This shit is so outdated.
If at 2:13 AM your stomach starts to turn because of how empty the rest of you feels, your best bet is to go to bed.
That's the funny thing about depression; it is really hard to define from person to person.
If I were the ever elusive Commie Kyle, I'd spend my days sleeping while depressed.
I guess what they do have in common is the fact that it is either one extreme or the other, you are hardly depressed if your symptoms fall within a normal range somehow.
It also shows a lot about a person's personality. Kyle is a very passive person, and when faced with difficult situations, he avoids confrontation at all costs. Do you suppose that is why he feels so god damned shitty to begin with? I'd say it's a feasible possibility.
I am the antithesis of our spineless Kyle when faced with complexities.
Here I am, at 2:13 AM, reading old livejournal entires and laughing at all the music I used to listen to a lot. Nostalgia about tight knit relationships whose strings have long since unraveled and memories of names I have not uttered in nearly four years keep me from sleeping tonight. You never expect things to turn out when they do, but you know you're in an okay place when you aren't engulfed in regret and longing for some sort of time travel device to change your fucked up destiny.
(As an aside, time travel is so mind boggling that I don't believe we as humans can truly understand how much depth it has. I mean, really, think about it. Time traveling does exist, but not in the way it does in low-fi science fiction movies and novels.)
I started writing in this journal when I was 13 or 14; around the time I started to experience big changes. I was just starting high school and while it doesn't seem that long ago, reading these journal entries make it seem like decades have passed instead of 4 years. I'm graduating next month and a week after that, I'm moving away to Portland, Oregon. Despite how juvenile the diction was in these entries, they had a sort of raw honesty I could never fake these days.
I spend most of my time closed up in walls that don't belong to me. My concerns have expanded to caress and ease problems that are not my own.
Blah blah blah.
Danny and Jason. I don't know why I just can't forget.
I wonder if you two believed in heaven.
I wonder if dead souls can be let down like that.
Once again, I write my manifesto to you. I write about every single regret and all the resentment I hold to your memory.
I apologize over and over again for not going to say my last goodbyes but the honest truth is that I just didn't want to.
I don't have to explain my reasons, you know why. While you were lying on the concrete breathing in your last breath of dirty air, the thoughts that raced through your mind didn't concern me at all. I know this because you were probably way too god damned fried from all the abuse you did to your body in the years past to even remember me. It is dumb for me to harbor such resentment, but I want you back here so you can fucking remember.
My name is only important to few, but it is what it is and it deserves much better than the reputation its past has given it. It deserves much more than the stale life the present is making it lead.
Our happiness' worth can only be defined through our hardships.
"i can't stay this mad for long."
goodnight.
That's the funny thing about depression; it is really hard to define from person to person.
If I were the ever elusive Commie Kyle, I'd spend my days sleeping while depressed.
I guess what they do have in common is the fact that it is either one extreme or the other, you are hardly depressed if your symptoms fall within a normal range somehow.
It also shows a lot about a person's personality. Kyle is a very passive person, and when faced with difficult situations, he avoids confrontation at all costs. Do you suppose that is why he feels so god damned shitty to begin with? I'd say it's a feasible possibility.
I am the antithesis of our spineless Kyle when faced with complexities.
Here I am, at 2:13 AM, reading old livejournal entires and laughing at all the music I used to listen to a lot. Nostalgia about tight knit relationships whose strings have long since unraveled and memories of names I have not uttered in nearly four years keep me from sleeping tonight. You never expect things to turn out when they do, but you know you're in an okay place when you aren't engulfed in regret and longing for some sort of time travel device to change your fucked up destiny.
(As an aside, time travel is so mind boggling that I don't believe we as humans can truly understand how much depth it has. I mean, really, think about it. Time traveling does exist, but not in the way it does in low-fi science fiction movies and novels.)
I started writing in this journal when I was 13 or 14; around the time I started to experience big changes. I was just starting high school and while it doesn't seem that long ago, reading these journal entries make it seem like decades have passed instead of 4 years. I'm graduating next month and a week after that, I'm moving away to Portland, Oregon. Despite how juvenile the diction was in these entries, they had a sort of raw honesty I could never fake these days.
I spend most of my time closed up in walls that don't belong to me. My concerns have expanded to caress and ease problems that are not my own.
Blah blah blah.
Danny and Jason. I don't know why I just can't forget.
I wonder if you two believed in heaven.
I wonder if dead souls can be let down like that.
Once again, I write my manifesto to you. I write about every single regret and all the resentment I hold to your memory.
I apologize over and over again for not going to say my last goodbyes but the honest truth is that I just didn't want to.
I don't have to explain my reasons, you know why. While you were lying on the concrete breathing in your last breath of dirty air, the thoughts that raced through your mind didn't concern me at all. I know this because you were probably way too god damned fried from all the abuse you did to your body in the years past to even remember me. It is dumb for me to harbor such resentment, but I want you back here so you can fucking remember.
My name is only important to few, but it is what it is and it deserves much better than the reputation its past has given it. It deserves much more than the stale life the present is making it lead.
Our happiness' worth can only be defined through our hardships.
"i can't stay this mad for long."
goodnight.