing. Til you feel something better, until you are right. No one wants to ever hear these things. That's just awkward. Honesty is a thing of the past. Of a different time. It isn't for you. You think too much you worthless shit. Go stop bothering everyone's lives. No one wants to hear about your bad day, your feears, yours questions....your sad attempts at life. Just go away. No one cares. You don't matter. You may have been telling yourself some lies. That you matter. That you'll get better.....all lies, you know. It's almost amusing.... watching you trying. Look at you! Look at the way you act like you still have hope. Look at how you clumsily go around, you might as well ask a person you never met that they had it all coming, this life of theirs. Look at you. "A had been, who never was", where truer words ever spoken? Just go. Just fucking go. Write yourself sane and normal. No one wants to see who you are. When they do, it just makes them feel awkward, and wishing you would leave sooner. Really, just go fucking die.

Things I'd say to people if they were around for me to say them to.

This is no specific order. This is also not passive aggressive stuff, as that there is no way for me to talk to virtually all of these people, or these are things that I have already told them previously, and I just can't get them off my mind.
1 : I want you to be happy. I want you to like yourself. I want you to realize how much you have. I wish you could tell me to my face that you're disappointed in me. I really hope that you have a wonderful life. I'm sorry that you had to watch me grow into a different person. I'm glad I did, but I know you hated me a little for it.
2: You are the reason that I love comedy. You are the reason I knew good people exist. You are the reason I do my best to never give up on the good things in life. You are still my inspiration. I want you to be happy, and if I ever have the universe owe me a favor, I'm making Jim Carry spend a week with you.
3: I always wonder what type of person I would be if I had never met you. You screwed over so much of my life. I wasted over four years on you. A part of me knows that you didn't die that night, you didn't ever die, but thanks to you I will always know that, at least for that night, I would rather be a murderer than let myself suffer. You are the person that made me realize what it is to hate someone, to become bitter, to become engulfed with indignation. But you also made me stand up for myself. You forced me to put myself first. Even if that meant crushing someone else. I don't think I'll ever forgive you. But I did grow. If I ever met you again, I would probably punch you a few times. And kick you in the balls until you would never be able to reproduce.
4: When I first met you, I wanted to date you. Its been about five years or so, and I still feel this way. I realize this is a problem, and I also realize this will probably never be fixed. I also want you to be happy. You deserve it.
5: I really want to see you in a few years. You are one of the most interesting people I have ever met. Please stay cool and change the world like you said you would. I'm sure that you really made a difference for those kids that you helped build a house for. I want you to learn how to rule a country, because you said you wanted to, and you would make a great president.
6: You were my first best friend. I'm sure you would think me to be a detestable human being, but that's why I was proud to be your friend. You are have to most moral backbone out of virtually all the people I have ever met.
7: You are the most existential person I have ever met. You remind me that great people exist. If I ever wanted to be like someone else, I would want to be like you. I'm sorry I'm a disappointment, but I thank you so much for everything you've told me. All the encouragement, all the honesty, all the openness. You are quite probably the most beautiful person I have ever met, and I'm glad you enjoy your life so much. I have no doubt that you will be famous within a few years.
8: Thank you for all the direction. You helped me to become as good as I am, and helped me stay passionate.
9: Sitting on your roof was one of the coolest moments of my entire life. Your determination and work ethic amaze me; you will one day be the head of Disney, and you will deserve it.
10: I know that you just used me, but I'm glad I got to be your friend. I know you know that I liked you, as that I have never made more of a fool out of myself. I hope you go far.

