Ramble

Daydreaming will be the death of me. Today I recreated an estimated 30-45 scenarios involving me sparking a conversation with this girl that came into the store today, each with ranging levels on confidence in my word choice/tone, all resulting in different reactions and thus different outcomes. First dates, first phone conversations, first kisses in some. Driving around in my car without music was really would kept my head so fogged with all this nonsense. I had nothing to hone in on, and all the scattered impulses in my brain grabbed on to as many hypothetical situations as they could. It drove me crazy. This is my reaction to almost every pretty girl I see. I can create them so vividly it almost seems irrelevant to me that I didn't say a word to her, to any of them.

A strong loneliness is stalking me. I can see it behind me, like watching all the light of the world slowly crawl toward the horizon at the sunset. I have felt this loneliness before and I am not looking forward to it, but have almost accepted it's inevitability. I don't think I can change the way I'm thought of, and I feel like it's almost a hopeless goal. I can't decide whether to be harder on myself, stop craving attention, live independently, completely reclusive, or maybe I'm too hard on myself as it is. A natural desire to be attended to and loved is an intrinsic part of our species, is it not? I almost hope that it's not true, because the latter seems more hopeless to me. Some people I had once fell back on and became so close with are almost unrecognizable to me. The party drugs and the promiscuity and the lack of regard for anything remotely related to other peoples feelings has left a small fire of hatred in my heart, fueled by anger of the idea of change itself.

Where the hell did these blisters on my hand come from? This morning I woke up with a spider on me and for the entire day I've felt something crawling on me.

I miss Greg and Tyler. Fuck, I miss everyone. All the time. I wish everyone could just feel this, all the love, I wish I could make it emanate from me.

I get this strong sense of urgency sometimes, like this lingering feeling that I haven't been real for months on end now. Like I haven't spoken a real word, like my mind hasn't been open to anyone but myself and my books and my writings. There's so much I feel like I need to say but I feel like if I say them they become real and if they become real I go back to square one of all of this. My mind keeps telling me I'm okay, my gut does not agree. A similar rivalry has grown between them, one regarding my sense of self-awareness. When this feeling pops up time and time again, my gut tells me I haven't been real. Or my subconscious, rather. Or perhaps they imply the same thing. Regardless, my mind tells me I am being real. Am I myself? How can I make that judgement if I don't know me? Who's to say the words out of my mouth are spoken by the true tongue behind it? This constant system of checks and balances is failing, and has left me an timid, cowardly wreck. Where has all my confidence gone? I am too afraid to even cry to my friends, which is really all I want to do right now, but instead I am in my dark room, stone-faced, tapping away at this pseudo emotional release.