I Feel Insane Sometimes

I found this little snippet in one of my journals today, I think it’s from last year. It’s interesting because when I feel this way I usually write more symbolically and less in rant-style. It makes me sad to read.

At night, I cry because I feel and know that nobody loves me. During the day, I want to cry from boredom and lack of friendship. In the early mornings, I cry because I hate everyone and would rather stay in bed. But then I cry more because what if I’m wasting a pointless, godless life just lying in bed doing nothing? Then I wonder what am I supposed to do outside of bed anyway? This morning, I woke up and cried because I realized I truly am becoming a psychopath. I want to isolate myself from everyone. I know without a doubt that if there were a button to push that would kill every selfish person on this stupid planet I would push it and feel no regret. And there would be no one left to populate the planet. I hate everyone. I’m tired of getting pushed around. I’m tired of people pretending to be my friends or making me feel wanted and then turning their backs on me when I’m not fun for one day because I need help. I wish everyone would just disappear and leave me alone. I wish I would stop crying even as I type this, realizing what I’m turning into. I wish I could stop writing “I,” but it’s not like this is about anyone else cause “You” and “They” and “Everyone” are just terms for hurtful, painful, evil sentient beings that are all out to make me miserable just by existing. I hate my life. I hate using the word hate and meaning it wholeheartedly. I hate myself. I don’t see the point in going on. I questioned whether or not there is a God this morning and if there’s not then I really am going to go over the edge. The only thing keeping me sane is not knowing for sure. I’m going to break, and I can feel it coming soon.

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The Darkness Part 2: Trashed and I Just Can’t do it

It’s too hard. Just writing about Sarah made me start bawling practically, which was immensely embarrassing cause my mother was around at the time and now she thinks there’s something horribly wrong… well, there is something horribly wrong but I don’t need her to know about it! Point is, this is obviously never gonna get finished, ’cause for one it’s just too damn depressing, for two it’s too damn confusing and for three it’s too damn close for comfort. So… I have to apologize to Dave for not being able to tell the story he wanted told, and I have to apologize to Sarah for not being given the recognition she deserves and I have to apologize to myself for not being strong enough to share. Sorry.
That part of my life will just have to stay secret, for now. Some things are better kept that way, after all.

Girls

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Girls. I could rant for days. Instead I’ll just cover the important things though… You can’t live with em, you can’t live without em as they say. I’m at that age where I’m kind of in limbo between wanting and needing a partner of some kind. Someone who is patient, kind and understanding, someone who is not judgmental and appreciates the little things in life. You know, just a generally nice girl. There’s just one problem… I can’t find any. That’s right, try as I might, I have not found one girl who matches the description above. Plenty of guys like that, but that’s not gonna help me much. And I’m not sexist either. I really like girls. I do. But they’re sadistic little creatures!
It’s not just the physically attractive ones either. Oh, those are bad though, to be sure. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been used and abused and stood up and thrown aside and mocked (subtly, of course) and otherwise hurt by some girl who knew I liked her and thought it would be fun to play games.
Some girls don’t play those games, they just pretend to be really nice. So if I say, “hey, we should hang out sometime” and they don’t really want to, they’ll go “YAH SURE THAT SOUNDS FANTASTIC!! XOXO” and then they’ll just ignore me forever. It’s like they already have so many friends there’s not room for another one. It’s terrible. And I’m not “coming on” to anyone either, I’m perfectly nice about it. When I do come on to someone, it always backfires anyway and I never do it again. ‘Cause let’s face it, girls just don’t like me. And I think that’s the main cause for my frustration really… but it’s not that they don’t like me cause I’m a negative, mean person. The only reason I can possibly find, after much self-reflection and working my butt off to improve myself as much as I possibly could, is my looks.
It’s so degrading. Having tried so hard for the past 9 months after my last break up to be the best person I can be, even faced with a rotten past and Bipolar Disorder, and to be tossed aside because you don’t look like… I don’t know, <insert attractive guy here>. The point is, it just hurts. And like I said, it’s not just the attractive girls. Even the unattractive ones (physically mind you) treat me like a lesser friend. And I just don’t know what else to do… I’m a good friend, I ask to hang out, I don’t flirt when I know they’re not interested, I find something genuinely attractive about every person I meet, and yet all I get in return is this sort of half-hearted attempt to be nice to the “weird kid.” And I’m not that weird. At least I don’t think so.
It’s just annoying. “Where have all the good guys gone?” doesn’t mean anything anymore. It translates into “Where have all the good attractive guys gone?” and that’s just shallow. I mean really, I could care less about physical appearance and I mean that. No, I won’t date an obese girl, but not because she’s obese, simply because if she can’t take care of her body I can’t expect her to make a good partner. I take care of myself. I take care of my friends. I take extremely good care of my significant others. I’m not gonna be modest about it… I’m a really good partner! I always try my best in any relationship!
I just wish girls had values like they used to. And I wish they cared about the world and about philosophy and life and all that. I’m tired of all the materialism and selfishness, and I’m tired of the girls who act like they don’t buy into all that stuff and then do. Who was the person that said don’t rant in a blog? BAHAHAHA I’LL RANT AS MUCH AS I WANT TO!
Sorry, lost my cool there for a second. *Sigh* girls. They just make me a sad panda. If I ever find someone who actually accepts me for who I am… well, lucky her :]