Things I like:

Improv.
Drawing things.
Painting things.
Designing clothes.
Designing everything else.
Watching good movies.
Talking to smart people about smart things.
Listening to people about their lives.
Snogging. Doesn't happen a lot anymore, but snogging is nice.
Sourdough bread.
Smoothies .
Cities. Real ones. Over 60,000 population ones.
Sushi. Who needs drugs, alcohol, sex, or any other universal high-instigators when you can have sushi?
Cool friends. Ones who don't have a thing for me. Like if I flirted with them, they'd be weirded out, and know that it was only for kicks.
People who do improv with me, and aren't creepy about it.
People that like me.
Water.
Juice.
Ice Cream.
To save much space : FOOD.
Good books.
Being able to talk about good books.
Thus, people who read a lot.
Walks.
Sub-tropic areas.
Working at a place where I can make something. (Nothing against you, janitor job, but there are much better things out there.)
Living away from ones parents.
Having ample amounts of extra money.
Owning lots and lots of art.
Having goals.
Having things.
Being moderately busy.
Seeing different people.
Getting to go on adventures.

Dear God I'm lonely. I'm tired, and I wish I was good at making friends. I'm so weird, I don't mind, but it seems other people do. And its not like I usually care what other people think, hell, at this point, I've even stop caring what OTC things about me.. but dear God is it lonely here. I can't blame anyone but myself, if being with people was more important than other things, I'd have a boy/girlfriend, plenty of people to talk to, and a constant social life. But that's not what I want. I want two or three people who are smart, well-balanced, and ambitious. People who see the world in a better way.  I'm around a philosophy major rather often, and he just doesn't get the world. Not at all. Some days its fine, but other days its so dull. So dry. I have a passion for learning, but also for doing. I can't stand that I'm not in theater. Granted, I would never join this department, but I'm so starved. I while ago, I made a decision to move to LA, and start taking improv classes. Stop going to school for at least a year, and go off and be a human. But I couldn't do it. I made up reasons why I should go. I'm such a coward. I'm too weak. I limit myself and I hate myself for it. "Commit fully. Its the hardest easy thing you'll ever do." I couldn't agree with you more Nate. I wonder if you're disappointed in me. I am.

Purple

Still a coward.

They say if there is a will there's a way. I don't have that. Not enough. I'm not enough. Maybe that's why I'm still alive. Because I was too scared. I was too scared to die, but I"m still too scared to live. Too scared to run away, too scared to stay. I don't connect to people because I'm afraid. I fight between feeling and suppressing because I don't know if I want to be a real person. Its safe to be a robot. I've always wondered what was wrong with me. I've never been to a doctor about it. But I've always wondered. When I don't see people often, I can just stop feeling, if I want. Not forever, if it goes on for more than a few months that I don't have control over it anymore. But for a day, I can just stop feeling. In philosophic debate, most of the time, for the sake of discussion, you define humans as rational animals. That's it. Later, you go into having a conscience, but it almost never includes emotions. Only sometimes. I'm too scared to live. I'm not sure what I am. Or who I am. I'm really quite bright. But because of that, I'm not very happy.
"You think too much."
I'm sorry.

A bad morning.

Alarm didn't go off, late for work. Out the door, note that my car has been looted. All cool and valuable stuff gone. Boss is mad and calls. Bad morning, but good day.

I have a really good friend.

He is also respectable, funny, and a good person.

Alone for a while.

I've been doing improv by myself for a while, and it feels very wrong. There is something depressing to it. The same sort of sentiment exists for someone who drinks alone. Happy or sad, it doesn't seem to matter. Out in the middle of no where, in some field, walking around all by yourself. After a while you switch back and forth and do silly things, and once in a while you say something as loud as you can, and no one hears you. You should be feeling happy, or at least, you shouldn't be thinking how this isn't right, that someone should be there, but you do. You do, and even if it wasn't the case at all before, you feel sad. If you've been drinking, I'm not sure what you do at that point, but if its improv, the scene stops, and you sit down, and you cry.

If you can't beat it....

The days are just packed.

Even if I'm busy and work all day, I still love summer.

Drifting away.

