I wish I could think of something to say before the futility takes hold, but already I know it’s too late. I struggle now to make a post a month.
There is no more dialogue. I either don’t think I should talk to people. Others I can’t get myself to say what I’d like. Or else conversation with anyone is just as hard as it’s always been.
I’m more alone than ever. Is that by choice? I need to make new friends. I need to drag a current friend to some random activity to meet new people. But what?
Any progress made falls by the wayside so quickly. Just when I really could start to see.
Better to have lived and died than to have never lived at all.
With just a little twist, your little emo boy could be a psychopath. What? You didn’t think he has a dark side? Just like everyone else does. Only his id scares him so much he won’t let it surface enough to enjoy life at all. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t drink.
No photos mean that you’re not secure with your appearance? Couldn’t it mean that you’re frustrated with judgements based upon appearance.?
Everything starts to become a sign of what I cannot have.
If I actually tried hard to pursue happiness. . . Why should I settle for a few moments of being alive or of hapiness? I still have a a great deal of my life ahead of me.
Finally saw Napoleon Dynamite. Frankly, I don’t see what the big deal is. Maybe I’m just deluded by the happy endings I see in movies while reality seems to have of a neutral ending.
