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Maybe.
Maybe I’m amazed…
I don’t know how I feel about shit these days. It’s all moving so fast, and it feels kind of shitty in some ways.
I still don’t have a girlfriend, I’m still doing well in my classes, I’m still being me… But something feels like it’s missing. The girlfriend part would be the culprit, but I really don’t think that’s it.
I feel like part of myself has gotten lost in the equation, like a minor stroke has effected my brain, making me think differently than I ever have before…
Maybe I’m just growing up. Maybe I’m accepting that I am who I am, that my position may not be as apt as I would like, but here’s where I stand.
I wonder though… Why now? Why not earlier? Why not when I was in a better mood? I have no answers.
The infallible idea I cannot escape from is my own personal identity, for better or worse. People question why I think I’m so weird, off-kilter, or crazy. I don’t act like it, and I try not to look the part. I suppose it deviates from the past, and the lack of confidence that lead to strong ideas being implanted in my head from an early age. I truly hate my family for the most part… It seems as though they are the crazy ones, not I. Ironic.
It’s sad really, to have to deal with an existential crisis when you could care less about your well-being. It just bogs things down… Makes it harder to say what I think, and when I do have something to say, it comes out garbled… Broken. Self-loathing.
I’m too hard on myself. I know this. I’m only human. But I have standards. And those standards have standards. So on, and so forth.
I’m a fucking puzzle box. I don’t even know how to crack my own code. It’s killing me inside. I just want to find that missing piece. I just want to feel like I’m whole. That I have something to live for, something to die for. Film? That’s just a facet, though a major one. Maybe I don’t know anymore. Maybe I want something different. Maybe I want something I can’t have yet, or won’t try to get because of fear. Rejection. Madness.
Maybe I’m not making sense. Maybe I don’t care about making sense. Maybe making sense is the reason why I’m so blinded by my own self-doubts. What am I? Who am I? Am I even worth the effort?
- H