I am getting to the point where I am now avoiding social interaction. I write, I read, I exercise and draw all by myself. I even did an improv scene by myself today. I'm going out of my way to find places people never go, and then giving myself excuses to go there. It isn't that I dislike all my friends, or that I find them to be a headache, I just like being by myself. Some of them have problems, that they don't want to talk about, others are mad at things, but they don't want to talk about it, and some of them just don't like being around me, and are only there because someone else dragged them there. And then there are some that I just haven't seen in a while. There is something very liberating about just being with yourself. I had a conversation out loud with a bird on the side of the trail and it was fine. I walked barefoot on hot hot sand and it felt great. I like the company of myself. Its nice.

I never grew up.

When I moved to the second house in California, I was sitting on the lawn and some kid went by on his skateboard. He stopped and looked at me.
"Want to be friends?"
"Sure."
And that is how I got my first best friend. Later, I found out he was good at skateboarding and I was good at roller-blading. We both loved soccer and running and asking questions and both of us were religious. We played card games and video games, but that wasn't what kept us as friends. It was that we both thought that the world wasn't nearly magic enough. And that putting some in it was the best idea ever. I don't remember hardly anything specific, except that I was often a wizard fighter, and so was he. Sometimes we were no one special, but the world was. Some days we were hiding from dinosaurs, other days venturing to the tops of the highest mountains to find the gem that would give us ultimate power. We sword fought too. There were always rules so no one would get hurt too badly, so it was always fun, always worth the bruises and scratches. We never talked to each other at school; you had other friends, and I was really weird. I didn't even have a single friend and I wore black all the time. But that didn't really bother me. As long as we could keep the world magical and interesting I was ohkay that you didn't want to be seen with me. But I remember that slowly, you didn't want to anymore. They slowly turned into games, and I took them far too seriously. Eventually, we were just too old to play make believe anymore, and so you didn't want to hang out with me. And by then I had found anime, and had made friends for the first time in a long time, so even though I was sad, I was ohkay. That's what I told myself.
That was when I was ten. Now I'm almost twenty. And more than anything, I still want to play make believe.  Granted, I call it "improvisation" now, and I do it in front of large groups of people who may even one day consider to pay me. But that's what I want. I want to make people happy, and I want to do improv. I feel like that if you saw me now, you would still be disappointed in me.  I've become a disappointment to almost everyone I know, in one way or the other. But, just like back then, I try to do things that I won't regret. And I think I like that more. I like doing things that I feel are right. Things that I think are best. Try everything as many times as I need to, and ask every question that needs to be asked. Maybe I'm a bad person. I'm not really what someone would call a good friend, at least, I do a really good job of sabotaging myself from getting such a title . But I am curious. And I am adventurous. But most importantly, I still see the magic in things.
Today I went out to exercise. I did some jogging, some running, but mostly, I punched through the Horde, performed silly walks for the committee, tried to catch some flying smoothie snatchers, and caught a breath as I watched my imaginary friend wave over a dragon and fly away for a while. 
I never grew up, and even if I'm too scared to tell anyone, I'll be ohkay. That's what I tell myself.

Dido

Thanks life.

There is a place that I have never been, So I want to go there.

I am not a surface fish.

Avarice for the unknown

I haven't made a wish is years.

Am I a Coward?

Smile self.

        There is a thing that everyone I know wants. Desperately. Frantically. Gasping, choking, skin-stabbed terribly. I see the demand-desire worm in their eyes; eating the iris blind. It makes me flinch like I had just seen someone stub their toe and rip the toenail off in the process. Toe-curl flinch.
        I have what they want.
    I've never given it to anyone.

I can't give you a smiling face in the mirror. That's your job. 

My secret.

Somedays I wish I could have a book with every secret ever had, just so I could feel like a human being, and not a monster.

Porcerlin Tar Stuck.

Somedays I miss the vulgar kicking and screaming that rocks my head and scissors my eyes.  When you sick taint green and black onto every touch; bruised blue footsteps on the ground where you step and the avoid is very strong. The hyperbole-perfume saturates the wrapper world and slick trips all trips, those outer-going ventures to sniff the earth's body book. There are melodramaed lives. Feel brink. Topsevey sorts of states that pull-push plummet downward forever until down is topsy, up Sunny Sunny Sunny! There is something cold about a subtle still. Stilling in a turn book. All the pages turn, I stay, sit-stilling right in the middle; page warped around with no pull. Stick pinned to a projector screen with the all up bottom film reeling right over me. Tar stuck.
I am brown in the vivacious only spectrum party. Molasses moper corner stuck. No rainbow disco spotting me.

