(no subject)
Not that the truth is vital information anymore, or that there is anyone out there that has pure and honest feelings of friendship, not just for me, but for anyone else, because this world is so sickly self-absorbed it's driving me virtually insane. Nonetheless, I'm still obligated to get the truth out of my mind and out through my finger tips so it won't start burning a hole inside me, and since no one is willing to listen and no one really would care enough to help me get through it, I'll wallow in misery sitting at my computer and type out what has me twisted in knots over Livejournal for everyone to read and judge, but all and all I'm really not worried. It's hard to be alone for a long period of time, and when I say alone, I mean really alone. I'm alone. A lot of people don't even understand what being alone is because they are so fucking scared of the word it makes them run for the nearest fake relationship and jump into it face first, which could be enchanting for some of you with an imagination, but it sounds disgustingly painful and even regrettable to me. I still have fun, in a fake, 'only hitting the surface' kind of way, with friends who say they care more than anything, but we all know actions speak louder than words. I don't have them to talk to because they aren't real, and they aren't truthful and they are the kind of friends that lead me to days like this, and it's the kind of thing that makes me want to be alone for the rest of my life. I don’t mean to be blaming anyone for the feelings I have right now. I want any one who cares to know that really, I blame myself for being someone I'm not, or trying. I can't pretend everything is okay when everything is completely fucked up, and I'd much rather not, and it feels better knowing that I'm alone than having friendships that are completely false. I like being hurt as much as the next person and I know when something is dead or dying. I don't want my friendships to die, but they are, slowly and painfully. So far, through what I've experienced in my life, which probably isn't much yet, I have decided that I hate awkward people and people who are afraid of depth. I am tormented with these things in my life and these people, when I know I am dramatic and naïve, and I know that maybe anyone who reads this will believe that I have brought upon myself this horrible feeling of worthlessness and untrustworthiness but I’ll make it the first step in a short recovery, a recovery that will leave me stronger in the long run. There's this old picture that I love of my mother and I, and I love it because it's real. There’s so much happiness and love in this stupid picture that it makes it hard for me to contain myself. It confuses the hell out of me wondering how things can change so quickly and why they change the way they do, and all I ever want are answers. The picture could be around ten years old, I’m sitting on my mother’s lap in a hairdresser’s chair in the old salon she used to work, her hair was shorter and frizzier, and her shirt is dorky, but she doesn’t care because she’s happy and she’s beautiful anyway because of her happiness. My smile is wider than any smile I’ve ever held on my face, and I remember genuinely loving my mother, I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of her, and she loved me in the same way. I love my mother, please don't think I don't, and I am willing to accept change, but I don't have the carefree, oblivious innocence I was forced to let go of so quickly, and she doesn't have the beauty that comes with the happiness she once contained. No one can ever fool me into thinking it will come back, because it never will, and if it does it will never be the same. Now, as time has passed and we’ve hurt each other deeply in so many ways, there's really nothing to be happy about. When I was forced to let go of my trust I held within her, that was so minimal from the start, everything became unhappy and I now feel like I walk around in a house full of people pretending and when they aren't pretending they're yelling at each other for stupid mistakes, and it seems they do it just to yell or get out some type of hidden aggression that hides, and that's what it's come down to. So, I confide in this keyboard as I would a true friend, one I obviously don't have right now. I wish I was strong enough to say good-bye to everyone and everything and start over, but I'm not so I'll have to be strong enough to get through it with nothing and no one and this time I will be the one to keep reminding myself, “This too shall pass.”