And Again

I’m realizing, rather distinctly, that I am alone. And I don’t trust anyone.

It’s not that they’re people who can’t be trusted. I wish it was that simple. Rather, it’s my own incompetence, my own cowardice, my own weakness.

I’m tired of being me, but I’m equally tired of pretending to be someone else. I get the feeling that I’m just tired of living. Of reaching for something that’s not there, of pretending to be someone normal, someone reasonable, someone who just isn’t me.

I will never be the person I imagine myself to be. I have no idea who I am, and perhaps that’s the problem. How can a lying cheat remove his mask if there’s nothing underneath? Not even a face. Not even a name.

Just some kid who grew up fast, then never grew up again.

I have no idea where I’m going with this.


Early Morning Nonsense

I spent the whole night listening to Broken Moon, watching HIMYM, and questioning where I’m going, where I’ve been, and where I am now.

…I don’t really know. I can barely remember what I’ve done, who I used to be, or any part of what made me, me. I don’t remember graduation well, I don’t really recall my first year of high school, I can’t imagine my life. Right now, I have an hour before I need to leave for class and I have absolutely no idea of anything.

I don’t want to grow up and, five years from now, wonder if I’ll still be this alone, this confused, and this… empty. There’s nothing in my past, there’s nothing in my future, and my present is all one big hoax I’ve created to pretend to myself that I mean something. That I’m worth something.

But I know that if I disappeared tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter. You might be sad. You might even cry, but you’ll move on. Everyone moves on. I don’t want your fake tears. I don’t want your fake sympathy.

But that’s all I can do. I can only say things I don’t want, things I am not… I can’t describe myself in terms of who I am, I can only set limits on what I’m not. I don’t remember the last time I could openly talk about myself, speak honestly, to be truthful.

I’ve even sunk so low as to create fake names and stories for myself, simply because I don’t like who I am and what I am. So is that it then? I wonder, I wonder, I wonder…

Of course, I couldn’t post this on facebook. I couldn’t post this anywhere but here, where I know almost no one will see it. I don’t know if I’m hoping no one reads it or not. I just… don’t know.

And this is just a fantastic first post after a whole… over half a year of not writing. This blog was supposed to mean something. It was supposed to be something more than me just whining about how I don’t like my life, even though it’s great. It was supposed to do something, but nothing’s happening. Because I don’t want anyone to read it. Because I need somewhere to visibly complain and I don’t want anyone to worry. Because something needs to happen, but I don’t know what. This place will just fill up, more and more and more, with all the useless things that don’t do anyone good. Rather than Indistinct Snow, perhaps it’d be better to call it a Trash Dump. A place where your heart goes to die.

Or laments about being already dead.

I’ll fix the settings later. For now, do whatever you want. – Broken Moon