In the Image of You

 I'm frustrated yet again, over the fact that i have a tank full of words in my head and in my heart but can't find the right way to pour them all out. I feel so stuck, the words and the thoughts in my head feel stuck. Even my feelings, the way that my heart explains to me about how i feel, i think they're feeling blocked too. I don't know. I listen to all these music, watch all these films and instead of feeling great, i feel a profound sense of emptiness. And i know for sure that it isn't because the film's some sad, depressing work of a director finally breaking out of the indie field. It's just, they're so beautifully made and beautifully written. You look at them and think to yourself, "wow, look at what people are capable off." And then you think, "if they can come up with these smart lyrics or conversations, why can't i?" That's when you realize it's because. You. Just. Can't.

  It's not like i haven't tried either. Someone told me once that i try too hard. I try too hard at getting people's attention. I try too hard at making friends with other people. I try too hard at writing stuff. I try too hard at becoming someone i just can't be. Maybe i do. I don't exactly know why i do since they don't mean much to me apart from the writing part, but i do. I don't like knowing that someone's seeing my efforts as...bullshit. Because if anyone's supposed to think of what i do as bullshit, then that person should be me. Not people i call friends who are bound to hurt me one way or another someday in the future. It's not fair how God makes me this empty-headed piece of shit who goes through day after day and month after month of self-hatred and then make another living person who somewhat matters to me remind me that i'm an empty-headed piece of shit who needs to stop going through day after day and month after month of self-hatred. The last thing i need is to be reminded that i have to get my shit together because what the hell did you think i was doing for the past year?

  People think i've been doing nothing lately, and it's true. I don't do anything when i'm at home. And it's not some sort of healing process. It's just me getting dumber and dumber by the minute. But i really can't find enough cares in the world to make myself get off the bed and reinvent the evolution of the human race. I just don't care anymore. I don't care if my friends make me feel like shit. I don't care if i'm making myself believe that my friends are making me feel like shit. The more i care, the more it hurts. So, i've decided to just not. They wanna hang out? Fine. They wanna talk about what makes their heart flutter and passion flare? I'll listen. They wanna say goodbye and take off for a month of two without checking in? Alright. It'd still hurt. I'd still cry over it like a pathetic teenager who didn't get enough love and attention from mommy and daddy dearest, who grew up knowing that they were nobody's favorite. But i'll learn to get over it because who else gives two shits when i lie on the floor, staring at the ceiling that only stared back as i wish for it to collapse and put an end to this sick game God or whoever it is that's up there signed me up for.

  No one gives two shits. No one will ever know what i'm going through. No one will ever know about the thoughts that are tearing me apart. No one will ever see the evil that appears in my very eyes when someone pisses me off. No one will ever see the broken pieces of bones that weren't strong enough to get me through this life. No one. It's just me. It'll only ever be me. Try as i may to see the good in people, to see the good in the world, one day when i find shards of glass from a mirror sticking out of my bruised knuckles, i will be reminded of every single bad thing that has ever happened to me, has ever happened to everyone else i care about, to everyone else whom i didn't know existed.

  Is this funny to you God? Is this amusing? Standing by the sidelines, watching intently with a cigar in between your fingers and smirk on your face as one of your creations create chaos in her head? Tormenting her own mind and body about the bad she is and will be to the people around her? Maybe this is why it's said that we're created in the image of our great creator, the universe's almighty maker. Only someone as sick as the rapists behind metallic bars, roaming freely at the food court of a mall in search for a new target; terrorists with bombs strapped to their chests like they had replaced the heart that was once there; people with or developing fantasies about participating in crimes of passion because they can't help what the voices in their head are telling them to do would create such a world of madness.

  Only someone with these disgusting thoughts, ideas and needs would make something else equally tainted and dark as they are. Maybe i'm going to hell because of these words that have rolled off my tongue, but at least they're true. At least i was, am able to talk about it and write about it. I'm just be glad that i'm able to do something, anything. Just, to be able.

  I'm sorry.