I just needed to write something other than role-play or homework. Something from MY life and not of any of the characters that I've created or stolen.
If this is angsty and that bothers you? Don't read it.
If we aren't friends anymore? Don't read it.
Since I don't think anyone other than one of you thirty actually read this. That's also fine. After all, I don't read all of your journals, and I don't even use mine often enough to matter.
Basically, I'm writing here because I don't want to worry my IRL friends by posting on myspace, and posting private won't ease my anxiety.
Perhaps I should stop making excuses, but that's my talent these days, and say that this is what this journal has always been for. That's an outright lie. I made this journal because a friend of mine wanted people to comment in hers. Unlike in RL, I tend to follow her around on the internet whether I think that I want to or not.
But that's not what I'm writing about.
Free-writing. Writing free, feeling uncaged.
So badly sometimes, it hits me that I don't really like anything about my life, and haven't for years and years, pretty much as long as I can remember. I can find no real talent and don't really see much point in anything. I blame it on stress, or a need for sleep or attention, but really it doesn't always fit there. What it boils down to is that I'm selfish and needy and don't want anyone else to have anything.
Guaranteed, that any number of my friends would disagree with that last statement. And I can't even say that they would certainly be wrong. I see this type of behavior in other people and think to myself that if they could just see...
Knowing how that other shoe feels though, is not enough. I still try and convince them that they're wrong, that just because they see it that way, doesn't mean it's true. Because I know, logically, that self-perception could be the most flawed of all because perception is relative like nothing else. I also know that I contradict that when I say that what you think is all that matters.
There is no logic. All feeling. And it sucks because I can make myself feel better if I try. I know that I can, but I can never help anyone else, so I don't see the point.
One day, hopefully, I'll listen to people's troubles or stories, or anything they feel like sharing, impartially. I pray to a God that only I believe in that I'll help ONE person. And then I question if that is for me or them.
Though I didn't originally want to, I do regret making anyone's day slightly less enjoyable in the event that they read this.
Truly it was not meant to be anything. And now I'm off to watch the clip of Fitzwilliam.
Feelin': 
bored
Previous
crushed
excited
ditzy
salivating
