Exoskeletal Junction at the railroad delayed
It's taken some time for me to feel comfortable representing myself here. This was once a forum for myself, a sort of bathroom mirror with an unbiased portrait of me. A place where I could flee to in confidence and express myself in the most honest form when I did not belong anywhere else. A medium that kept be from destroying myself from the inside-out the way a star collapses and takes in matter indefinitely. This is what preserved my sanity and reinforced my backbone so I kept my worry free and casual strut because simply talking wasn't an option for me. To avoid scrutiny, to avoid the spotlight, to wake up the next day as if I had been heard and our problems were talked over and I had woke up with him next to me rather than getting a disconnected signal from his phone being shut off and in bed alone. This isn't to recollect, these aren't thoughts to savor; these aren't memories I'd like to relish in. This is my disdain, my incapacity to feel, to reciprocate ones love, my social awkwardness. This may have literally kept me from bleeding alive not necessarily anything saying "its ok, this is normal" but an imaginary friend that didn't say anything in return, which surprisingly makes it seem that they are paying attention that much more instead of assuring you how they could relate and jumping to tell you of not similar occurrences but tragedies they feel are relative and somehow making it about them. Had I kept taking it all in, like the star I would've collapsed much sooner but instead this journal was my black hole - truly bottomless and infinite with an appetite as prevalent as my qualms with this world. I found my niche and it helps me stomache you after knowing who you are; I'm not fake enough to smile, and important enough to be there early, half the time I don't care to stare you in the eye - but I'm in front of you after it all aren't I? Trust me I haven't stopped writing. There are pages to my knees with writings on the floor. But even as I write this it's not coming to me in one fluid thought. Entries where proofreading was an irrelevant concept had stitch my paragraphs together in a more natural fashion than what is being laid out as I debate every word I type just to go back and rewrite it all. A stream of words that poured so naturally from my heart and transcribed without altercation. Read as it was thought and not modified depending on who was king during the era nor rewritten to be imposed on a politically suppressed nation with meaning lost in translation and principles erased. It's a suicide note, the voicemail, the records of the court hearing verbatim and on record - forever. Not an FBI scandal with names whited out, not contracts that were leaked from higher up with black lines through half the sentence. Its not a tabloid with money fueling someone's creativity and gaining notoriety at the expense of anthers reputation. It's me for me, anything else - there is nothing else. A flow that was always constant is now a drip from a faucet that leaks even after youve turned it 900 degrees to the right as I try to pull my thoughts together rereading each sentence as they dribble out like the last words of a dying man. This was never something that required effort on my part and always had inspiration for me to pull from knowing what I wanted to say before needing to write it often thinking faster than I could record and here I'm thinking twice about what I want to say and not finding the words that I want.
If I sung in the shower it would be like knowing someone's outside the bathroom door listening in on me with their pals enjoying themself at my expense. No it's like recording me doing that and putting it on facebook, no you tube. No, it's like that making it to the news after getting so many hits.
You took this away from me. You've taken more than I can bare. Why I still think about you or keep my concern addressed to your street is why making sense of it all isn't something I worry about anymore. I wish there was something that I could write that would make myself understandable to everyone that wants to figure me out so bad but I know it's not in me. I don't know what I've learned from this. I don't think it was anything. I knew what was in store when we met. How did I? I'm starting to believe I'm the only thing overly complicated in this world. Everything else seems so predictable and obvious. Just keep your distance from them all. You'll be surprised how hard it is for them to get to you if you just keep your distance. But you don't want to back up so far that you become an exile. I can stand being alone though, in fact I think I prefer it now.