Being Happy. Being Sad. Being Well.

Your emotions work on a pendulum. Say that there is a pendulum attached to the back of a long picture frame. Outside the frame on both sides there is a bumper; usually, it ticks back and forth without going inside the frame; with a natural tick to it. However, once in a while, something jerks the pendulum, and it goes flying all the way over to the outside bumper. Slamming into the bumper, it immediately get pushed all the way over to the other side.This repeats over and over again until, gradually, the normal tick of things takes back over; the pendulum once again swings at a natural tick. Sometimes the bumpers break; sometimes they hog the pendulum to one side or the other, sometimes the pendulum gets stuck on one end, or maybe in the middle.Some days are good. Some days are bad. Sometimes, life is unbearable. Other times, you can do anything.And you go back and forth between nothing and everything. Stars and the moon and the sky. Nailed to the ground with the flood gates opening soon. And so you cope. You do your best. You try so hard. And once in a long while, you're just walking. Ticking back into the rhythm that is real. Its only once in a long while, but it happens. And eventually, it'll start happening longer, and more often. It just takes a while to get there. But you'll get there.

Things I think.

I think that:
People should be kind to each other.
Pineapple on pizza is really tasty.
There is such thing as bad taste.
I am socially awkward and I'm also not nearly good enough friend.
People don't realize how much they don't know.
People don't care about how much they don't know.
Monks are a really fun class to play in Dungeons and Dragons 3.5.
Sorcerers are really fun to play in Pathfinders, particularly with bloodlines.
I want more people who are willing to play and be silly with me. 
Many people who I want to be around don't want to be around me.
Improvisors are really fun people to be around.
My best friend doesn't want me to join the theater department.
My best friend doesn't really want me to be around him hardly at all.
I've been trying to accept this situation for about a year.
I still don't know what to do about it.
Suicide is not even philosophically justifiable. (Don't believe me, read Camus, or Kierkegaard.)
People have problems.
They should not let these problems rule them.
They should not despair.
You should try to help yourself, but let someone help you, too.
I watch too much TV.
I'm not studious enough.
I need a better work ethic.
While I have a pretty face it is destroyed by the person I am.
The the United states needs to get over their so called democracy and change to a republic. It would work much better, and would no longer be a popularity contest, as is the nature of all democracies.
It is perfectly fine to dislike certain people.
One should never have to stay around someone who is ruining their life. Sometimes, I am that person who everyone needs to leave.
People should do things. Real things.
People are not intrinsically good.
Goodness is something you have to earn.
I need to work harder.
Doing drugs is such a sad thing to do. I feel sad that so many people I know do them. I wish that they would find a better way to live; it seems so painful to have to run away so far.
I am in love, and no one thinks I should be. No one wants to hear that from me. They treat me as though I have let them down immensely. I don't think I am an exception, I may just be blind. I hope I am not.
Eels is a great band.
I should be more grateful.
I think about myself too much.
One day I will be better than I am now.
One day I will not whine as much as I do now.
One day I will figure out how I get page views, even though I haven't told anyone about this blog.
One day one of those page viewers will commit to being a follower. (That means you, person who looked at this page, who ever you are.)
Marshmallow Peeps are not very good.
If I worked harder I would be better.
If I work hard enough I will be good enough.
Keeping my favorite color a secret is a good decision.
Keeping my birthday a secret is also a good decision.
Angry music accomplishes very little to nothing.
Peanut Butter and Chocolate was and awful idea.
That there is thought.
I am not as funny or as helpful as I'd like to be.
That if I ever find Mick Napier I will hug that man and thank him for writing such a good book.
People who create virus are not putting their talent to good use.
My lack of understanding is one thing that will keep me rather forever alone.
I don't deserve most of what I've got.
Good colors are one of the best things to see.
A dead bird is a very sad thing.
Death is a hard thing to deal with, and I'm not sure how to deal with it.
Cats are a good thing to have around.
No one likes everything.

