Everything becomes symbol and irony when you've been betrayed
I think I'm the only one who comes here any more, you know it's lonely when you're the only one on your friends page. I have difficulty sometimes trying to think of a good reason to care about myself. I try to see myself through other people, I try to think of what they would like me to do. What could I do that would make other people think 'that makes sense', or would it be better if it was surprising? I want to do things, or rather I want people to think I do things. Is it better to create avant-garde art or have people think you're the best artist since Dali? What difference would it make if I just disappeared? Not much. Then again, how does one do that. I'm the type to get wrapped up in details. How would you get a new identity? How would you get a job, eat, find people. Would you tell your new girlfriend that your name is fake, and that 'you' only started to exist a few years ago? It's funny, the worn out shoes, torn coat and scruff are romantic, but the smell is not. Sometimes though I feel the only thing keeping me here is the practicalities. I always feel like betrayal is too strong a term, sometimes the best gift you can give is a life away from your presence. Other times that is not an option. There should be an in between though, some word that says 'it was a dick move for you to leave, but you deserved it'. Sometimes though they put it all on you, she writes and says 'Here is a list of things I don't like, and if you don't change them, then you need to be gone by morning.' The intricacies of affection, and the pitfalls of comradary. If you ask me every acquaintance is just risking heart-ache, and intimacy just ups the ante. Then again, maybe thats why nobody should ask me anything, nobody likes a debbie-downer. I have to say that in my current battle with nihilism I only really see one end game, but that denies my ability to change. Then the question becomes 'can I strive to become something that I loathe?' Maybe we are all destined to become a parody of our old selves, I can think of no better punishment.