May 25, 2007

• Meh.

  I know I've lost something.  I know something is missing from inside my mind.  I know a piece of me is somehow either warped beyond recognition or completely erased.  If only I knew what piece, perhaps then I could fix this feeling inside of me.

  I try to pretend that I am happy.  I try really hard.  I want to be happy, if not for me, then for all the people that my sadness influences.  I don't want to have to pretend, though.  I want to really be happy!

  The pretending isn't helping.  I'm still sad.  Even if no one else notices, I still notice.  The main difference I've noticed is that I'm just not excited...ever.  I've lost my sense of humor.  I know things should be funny and I understand why they are funny and recognize that I should be laughing and smiling, but instead I simply take note that something funny happened and move on.  No laughter, no joy, no nothing.  I can't seem to not be bored.  Right now I'm bored.  When I'm at work I'm bored.  Even when I get off work and I have nothing to do other than whatever I want I'm still bored.  Nothing lights my fire anymore.  Nothing gets me interested.  I don't even look at porn anymore.  It just doesn't turn me on.  I'm just an empty shell, wandering around trying not to die.

  Ever since middle school and the beginnings of random dating problems, I was always the go-to girl for advice.  While I had never had a long lasting relationship myself, I usually gave people stellar advice on how not to fuck up.  However, since I cheated on my boyfriend of two years and then broke up with him for the guy I cheated on him with...I just haven't felt the same.  At first I was really happy.  At first I was pleased to have found a superior male.  As time went by, however, I found that I could not forgive myself.  It sort of started me down a slippery slope of self doubt.  I think that was the beginning of the end for my happiness.  Now I hate myself.  I hate the way I look, the way I talk, the way I can't seem to be happy ever, the way I think, the way I act.  I hate me.  How can you love someone when you hate yourself?  The answer is that you cannot.  I'm still grappling with that fact.

  I feel like the choices I make don't matter anymore.  I feel like since I made that one terrible choice, that one irreversible act, that all the other choices I have made afterward and will make just don't matter because I already fucked myself up.  I've taken the wrong path and I will never be able to find the correct one back because time only goes one way.  Now all that good advice that I gave other kids back in the day just doesn't seem to matter.  I can't listen to the little angel advisor guy anymore.  I just want to do whatever I can to crawl back to that unattainable path.  I want to hang out with lots of single people.  I want to call Jason every single moment of every single day and have him pick up and tell me that he hates me and never wants me to speak to him again so I don't have to think about him anymore.  I want to find that path back, that fire back, and be able to feel alive and joyful again.  I want to get away from Mike.  I don't want him to live with me in an apartment anymore.  I want a new roommate.  I just want to be alone so that I can just date like a bazillion people and maybe find one that can turn my happy switch back on.  But then again, why pull another hapless victim into the black hole that is a relationship with me?  Why suck the soul from another young virgin boy?  Why attack another beautiful Asian girl with my creepy fetish for her?  Why destroy the hope of another perfectly good person when I know that I will eventually get bored and sad again because I am forever tainted with regret?  Why indeed.  The answer is that I really don't deserve anyone and haven't since I cheated.

  I deserve to be alone.  I should donate my eggs to needy sterile women so that my genes can live on, but I should never have a child.  What a mother I would be...

  What the hell am I doing with my life?  Why haven't I read any books on relativity, on philosophy, on spacetime, on programming?  Why do I insist on creating this idea that knowledge is only what you gain from paying for classes at a university?  Why should a 4.0 matter when I've got no real "knowledge" to show for it?  I don't even know how to change the oil on a car.  I can't repair a broken computer.  I can't really do anything but do well on tests which only really show how much information I crammed into my skull the evening before them and then promptly forgot afterward.  What is my purpose?

  I have no purpose.  Can I find purpose?  I'll try.

  • 1:50 am
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