One day I am going to remember exactly who I am.

I feel as though I have lost my sense of self but no one else sees that. I look at things I've written in the past and I feel as though I am intruding on someone else's thoughts. It's terrifying, to say the least. I understand things change, people especially, but to see such a drastic change in one's own mind is difficult to just accept. 

What happened to the girl with a social life?

Or the optimism?

Or the ambition?

Most importantly though, what happened to the facade she put up so well?

I want it back. I'm sick of being this. If this is what being real is like then I want to be imaginary and make believe again. I can't even fake anything as well as I used to be able to. That bothers me so much too because in all honesty, lying to people about your mental state and what you really think isn't that hard once you've mastered the skill. In fact it's always been very easy for me to get people to think what I want them to think. I'm sure this makes me sound really bad but I don't mind at the moment. Believe me, any negative feelings you could possibly have about me mean nothing to me; I suppose I'm self-centered and more concerned with having to deal with myself than other people.

Color me vindictive.

Color me manipulative.

Color me whatever way you want because you're still going to end up a victim to whatever I decide to do anyways.

A Quick Note:

Don't hold me to any of this. And if it changes the way you think about me, just know I'm laughing in your face right now. If you can't acknowledge your own nature, because you know you have your own flaws and less than socially acceptable tendencies, then you're doomed to lying to yourself. And at the moment lying to yourself is worse than lying to other people to me, but that probably has a lot to do with my current indifference toward everything and lack of happiness with just about every person I know. The indifference and unhappiness will recede eventually, but I'm stuck living in the mood swing and this is the result.

I'm done rambling now.

Radioactive.

Somewhere deep inside my bones,
where it’s hollow and cold as snow,
the consequences of my tragic flaw,
create an unsightly electric glow.
Once your eyes have seen it,
it’s impossible to ignore;
It’s an unrelenting neon sign
outside a lovely liquor store.
But as enticing as it appears to be,
you can’t let its glow deceive you.
It’s radioactive and once you’ve touched it,
the glow will never leave you.
‘Cos I’m poisonous and unhealthy;
a desolate, hazardous wasteland.
I’m intoxicating and diseased-
absolutely impossible to withstand.
As an unpredictable creature,
with an inclination to cause harm,
I’m warning you to keep your distance,
and resist my fatal charm.

 

I wish I wrote for something worthwhile.

This no-name blog that just about no one reads is looking pretty pathetic from where I'm sitting.

But then again I've become increasingly familiar with "pathetic" over the past couple of weeks.

Anyway, there is too much in my head to write about right now. Needless to say it's all shit that no one really follows or pays any real attention to, so it really is better left unsaid.

Word to the wise, before I decide to publish this piece of shit post- fractured collar bones and working are not friends. Neither are fractured collar bones and seat belts or fractured collar bones and sleep.

Moral of the story: Don't get hit by a fucking car and fracture your collar bone.