Fred

I wrote this story my sophomore year of highschool. It is all based on real events except for the end, which I wanted to be happier than it would have been had it been exactly true.

Fred
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A calm stream, trickling softly over jagged rocks… I sighed with pleasure as the cool water flowed down my arm, its touch like that of an angel. The only light was the thin beam that shone in under the room door, illuminating the puddle on the floor. I could see my dark reflection staring up at me from that other world, somewhere between heaven and our own. He was crying tears of joy that created little resonating waves of happiness, visible to the earthly observer.

“This is unreal.” I said blissfully, choking on my joy like it was poison.

“I told you, Troy.” said Fred, smiling his I-told-you-so smile. Fred was my best friend. He was trustworthy. He never taunted me for being myself. He was just the best. Fred had always backed me up through the good times and the bad, ever since I’d met him two years ago.

Before high school I would always convince myself that I was innocent, kind and honest. Troy: the nicest kid around and the perfect home-schooler. That’s what everyone would say about me, smiling when they saw I was listening. I would laugh inwardly every time… partly because I enjoyed the praise and partly because I knew it wasn’t true.

My friends all lived close by. I didn’t exactly get out much in those days… there was nowhere to go, no one interesting to see… nothing to do outside of my little, 3-mile-radius home school world. It got boring sometimes. It got so boring that one year my friends and I decided to spice things up a little bit. ‘Nothing bad.’ We all agreed. ‘Let’s meet up, at midnight, once a week. Just for fun.’ So we did. Once a week, at midnight sharp, we would roam the streets, treading softly and pretending to be ninjas on a mission to assassinate some unknown, middle-eastern tyrant. “Watch out for the spotters!” I would always say, referring to the dim, green circles cast on the ground by streetlights. I was 12 years old at the time.

One rainy, February night, everything went completely awry. As we walked carefully down the street, we noticed a faint humming sound followed by two bright, pupil-less eyes that glared at us mercilessly. They had found us. Someone shouted “scatter!” and off we went, caught up in the moment and the thrill of finally being discovered. I ran without thinking until my legs could no longer carry me farther, down alleys, over fences, through bushes, still careful to avoid the lights.

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I stopped, panting, the rain chilling me to the bone in the frigid winter breeze. I looked up to survey my surroundings carefully before making my next move, as per ninja protocol. But the ninja very quickly disintegrated into the little boy named Troy when he realized he had no idea where he was. I turned slowly in a circle, hoping to find something recognizable. After a few moments, I finally admitted it to myself, in a whisper: “I’m lost.” I blinked a few times, with intent, vaguely hoping that the image in front of me would become replaced by somewhere familiar. Everything became blurry. “You’re lost.” The words were written on the stop sign, reflected in the puddles, shouted out to me through the car horns: “You’re lost.” I realized I was crying. My legs felt weak and I awkwardly brought myself down to hug my knees, drenched in rain. I shut my eyes, trying to think and decide what to do next, but my thoughts were constantly interrupted by a deep voice. I couldn’t hear what it was saying at first… “Waffles and fries?” “Awful to lie?”

