doesn't exist anymore, all this has a stranglehold on my life. It's suffocating. That life is suddenly emptied of everything, but it was scarcely anything before. But I have these brief, structured and superficial glances into completely other worlds, other worlds that I can't expect to ever enter, or live.

I am terrified of becoming or being, someone who goes through life constantly dissatisfied, and always believing they were born, deserve something better, who has no right to expect this, no special intelligence, no passion, nothing about them that means they do, they are full only of false pride. I can't write, all these lines are blurring. I can't make sense of this. Why are there different classes of people? Based on what? They exist, do they? I can't be sure, but for the wrong things? Perhaps. Someone full to the brim, swashing around with false pride, and vanity, general hatred for everything. I don't want this to be me, this can't be me.

But what is it? That makes me so actively despise almost everyone; that makes the voices grate on me, and their laughter and the stupid things they do fill me with revulsion, it makes me have to close my eyes, and pretend I am not there. Is it because I am jealous, because I am not included? Because I am not capable of performing like that? Certainly I can't empathise, I can't see them as quite human, these far off foreign people, they can't think like I do, they can't share this bubbling in my brain, the stewing from the inside. They can't possibly be like me, or they wouldn't act so. Does it follow, then, that they should? Why? In all senses, it is best to be happy and everything, to be ignorant and happy better than full of to the brim of thinking and ideas, constantly pulled down and drowning, but no guarantee that in fact, you know anything more at all. Perhaps it is all inflated pride, perhaps.

It's a stream running through my head, like an underwater cave, the ones I'm so completely terrified of. And all these ideas, and threads of thought so incredibly fast flowing, I can't hope to catch them all, to pin them all onto paper, as I so badly want to. It flows too fast, straight past me, and I can only skim the surface, which I'm scared of the most, I'm too scared to go deeper. That I'm gradually sinking into everyone else, becoming everyone else, specifically, the people around me. But I don't want to get bogged down around here. I want to be inspired, or at the very least, animated,, alive-feeling., to be with people, who think like I do and live the same way, people you can bounce off of, in between, and love completely and wholly, although I have somewhat given myself up in that respect. But I hate the fact, too, that I cannot stand this, to see you at all, with your idiocy and let-slip of so many beautiful things about you, it makes me despise you. But only because you don't need anymore what we had, what I still need. And, you see, I have lost this thread again, I have, because I don't know how to say what I mean, I never do. I can't ever be as I feel, and that is what I should be. Is it a matter of will-power? I wish, I could portray this, describe it, record it. Record this all. Because I want to make sense of it.


Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

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