So I want to talk for a minute. It’s almost maddening how often I feel like I put myself through internal hell for arbitrary reasons. One would begin to wonder whether or not I really was a martyr. But regardless of the obvious objective stance I could take on such subjects, a feeling of almost hauntingly tranquil isolation seems to linger with me.
It’s been minutes, hours, days, months since I’ve been honest with myself. I’m unhappy. I’m unsatisfied. I have been adamant about picking up projects to keep productive, to have my name next to something by the end of the day. But they’ve only served as glass walls to the seemingly insignificant barrier of illusion I’ve manifested. I’ve deliberately kept myself from moving on without even recognizing I needed to move on to begin with.
Last night was a bad night. Nothing significant happened that would warrant a need to address the events. I watched cartoons and surfed the net. Played CS:S with Matt for a while, and ate a lot of sugar. Nothing too out of the ordinary for me. But when I went to bed, I felt a loss that I had been attempting to ignore with increased diligence. And I just couldn’t deal with it anymore.
I’m unhappy. I think for the most part I am a genuinely happy person. I appreciate so much of life and look at people so differently than before, and hopefully people understand the irony in my “total genocide” rants. And it really does make me happy to think of people. People are a fickle creature, though, and it’s not often that despite how I might admire a person, it’s no guarantee they will want to put up with me. I feel like I’m surrounded with loss. Maybe I’m being over-critical or melodramatic.
I could list all the things I’ve lost, but what does that gain? I don’t think we can measure happiness or sadness by those means. I want so desperately to find some method to ensure the people I love are happy. But no matter what methods I try to use, I always seem to end up pushing people away, given enough time. Maybe that’s from hiding my social awkwardness behind an air of know-it-all superiority, or vice versa. I don’t know.
What I do know is I’m tired of being alone and tired of being in a group. I don’t even want to pretend to know what I need at this point. I know what I will do though. I will keep working. I will go home. I will take care of my dog and possibly read or play Diablo 2. I will likely go see friends and laugh and do my darnest to remember the most minute details from the night. And every night ends the same way. Alone in my own bed, trying desperately to fall asleep before my mind begins to wander, before it reminds me that it’s all just a distraction. That I already know how this will end. The world just isn’t as wonderous as it used to be. Maybe that’s unfair to the world, maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not as marveled by the world as I used to be.