I wanted to be the jazz band singer. I know I could do it. It kills me when I know I could do better. But I'm too scared to try. Because, oh God, what if I'm not good enough? *WHA for me* I don't want to find out that yet another piece of the quality in me has just been fabricated. I don't want to realize that I'm not good at something I've invested so much of my hopes in. It's the same with acting. I've wanted to act for so long. I've thought I'd be good. I don't try. What if I suck?
And now it's too late. I keep telling myself I'll change things around in college; I'll join a chorus and try out for a play and still be in the band. But I don't think I really believe it. Well, I KNOW there's one thing I'm really good at: whining.
For nothing they do or grab makes any impression...and the desert, the fly and the kite are the truly strong.
Bush's support to ban gay marriage is yet another issue that demonstrates just why he's the love-hate president.
You ever have a friend who completely alienated you. Got angry at you for something that you did not know that you did or didn't have any control over... And one day they just look at you... and deep inside... one wonders if they realize how much it hurt to be thrust on the outside. How fucked up one has really become, or if one is able to hide it... it is a strange experience.
Look, I am sorry that you are hurting. I really am. But, I know that I must not understand what you've gone through, what you've suffered, because I don't understand how you can look at the world around you and see absolutely no hope. I don't understand. I've tried. I've endured suffering, I've taken it on willingly, that I might understand. It's even made me happy, suffering, because at least I'll belong somewhere
that way.
I still don't understand.
You're searching for someone to take away your pain, I think I understand that much. I understand that much because I've been searching for someone ever since I can remember. Someone to fulfill...me. But as much as I've ever thought I wanted them or needed them, no one has ever come along. And the sad truth is, even if I did find them, they wouldn't always be an unwavering source of wholeness for me. They're human. They have needs as well. No one deserves to be stuck in a parasitic relationship. Which, at that point was all I'd be able to offer. And I know as much, that I'd never want someone to feel the way I do. I'd never want them to feel used. That's what I'd be doing. Using them to bring myself up. Make myself whole.
Eventually, I realized that I can'tdepend on someone else. I can't keep waiting for someone to come along because maybe they never will. And why did I need them in the first place? To make me feel better about myself. That's all it is. Just to make me feel complete. Fill that void created by insecurities. I was tired of being weak, so I started to alleviate those insecurities of my own accord. It's my life, and if I want it to get better, I have to take charge myself. I don't take care if this sounds fake. Because it's not.
The point is, I will always hope that someone comes along- I'll never want to be alone-but I'm not going to depend on it. Because I'd be miserable the rest of my life if I did. You've got to find a certain confidence in yourself before others start believing in you as well.
Lastly, your account is just slightly skewed. It's unfair of you to plot me as a bad person. I have not alienated you at all. If I didn't talk to you, it's because I haven't had anything to say really, and I hate making small talk. It's just fake and unnecessary in most situations. If you wanted to talk to me, you could always approach me; it’s not fair for you to always expect me to talk to you first, or to prompt you for information. I'm not always going to know what's going on, and I'm not always going to know whether or not you want to talk about something that's bothering you. So. That’s it. And if you read my journal, you take a chance of being annoyed or offended. So be it.
I hate that I can bare my soul to a complete stranger. And then the stranger accuses me of lying. Stranger, don't tell me how I feel. Don't become enflamed when I start to feel sorry for myself. It's all very selfish of you. If I don't know who you are, then it will only follow that I will start to talk about myself. My pathetic, desperate self. Thank you "friend" who plays games. Through this act of yours, I have discovered yet another satisfying concept. I love an insightful conclusion.
I sometimes think how selfish I am. How many times do I stop and think about others? I ought to write down every time I think about someone else. I think so many thoughts would be occupied by the same person. He lives in my thoughts. I'm clean. I just took a shower. The only time I don't have to wear these things that say something about me. Why should I need to? Nothing should say something about me except myself. My own statements. My own actions. Not so many of these material things. I do not care that they mean something to me. I do not care that in my eyes they are merely symbols. I wonder many times how I'd feel if I didn't have them anymore. Would I feel any different? Would something being missing? No matter, it's just another thing missing. Maybe I should learn to survive without these pieces. No small fraction of my life-missing or no- should take precedence over everything else. I am considering. I think perhaps I shall take off my necklace. This, that has been a part of me for so long a time. After all, it is but a part of me that is already missing.
I think about faith, hope, and love. These gifts I was supposedly born with. Have I really properly demonstrated any of them? No. Yet another missing piece. I only have a fraction of each, and these are waiting to be filled. How can I open myself to them? How do I accept them? Once again, I have lost my train of thought. End.
Some day-probably sooner than later-the song will once again be forgotten in the ebb and flow of societal standards, and it will come back to me, and I will receive it with open arms, the life story of the prodigal son(g). I will forget how much it has been corrupted, and it will once again be one small piece of purity in this life. But a cycle will ensue: the cycle of societal standards. It will be beckoned forth with a deceptive wave; and naive, it will follow, soon to remember its corruption. Soon to be fallow for the masses. And I will love it still. Always a feeble hope wrapped up in its very being.
Wright's dead by now, but I can still speak of him using present tense. It was a literary analysis, no?
Glenny
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This is ME.
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