“Open your eyes… open your eyes.” I did as I was told.

And there was Fred, smiling his I-told-you-so smile, reaching out his hand like an angel sent to guide me home. That is exactly what he did. In essence, it was what he had always done for me whenever I felt down… or lost.

Two years later, there I was in my room with the lights out, Fred grinning down at me. “Troy!” I heard my mother calling from downstairs. “Troy, are you up there?”

“Clean this up.” Fred said quietly. I grabbed the towel hanging on the closet door for this very purpose and mopped up the puddle on the floor, then quickly threw on a hoodie and leaped onto my bed.

“Troy?” my mother said again, being a rather repetitive person. She deftly opened my room door and flipped on the lights. ‘Oops.’ I thought, frustrated. ‘The lights.’ I stared blankly at the ceiling, ignoring mom’s suspicious eyes.

“What’s going on?” She asked. “I thought you were having a friend over?”

“Yah.” I said, keeping my eyes glued to the ceiling. “Me and Fred were just hanging out. What’s the big deal?”

“Fred and I.” She corrected me. “And I wasn’t making a big deal out of anything. I would like to know who Fred is, though. You keep on talking about him and I’ve still never met him.”

I shrugged, glancing around surreptitiously, surprised to see Fred gone. This was the first time I’d actually had him over. I thought today I would introduce him. “I guess he left.” I said quietly.

My mom just shook her head. “Sometimes I worry about you, love.” She said. “Come down for dinner, I made you pasta. And leave the lights on, please.” She left, leaving the door slightly open. I sighed and rolled out of bed, wincing a little at a pain in my arm. I groaned when I saw a stain on the wood floor, thankful that my mother had not seen it.

As I ran to get a wet rag and came back to clean up more thoroughly, I almost fell. The world flipped upside-down for a split second before twirling me back up in a flash of light. I blinked a couple of times, trying to clear my eyes and my head as I scrubbed the floor. That weird pain in my arm began to throb. “Troy.” said a deep, whispery voice from behind me. I glanced back quickly. There was no one there. “Troy.” Louder, in front of me. I fearfully twisted my head back around. Nothing but the wall. “Troy… Troy…” I kept my head down, whimpering, scrubbing harder than ever. Liquid was oozing out of the floor, spreading out over the whole room, drenching me and bubbling up to splatter in my eyes. “Troy…”

“Shut up.” I whispered, closing my eyes. “Please shut up.” My hand slipped and I fell face first into the liquid… straight through the floor, into a freezing, dark sea, where I floated helplessly and unable to move. “Troy…” I wanted to scream at the voice to leave me alone, but there was no air. I felt a hand reach down and grab mine. An icy-cold, bony hand, like the hand of Satan. The last thing I remember is being jerked up violently through the pitch black. “Troy…” Then there was silence.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

“These symptoms are indicative of mental trauma and intense adolescent stress.” says Dr. Child in his choir-of-hell monotone, as my mother nods and gives me sympathetic looks. “It could simply be an episode, a way for the mind to cope with the emotional distress of some past event. It could also be something much more serious, I’m afraid…” I stop listening.

‘This is unbelievable.’ I thought to myself, frowning inwardly. ‘The dumb quack thinks I’m crazy! Dr. Child…’ I shook my head, inwardly again. ‘Sounds like “codename: pedophile” to me.’ I chuckled and my mom gave me a sad look. It must have been a bad time.

As the adults droned on, I occupied myself with a drawing of a brontosaurus on the wall, right above Dr. Child’s head. It was a large drawing, colored deep red (almost maroon). The dinosaur had a stupid smile on its face that I recognized from somewhere. Its head was pointed up towards a clock, as if it were trying to read the time… I heard the clock ticking and subconsciously began to bob my head to the beat. The brontosaurus began to count, “1… 4… 17… 2… 6…” I didn’t blame it for being a little off; it was just a dinosaur after all. “7… 9… 11…” I traced the numbers quickly with my finger through the air as I heard them. “3… 21…” Dr. Child and my mom were looking at me. Their mouths were moving but I couldn’t hear anything except for the brontosaurus’ terrible counting skills. “90… 73… 42…” Mom looked a little angry with me. ‘I can’t hear you.’ I thought, a little glumly. But the counting suddenly stopped.

