I need to talk to someone.
I can't. I'm the only one here.
Home.
Or at least I think it's home. It feels like it, sounds like it.
Home for the holidays.
That should be great. How come it doesn't feel that way? My parents are here, my siblings are here, my best friend is here.
So why am i questioning it?
I miss my friends, my adopted rosebud family. And I'm going to miss them all when I leave in May. For Good.
I don't even want to think about it. I seem to make myself depressed about it.
I do that a lot.
Make myself depressed. It feels good, the sadness, the sorrow, the pain.
I can feel the door closing on my genuine happiness in life. It's getting more difficult to escape.
Why?
Does it feel good? Yes.
Do I do it to collect sympathy? Not all the time. But it's the reason this started, most definitely.
I feel alone.
Lonely? Alone?
One or the other, or both.
I have so many who love me. Why do I feel none of it?
I'm almost incapable of feeling it. I mean, I do feel it, but I can't accept it.
I can't comprehend that I'm somebody would want to look for or date or be interested in.
Accepting false flirtations with women that I find interesting, when in the end that's what they see in me as well, nothing but humorous and interesting.
I want genuine love.
And I had it. Oh god, did I have it.
Or at least I think I did.
Right in front of me. But I couldn't take it.
Why? Like an idiot, I played with her, I thought I was smart, and maybe I was, but I was not gentle about any of it. None of it.
I look back. And I don't think I want to be loved. I mean I do, I really do. But it's just maybe not worth it with me.
I know I'm 21, but I've got love surrounding me, 1 friend married, 3 others engaged, 1 looking for rings. It's just all a little too much for my fragile heart.
I search and I search, but I know nothing but failure and heartache.
And now here I am pouring my fucking guts out here on a computer screen, on my parents dinner table at 1:25 in the fucking morning.
Lord, I need help.
I'm so afraid. I'm still a kid, in a man's body. (a grown hairy ass man's body). I'm expected to function, but I don't know if I can.
I watched a movie called "The Perks of being a Wallflower", and I loved it. Beautiful Film. Exquisite.
Anyway, there's a part in the movie where the main character is crushing hard on this girl he loves, but she won't give him anything besides being his best friend. He confronts his teacher about it and asks:
"Why do nice people choose the wrong people to date?"
And the teacher responding:
"Well, we accept the love we think we deserve."
"Can we make them know that they deserve more?"
"We can try."
This is so powerful to me. I resonate with this. I feel constantly in a bad position. A sucky position.
It's also repeated later on, by the main character and the girl that he's referencing previously.
She says:
"Why do I and everyone I love pick people who treat us like we're nothing?"
"We accept the love we think we deserve"
Do we? I feel like I might.
I hurt. My heart hurts. Aches.
And I can't do anything about it, except deny my heart and try to move forward. It is, of course, the logical thing to do. Because otherwise, I will TEAR. MYSELF. APART.
Geordie... Go to fucking sleep.
...
...
...alright.
