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All I wanna do is write a fucking goddamn book and yet I can never seem to find the words or time or energy or fucking anything. And really it's not cause I don't have time or the words, it's cause I choose to not deal with things. God I hate myself so much but really I think everyone does. I've never met a fucking optimist in my life. No one can be positive all the time or at least pretend to be. Happy people can be sad and sad people can be happy because people aren't defined by their emotions. Emotions change and people change. I never quite understood the concept of categorizing people into groups, optimism or pessimism, well what if I'm both? Introvert or extrovert? well maybe I'm both? Type A or type B personality, I don't know why but somehow I always seem to live in the in between of things right brain, left brain, whatever there's so may things you could categorize yourself as but those things aren't you as you, they're just descriptions of things that you match. Everyone has some sort of sociopath/psychopathic tendencies but they aren't full on crazy. Fuck scream I don't know what the hell I'm doing but my mind blanks on my thoughts when I'm trying to think and work. I feel like my thoughts are better in my head and maybe that's cause it's where they belong. Who wants to hear my words anyways? Whenever I listen to people, no one ever talks about meaningful things, it's all dumb shit and things that don't matter and complaining. complain less I think I'll try but who knows I can't start I don't want to it's so fucking hard and I don't have a plan, I just want to do something, isn't it sad.....
No, what I think is the most sad thing on this planet is how life ....... hmmm I actually don't know, I can't ever capture the way words work
You know what keeps me going?
The fact that maybe there are multi universes and if I'm not happy in this one, then maybe there's a possibility that at least in one universe, I chose the right choices and am happy, or maybe everyone's still sad in everything. who fucking knows and want to write yet I can't even manage to write a couple of paragraphs about any single topic without it being utter shit. Describe writing and thinking.
When my fingers fly across the keyboard, my mind spins words but slowly to match my typing but I don't think people can even multitask and think while typing. I can't even think while other people are talking. I think when I write and think, I'm thinking in between the blank spaces of writing, that words only seem to flow after I stop moving because when I type, my mind is absorbed in the moving of my fingers and not on my thoughts. When I think, I try to use my whole entire head and I just sit there for a minute staring off into nowhere trying to comprehend my feelings into thoughts and my thoughts into the perfect words. Sometimes words seem more poetic in my head cause when I read them out loud, everything's choppy and messed up. I'd rather write at night then at day.When it's day, it feels like my head flips into a different mode, like I'm a different person, trying to please everyone, pretending to be happy and showing that I have no emotion. But I do have emotion, I do care, I'm capable of feeling things just like everyone but with others, we don't seem to want to share ourselves with them, the soft sensitive part that can be easily broken but god thing soft things are the most beautiful, fragile things are gorgeous, but remember not to be harsh on them. "If people saw souls instead of bodies, the word would be a different place." I wish I could see beauty in people instead of nothingness. I don't see people ever experiencing those great senses of euphoria but they also don't experience a sadness that makes them break down. Sometimes you can spot glimpses of these things in people. But the emotion I despise the most is anger. Anger gets into people's heads way to quickly mine included. Anger is a balloon being tied down to earth when all it wants to do is fly away, later it'll deflate, but if it gets let go, then you're already gone, gone, gone, into the air, disappeared only to come back down to earth later, deflated. Maybe a balloon could also represent hopes and dreams and achieving, but we're always held down and only a few ever really rise past those barriers. But I don't know, really you could write metaphors for anything in life. I like people who can think in metaphors or similes or analogies because they can see how everything can relate to anything and just how all things intertwine. It's beautiful. "Like after pressing a button on a toy"
I say I hate so many things but really I don't think I could ever hate anybody personally. I see the ugly in people and I see the terrible in me and that just makes me want to look past all the beauty in people. I wish I could do all the things I wanted. Besides it's not like anything's holding me back... I just don't know.... I see more ugly in people than I do beauty but I think that's just humanity. Hypocrisy is my way of life and contradictions are what I'm made of. shit everyone's the same... do you ever realize things about yourself that you wish you were more in control of. Do you see how you always want to be a smart ass and talk back even when you're so goddamn wrong? Or when you wish you weren't so passive and actually fucking helped people? Cause I do. I see things about me that I hate. I wish I lived in the side of me that felt things all the time. But I know I don't. I would never actually want for that to happen. That side of me is too soft, too much me, not good enough for this hard hard world. I wish I could try to understand people better and figure out why they're actually the way they are. People are made into what they are now and I see that behind all the crap that people talk trash about and hate, there's sadness to them and loneliness. That we criticize others even though we ourselves have experienced things like that. Be less of a hypocrite, I tell myself, and yet here I am making crappy conversations about serious topics that we make into jokes. I think that's really what life has been turned into, a joke. Or maybe it's always been a joke and we just don't get it cause we are the goddamn punchline. we're the ones that always end up sucker punched. We try to put meaning into our meaningless lives and sometimes it's the beauty that shines through but other times it's the ugly. I think I'm the way that I am because if I'm the sad me, I'll cry and only I'll change, not the others. They don't understand you so they only pity you. Pity isn't something I want. You pity me while I'm out here doing shit. I've wrote so many words and thought so many thoughts and all of them just get deleted off the surface of the earth and fade into nothing. They say no matter/energy can be destroyed or created. Then what the fuck are thoughts, how are they created and do they get destroyed when they're gone??? What the fuck are thoughts? Are they even real? I don't want myself to be happy because that's never a good thing for a writer. We live off of pain and hurt and struggle. It's the basis of poetry and every heartfelt shit ever. Could even apply to artists. Artists are art. Art can create art. Why is no one ever on the same wavelength as me? I'm up there and they're down on earth. I've disappeared and they're still existing. I've thought before that maybe I don't really zone out, but really I zone in. I zone into my thoughts and think and think and yet I still can never find the right words for my thoughts. I spend so much time out of my life, thinking of words I would say and those words don't ever seem to come out? Isn't it crazy how something that was once there, could be wiped away as if it never existed at all? Like crying and breaking down and tear streaming down faces but then they come back and they're there smiling again with no trace of tears ever. I try to look for the glimpses of pain behind the eyes that show that those things once existed, to see a slight barely noticeable grimace behind their smile. I try to look for the little things that don't seem to matter but really the show the true light of things. Like people, gone. Never seem to really move on but yet still supposed to function like normal. People can't just go back to their regular lives after things happen. Every single day, lives change and you can never go back to yesterday's life. I think moving on from things isn't something that "heals with time" With time, life moves on and so must you. You choose to change your life and get together. You won't ever be the same again but you'll learn to live with missing pieces of yourself. Every situation is different for everyone. You can choose to rot away holed up in a room, doing nothing, but someone or something's gonna force you to get up and start moving again and that's just that. It's not time that heals, but time does help. I wish I showed that I care for the people that I love more and yet I can't even function. I want to hug them and tell them that I love them cause life is precious. But what happens is, I'm rude and moody and can't seem to force myself to be gentle all the time. Gentle me is the most beautiful and raw me, but it's hard to be yourself all the time. I think I act the way I act cause I want to be different, special ad spectacular like a book character. I'm not. Everything is different at night. Why? Cause there's less noise and all the busyness has stopped. Most people are asleep and it's just you, the moon, and the bugs. All outside, nature. It's pretty and beautiful. It's eerily beautiful. Yes