i think it’s time for me to accept and let go. i think i’m almost 25 and i need to stop waiting around for things to happen that never will, or to continue thinking i have so much time. i don’t. i’m an adult that’s never acted like one, and that probably never will. i’ve got the spirit of a shitty 19-year-old emo kid, and i probably always will. but i don’t have the time of a 19-year-old kid. not anymore.
i don’t think i’ll ever really be seen the way i want to be seen. i think that’s been an issue my entire life, and it will continue to be. i don’t want to cry and whine anymore about how everyone always sees me as some sort of monster, because i am a product of my own actions. if i’ve acted like a monster, i suppose i am one. but it’s not how i feel. not who i am. and i’m truly, truly sick of hoping people i thought i trusted and could rely on can see that. i’m sick of thinking people might really know and see me. they don’t. and that’s okay.
there is absolutely nothing to gain from trying to convince someone who already has such a set notion about you otherwise.
i’m sick of waiting for something that will never happen. i’m not even sure if i wanted it to happen, or what exactly i might want to happen. it doesn’t matter, really. it won’t. and that’s okay.
i’ve spent nearly three years chasing something that was never there. unlearning a habit is hard, but possible.
being lonely is interesting. i don’t have to be lonely. i have a good 1/3 of my contacts list dedicated to people that would keep me company with one small message, just an “are you free right now” and i’d be cured. right? wrong. loneliness is so much deeper than a body on a body, a bed and another bed, and the back seat of a car. loneliness isn’t the empty couch cushion beside you filled. sometimes, even when it is filled, it might as well be empty. and lonely doesn’t mean “romance”, doesn’t mean “i wish i had someone that gave me flowers and shitty chocolate on valentine’s day.” true loneliness is a separate being from the desire for a partner, it’s a big, black, nasty, decaying entity that doesn’t always need to concern itself with matters of the heart. alone does not equal lonely. alone is the absence of a body. lonely is the absence of a feeling. the absence of understanding. i’ve always been lonely, i suppose, and i was fine. for four years, i was never alone, but i was exceedingly lonely. and then i wasn’t lonely. i felt strangely, unbelievably seen and heard and recognized by someone. i felt comfortable companionship. i felt a lack of worry that i’d never be understood.
the worst part of experiencing the opposite of loneliness is having it, then having it taken away.
i’m not ever sure what i do to make people leave. i know that the largest part of it is probably just... me. me, being passive aggressive. me, doing something i shouldn’t have done. me, saying something insensitive, being mean. letting a diagnosis i’ve tried for years to ignore get the best of me. i can accept and let go much easier when i can clearly see the cause is me. this time, i suppose it was me... only, i can’t see why. i can see me making an attempt to reach out and being met with anger. and that’s all. i can’t see past it. so, i wonder, and i contemplate, and i come to the conclusion that i am no longer wanted. i am no longer someone wanted around, wanted a conversation with, wanted to simply say “hi how are you” to. no reason. it’s just me.
the worst part of realizing you’re the problem is realizing that sometimes it’s not what you did, but just you. just you.
i’ll be back on here again, but it won’t be for a while. i have another blog i can go on to repost song lyrics and art and other shit nobody cares to see, but i don’t go on it. i’m disillusioned with the thought of being known. there comes a point when you start to wish you could be un-known, where you realize people have so much of you and you want to take it all back, pick it up and pile it in your arms and drop it and pick it up again and back away like “fuck, don’t grab that, i’ll pick it up, don’t touch it, it’s mine.” like the facets of your personality are... i don’t know, rolls of toilet paper in a buy-one-get-one sale and it’s the pandemic and people are going fucking crazy. you just... want it all back. everything you’ve ever said and done, so it’s just your’s again. you want to be selfish with the pieces of yourself. and that’s okay.
the internet is a funny place. you feel compelled to let people know any little thing about you, without even thinking about it. until one day, you want it all back.
i’d like to become a secret, i suppose. something well-kept. something cherished in someone’s pocket and pulled out when they need it. i don’t need to be on a story or posted to get a couple hundred likes. i don’t want to be.
gummygunk
kianamaiart