“Did you hear what Dr. Child said, Troy?” I heard mom ask, as she reached out to grasp my hands. There were tears in her eyes. “Are you alright with the tests, honey?”

“They won’t hurt.” said Dr. Child apathetically. “They won’t take long. It’s very important that we make sure before beginning medication.”

“Make sure of what?” I asked quietly.

My mom looked confusedly at Dr. Child. “Weren’t you listening, dear?” she said softly, gripping my hands more tightly. “There might be a… a problem with your brain. Dr. Child is not sure, but he’s afraid that you might have-“

“6… 8… 14… 18….” I felt my mother’s hands slip out of my own as she covered her face with them. That conversation was getting boring anyway

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

A bright, white light. Not bright like close-your-eyes bright… just illuminating. And white men as well, all around me, whispering words that brushed over my ears like a breeze. I cannot see them very well. They blend in with the all-white backdrop. “Troy…” I hear them say. “Troy…” Their faces become clearer… wait, those are masks. All I can see is their eyes, most of them bright blue like the sky. One of them has a pair of green eyes. He motions for the rest of them to leave, then turns to look straight at me. He removes the mask.

“Hi Fred.” I say.

“Hi Troy.” Fred is frowning his I-told-you-so frown. “Why did you let them do it? Why did you let them tear us apart?”

I shut my eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.” I say softly. “I really don’t.”

“Yes, you do, Troy.” Fred says, a touch of anger tainting his calm voice. “You let these men kill me.”

“I didn’t know.” I say, shaking my head slowly. “It all happened so fast.”

My eyes shoot open in surprise when Fred grips my throat and draws a knife, his face twisting into a raging, grotesque form. “You left!” he screams. “You left, Troy!”

“Shut up!” I scream back, pulling his hand off my neck. “Leave me alone, Fred!”

“I’ll be back, Troy! You know I will!”

And then everything turns blood-red.

It has been four years since that day. I haven’t seen Fred since then. Occasionally I can still hear that brontosaurus counting, still see the liquid oozing up from cracks in the ground. Apart from that, life is just a dream of normality. I walk through it with no great degree of caution, knowing that one day I’ll wake up. That’s when Fred will return, smiling his I-told-you-so smile, holding a knife behind his back.

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Life is strange when you think about it…

It hurts to think about it too hard actually. Trees, motorcycles, newscasters, marshmallows, Facebook, TV, jukeboxes… it’s all a blur, isn’t it? What is life? Why are we here? Yes, yes, unanswerable questions since the beginning of time (or did time have a beginning?) I know, but maybe that’s the answer in itself. Maybe life truly doesn’t HAVE a point. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. Think about it. Human beings don’t need a purpose to live. They don’t NEED money, they don’t NEED to survive. They choose how to live their lives. Other animals need a purpose, and that purpose is survival and reproduction. For them, life has a point. Part of being human is coming to the realization that our lives don’t have a point.
It’s impossible for me to describe how I truly see the world, because even I don’t fully understand what I feel. It’s a sort of emptiness mixed with random hope that there’s something more out there. Because if there’s nothing more out there… well, I don’t know. I feel like running away sometimes. Not anywhere in particular, just running away, trying to find something more. But you know what’s sad? I’ll never find anything. That’s the consequence of life on this earth. What you see is what you get, there’s nothing else there for us. We can have faith in something bigger than ourselves, sure, but can we ever truly confirm its existence? The answer, quite simply, is no. We cannot.
Look at the people around you. Look at yourself. What are you doing? Why are you doing it? Why do you want that job? Why do you want a girlfriend/boyfriend? What purpose does your life serve in relation to everyone else? Will anyone miss you when you’re gone? I’m not trying to depress you, I’m challenging you to seriously consider and accept that life has no point. It’s that understanding that will make you truly human. Don’t be like the other people around you, wandering around aimlessly in search of things that present themselves every day. Rather, lose yourself. Wander for the sake of wandering, but stop searching. Because there’s no point. In the end, we die, we are released from this mortal self that is so limited in its scope and understanding of life. How do we escape from the chair, and see the light behind us rather than the shadows on the wall of Plato’s cave? Death is the only answer I have been able to find thusfar.