Things change. People change. I'm still getting used to that fact. Everything is so... different. Nobody is what I thought they were; nobody's what I thought they would be. I'm not even sure I'm who I used to be. What happened to the me I was yesterday? This morning? An hour ago? Perhaps even a few minutes ago? I just... don't know any more. I'm tired of this. This constant emotion-switching. There's nobody I know who really understands; who I can really talk to. Sure. I have vents. I can write. I can scribble down thoughts on a peice of paper and call it venting. I can scribble down some more and call it a drawing, saying it's helping me sort out my feelings. I can swim up and down a lane for an hour and a half and call it calming. It's not the same. It's not calming, soothing, almost comforting, like the effect that talking to someone face-to-face has. Someone who really understands, not just someone you can tell your problems to. Who really, honestly and truly, has a person they can talk to like that? Does it even matter? I just... I don't know. I wish it was the weekend forever; I wish someone would come out of the blue and talk to me. I wish I had someone to talk to other than typing to this blog. It's just... almost frustrating. I don't really know how to type this out. Everything is... just... different. I don't like it either. Not a good different. It just... is. Do I need therapy? Try coming up with an excuse for that question practically every other day. Who says a therapist is going to help me? Are they going to understand my problems, my mental "issues"? Could there be more than you think? Could there even be, perhaps, beyond the unthinkable, more than meets the eye? I have problems, yes, I'll admit it. I have TOO MANY PROBLEMS to count. I could start with the day I was born. There were problems then too. Age day one through ten. Too many problems to count. Too many nights in that big yellow blanket by my doorway, the second floor room on the right. The little pillow with the green edging, the little nest by the doorway. The waking up at three in the morning and not being able to see either of my parents. To be alone. To be alone. Truly and utterly alone. Says who? I don't know. That's just it: I don't know. I... this is hard to type, but I don't really feel like I know who or why I am. I know what I am, where I am, how I am, when I am. Who am I? Why am I? Who, why? I don't think I know any more. I really feel truly and utterly alone. Sure, I have friends to talk to, sure I can talk to them face-to-face. But how many of them know the real me? How many people have I told my story, from beginning to end, from as far back as I can remember to the present? All of those memories from way back when? Oh, that's right. All of that adds up to a grand total of ZERO. I have never told anyone. Never. Never as in never ever EVER. Never ever never ever ever never ever? That's right. Never have. Probably never will. I just don't like reliving the past. I don't really... I don't know. I just don't know. So call me when you're sober. | 
