Am I a selfish person?
Am I selfish for being withdrawn in a conversation for the sole purpose of getting asked what's wrong? And therefore having a reason to just pour out everything onto somebody else?
Am I selfish for wanting to involve other people in my troubles and conflicts, instead of remaining the happy, carefree person people expect me to be?
Is being melodramatic also being selfish?
I read a poem my brother wrote and left on the table. It started with 'if only, if only'. I remember starting a poem like that. Except I could never get any further than that. Because as soon as I start getting into 'if only' there's just too much to say, and not enough space, or words to say it with.
It's just odd that my brother would also start a poem like that.
I felt very isolated today. And I still do.
I need somebody to tell me I'm not crazy. I need somebody to tell me that I'm not the only one. I need somebody to let me know that I'm not as alone as I feel sometimes.
I need to cry.
I'm afraid. I'm afraid because every once in a while I run into some aspect of life that I just can't stand, and it takes me forever to get through. I'm afraid that eventually one of those will come along and I won't be able to get through it at all. And everybody else just blows through it without a problem, and I'm left alone and I can't move on.
I'm afraid that I won't have what it takes to go anywhere in life.
Sometimes I'm really excited for the life I have planned out for me. Sometimes I'm really excited for that plan to fail, just so I can find out what else life has waiting for me. And sometimes I'm really afraid that I won't make it in either case. Tonight seems to be one of those times.
My bassoon teacher mentioned that it seemed like I was loosing my confidence today. I know she meant my playing. And I'm more or less sure why it seems that way. But the weird thing is that it continued throughout the day. I was always slightly on edge, and I never really felt completely comfortable, or settled. No matter where I was, I felt like I didn't belong there.
And then I got home, and I still couldn't feel settled. I sat down, and got back up. I'd go to the kitchen for some food and end up wandering into the living room to stare blankly at the paper for a while. It's a miracle I was able to get my theory homework done.
I want to avoid reality right now. But at the same time, I know it's coming. This entire evening was a mix of me trying to figure out how to deal with the coming reality, and yet trying to completely avoid it at the same time. It doesn't exactly make for an easy combination.
I feel like the more unhappy I am, the further I get from actually being me. I feel most like myself when I'm happy. And right now I don't feel like me. I don't feel like anybody. I feel like this shell of empty feelings that needs to be brought back, or woken up somehow.
Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I need sleep. But going to sleep means I'll be even closer to having to deal with tomorrow. Which I don't want to do.
I need to know I'm not alone. And you can tell me I'm not alone as many times as you like, but let me save you some time and tell you that it won't make a difference. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the thought. But being told I'm not alone doesn't make me feel better. Knowing I'm not alone makes me feel better. There's a difference. Actually not being alone lets me know I'm not alone.
I need to be with somebody. A friend. A good friend. Just talking. Pouring out everything and anything I'm thinking or feeling. The only problem with that is that there's nobody here. It's just me in my room, and the backpack waiting to be dragged to school tomorrow.
Therefore, I resort to writing, and being melodramatic and pessimistic towards anybody and everybody who reads this, and waiting to be saved.
Does that make me selfish?
"What do you want from me, reed gods? My first born child? It's yours."
"That's like me moving to Pakistan and being offended by sand."
"If I lived in France in the 1600s, I would have guys all over me."
1 month ago