|Current mood:|| drained|
|Current music:||Sia-- