Your heart is an empty room
I look at all the lonely people, and I sit back at times and ask myself whether or not I exhibit the traits that all these soul-dead people consistently show. I like to say "I'm dead inside" and whatnot, usually as either an attention-getting tactic or to justify an irrationality but I'm more or less sure that I'm not entirely dead on in the inside. Granted, I'm much less receptive to people's issues and much less sympathetic in giving support, but I still show my care in other ways. I still have the capacity to at least lend a shoulder to cry on, even if I think the problem is hardly worth anyone's tears.
So, I tell myself that I still do care, and I use the above examples to bolster that claim. But do I really? I've reached a point in my life where I'm basically going through cycles and routine. I do certain things and offer certain services out of contrivance and lack of alternative options, it feels like sometimes, and that worries me. I have my loyalties to those that deserve them, but at the same time, I sometimes feel like when I'm talking to someone, I mean less than half of the things I say and the emotions I appear to express at the time. I'm not dead inside, but there's still this undeniable emptiness inside that silently gnaws away at me everytime I'm prompted to feel something, and that bothers me. I remember when I used to care so much about so many things, unhappy albeit passionate about the many certain things I gave a shit about. Nowadays, I feel like I'm just emulating my past self. Am I really the idealistic individual I've always believed myself to be? Or is this the real me? A person who's devoid of genuine substance when needed, selfishly devoted to his own devices and what he perceives to be his own needs.
I can't really decide right now. There's just so many things about myself that either upset me or disappoint me. I wish I were better looking. I want to be taller. I'm extremely insecure and self-conscious about the fact that I look so young. I wish I were a better communicator. I don't want to be socially awkward anymore, and I can't figure out why I am. If all I am is a vessel of emptiness, why am I so angry and just what exactly am I so angry about? For the past three years, I wake up every morning and stare into the mirror, and all I see is a frightened child who is unwilling to change with the times. All of my anger and disappointment is expressed through the spark-less eyes and the cheeks that seem to sag ever so much more with each passing day.
I've lost faith in humanity, but more importantly, I've lost faith in myself. Before, it was just faith that I could someday grab ahold the reins of my life and steer it towards some tangible direction. Now, it's simply the faith in my abilities to choose between right and wrong, to maintain my own identity and morals despite everything I have and have yet to come across in my so-far young but already-old age. I don't know who I am anymore.
Sometimes, the aforementioned cycles wear down on me so hard, I feel as if everything in my life at this point is fine, and I'm simply forcing myself to be unhappy and restlessly angry at everything, almost as if I'm disallowing myself not even happiness, but even the satisfication of merely being content with my surroundings.
Everyone believes their child is special, and these feelings are completely warranted. Children view the world not in black and white, but in vivid reds, oranges, and vibrant hues of even the most drab of colors. Their idealism is boundless, and their perception is both limited and unlimited by accepting only that which feels right to them. All children are uniquely fascinating, special in their own right. If anything, it makes you wonder where all of our ordinary adults come from.
True maturation is realizing how terrible human beings are to one another and to themselves. From that point on, you gauge your own emotional limits and your own abilities, and you start to paint a realistic picture of how you view life and society in blacks, whites, and a heaping of grays. Your contradictory frames of mind reflects the chaos of the world outside. Maturity and growth is the death of the soul and all the dreams you once clung onto.
And with that being said, it's somewhat depressing how all my complexities, indecisiveness, and boggled stream-of-consciousness thought can be so annoyingly boring and ordinary. Perhaps I really am growing up.
So, I tell myself that I still do care, and I use the above examples to bolster that claim. But do I really? I've reached a point in my life where I'm basically going through cycles and routine. I do certain things and offer certain services out of contrivance and lack of alternative options, it feels like sometimes, and that worries me. I have my loyalties to those that deserve them, but at the same time, I sometimes feel like when I'm talking to someone, I mean less than half of the things I say and the emotions I appear to express at the time. I'm not dead inside, but there's still this undeniable emptiness inside that silently gnaws away at me everytime I'm prompted to feel something, and that bothers me. I remember when I used to care so much about so many things, unhappy albeit passionate about the many certain things I gave a shit about. Nowadays, I feel like I'm just emulating my past self. Am I really the idealistic individual I've always believed myself to be? Or is this the real me? A person who's devoid of genuine substance when needed, selfishly devoted to his own devices and what he perceives to be his own needs.
I can't really decide right now. There's just so many things about myself that either upset me or disappoint me. I wish I were better looking. I want to be taller. I'm extremely insecure and self-conscious about the fact that I look so young. I wish I were a better communicator. I don't want to be socially awkward anymore, and I can't figure out why I am. If all I am is a vessel of emptiness, why am I so angry and just what exactly am I so angry about? For the past three years, I wake up every morning and stare into the mirror, and all I see is a frightened child who is unwilling to change with the times. All of my anger and disappointment is expressed through the spark-less eyes and the cheeks that seem to sag ever so much more with each passing day.
I've lost faith in humanity, but more importantly, I've lost faith in myself. Before, it was just faith that I could someday grab ahold the reins of my life and steer it towards some tangible direction. Now, it's simply the faith in my abilities to choose between right and wrong, to maintain my own identity and morals despite everything I have and have yet to come across in my so-far young but already-old age. I don't know who I am anymore.
Sometimes, the aforementioned cycles wear down on me so hard, I feel as if everything in my life at this point is fine, and I'm simply forcing myself to be unhappy and restlessly angry at everything, almost as if I'm disallowing myself not even happiness, but even the satisfication of merely being content with my surroundings.
Everyone believes their child is special, and these feelings are completely warranted. Children view the world not in black and white, but in vivid reds, oranges, and vibrant hues of even the most drab of colors. Their idealism is boundless, and their perception is both limited and unlimited by accepting only that which feels right to them. All children are uniquely fascinating, special in their own right. If anything, it makes you wonder where all of our ordinary adults come from.
True maturation is realizing how terrible human beings are to one another and to themselves. From that point on, you gauge your own emotional limits and your own abilities, and you start to paint a realistic picture of how you view life and society in blacks, whites, and a heaping of grays. Your contradictory frames of mind reflects the chaos of the world outside. Maturity and growth is the death of the soul and all the dreams you once clung onto.
And with that being said, it's somewhat depressing how all my complexities, indecisiveness, and boggled stream-of-consciousness thought can be so annoyingly boring and ordinary. Perhaps I really am growing up.
posted by 99thdream at 11:30 PM
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