Sep 12
[READONLY] F**k.
When I don't care about myself hardly at all, and my only concern is with the people around me, not being able to help them is agonizing. What kind of friend am I when I can't give good advice when the people I care about need it most? But maybe the best help I can give them is none, because I suck so bad at it, and usually either wind up making things worse or agreeing with them. Then what am I for?
F**k, and as I say this I'm posting in a blog where the common consensus is that you try and help people if they post stuff like this. I'm f**king here, posting somewhere where people help others, and I'm not even trying to help my friends because I have some vague reasoning that it's better that I don't. That's why this is officially read only now. No comments.
Sep 11
Changes
I remember when I first went to middle school in the sixth grade, it seemed like everyone had changed over the summer. It was the way they acted, the way the dressed, the jokes they told and would laugh at. Everything changed, except me. I was still that goofy fifth grader who didn't really know anything about anything that wasn't related to video games.
This not knowing where I fit in forced me to change, slowly but surely, into a cold, bitter, isolated person. It was me versus the world. I hated it and I assumed it hated me back. I was in a bubble of isolation from the outside world, and this bubble propelled all the hate I could muster towards everyone else. This lasted up until I'd say the very last day of seventh grade, and then it slowly started changing. I started leaving my bubble more often, leaving the heavy burden of hate behind me. I would talk to people, and not only when I had to. I would be nice, talkative, funny, a rather nice person in general. This, like many things, didn't last long.
Somewhere in the middle of eight grade, and I'm still not sure of the reasons why this happened, but I would go through a cycle: I would be rather indifferent, and then the smallest thing would piss me off and send me back into the dark shadow of isolation and hatred of the world around me. I would soon realize, however, that it was incredibly stupid and that I was stupid for having gotten so pissed over such a small thing. The walls that surrounded me, that kept the hate facing towards everyone else and away from me, would start to crumple in towards me. I would feel absolute hatred for myself, and pity for those who had to put up with me. I would soon calm down and loosen up the hate, realizing that the hatred, whether directed towards me or anyone else, was not good, and that I needed to get rid of it to become a better person.
This cycle would repeat over and over again until very recently, as in just last night. Last night, and I did not notice this last night and had to reflect on how I really felt about it, but last night, those walls that protected me from my own hate and as a result direct it towards others crumbled and were nothing but rubble. There was no hope of reconstruction, not even hope of lightening the burden of hate. All the hate I had ever mustered was now all I knew, and I was it's subject. I think I am no longer was capable of hating anyone other than myself. I am inferior to everyone else and I pity them for having to put up with me. I feel as though my only purpose is to bring pain and suffering to others.
I know that that last sentence might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you understand what I mean.
I could keep going on and on about the things I have realized since last night, but I will save them for later. For now, I shall leave this here. Besides, I hate talking about myself. Which begs the question: Why am I posting these blogs?
 3:06 AM Jul 25
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