Lastly, one day, I will be funny. And people will laugh, and feel better. One day I will find a way to make someone feel better.

I'm far too simple.

I just want to have friends that care about me. I want friends to say things to my face. To ask questions about me once in a while. I feel like a really good wall. Perfect for leaning on. Anytime. All the time. I want you to tell me the truth. I want you to at least let me help you. I wish you didn't keep secrets. I wish you didn't say bad things about me behind my back. I wish you didn't give up on me. I wish I could help you feel better. I want to be good enough. I want to be useful, at the very least. I don't want to be left here. Its very hard here. I can't move.

Illality

Reality is sick. Coughing, hacking its way around. Vision becomes blurry and with each blink the clock ticks away one more time. Five, ten, elven. And then three. The lamp begins to melt and the music starts to whisper in you ear. "Liar...liar...failure... eat a hot dog...." There is little sense left.
I begin to walk along a street. In each window there is something reminiscent of something I've already seen. First there is a stage. He is covered in gaudy lipstick, and has a crowd of people on and surrounding him. Each person is smiling very enthusiastically; some with staples to keep their miles stretched so wide, other have nails, some even are hammering the nails deeper in right as I walk by. The canned laughter is loud; the laugh track playing over and over and over again. I blink and the lipstick, violent stuff, melts off and the stage screams. We bleed together. It hurts. I walk toward the door. An apparition appears, only a little taller than me, darker skin, a monochromatic thin brown build . "You would be happier somewhere else." He says. "I don't think you really belong here." He looks. As I turn and continue down the sidewalk he thinks "I don't want you here." The music once again whispers, this time with an echo that spins into a cacophony "Don't want you here....don't want you here...don't want you here..." The emphasis changes every time. The stage and I continue to bleed together. I walk to the next window.
There is nothing but colors. Brushed by a Persian cat dipped in paint that rubbed up against the wall in delight, contentment and pride fill the wall with the reds and the perfect compliments further stroke the dignity with a soft green. Then a sublime yellow appears, and grins. A lovely grin. Brown ineptitude spins on madly with the lipstick, and a splash of yellow grin goes into the mix. I have a brown yellow red tail following me down the sidewalk. "Falter...you...don't want you here....grinning." And the world spins madly on.
Lastly I come to a turtle shell. I go in, it has nothing but mirrors. All warping in some way or another. Brown, red, and yellow. It begins to meld, and pushes me out of the millions of perspectives. I am staring at a turtle. A big, brown, red and yellow turtle. I am staring at a mirror.
I have too many ways to look at things, inside this shell. If I pull away from the world everything I've ever seen reflects back at me, all with me somewhere in it. None of it looks like it should. I can't decide which one is real. I can't decide what I should do.
Reality sneezes right onto a turtle with a sidewalk-long tail. I'm tired of getting that guys germs. I pull back inside myself, and all the mirrors have reality snot on them. I keep walking down the street.
The snail on my back says "Weee!"

Change

I look back. I try to live without regret. I try to be a good person. But, I wan'st. I'm not. I'm not a good friend. I have been a shitty friend. I was a terrible person. And I don't really deserve to have friends. I'm not good enough. I always cling to "I'll be better" or "One day I'll be good enough." But I wasn't good enough then. And I'm not good enough now. And I don't know how to fix this. I don't know what it is I need to do, and I don't know if its worth it. That's the really terrible thing. I've been hurt so badly, and so has he. I need to change. I need to change. Why aren't I just good enough? Why don't I do the right thing? Will I ever be a good enough person. I don't think I am. I don't think I will be. I've messed up. And I don't think I can fix it.