Monday, June 01, 2009
It's just too late at night for this...
I'm slowly reaching the threshold of sleep.
My emotional state is not at all acceptable. I am trying different methods to try to break myself and just go to sleep.
My physical journal has already felt the wrath of my unending writing as I filled three pages with ramblings about my emotional immaturity and how much it plagues me now.
I've spent time doing the most tedious, boring tasks in World of Warcraft (fishing) to try to knock myself out.
And, now, I am resorting to writing online.
I sometimes feel like I'm wasting everyone's time. Like I'm the reason some people are not reaching their full potential. Like I'm the reason some people become colder. Like if I weren't part of their lives, their quality of life could move to a better place. Like I don't even like myself. Like I have questions, but I don't want to exert the effort to find the answers. Like I wish I were a normal man. Like I wish I had SOMEONE to talk to. Like I want to fall back on religion. Drink the Kool-Aid.
There are so many things and scenarios being played out in my mind right now, it would take a team of people to record only a small fraction of the ramblings.
Do I crave a knowing voice? I don't know. Do I really want the things I think I want? Who knows?
I really can't believe how petty, ridiculous, and just plain STUPID the trigger for this emotional spiral is. Sometimes I wonder if my mind has actually matured much past the time my fetish was identified. I don't know. And, yet, there is STILL, simply not a single person I feel like I can talk to about it.
It's not about me. It was an absolutely awesome weekend, and I got to share that weekend with friends with whom I share a unique bond.
As good as the fellowship is, I still feel like an outsider; I'm on the periphery. I've been granted access to a glimpse and I must not take it for granted. I must take my glance, and be satisfied.
Fuck. Who am I kidding? I really don't have anyone I can talk to. I've already 'talked' to my journal for an hour. Now I'm leaving a tiny print on the internet for maybe three readers to read all the way through, tops. And they are still only people that love me and have sympathy for me. They are completely incapable of understanding. Not by any fault of their own. They simply do not and CAN not understand.
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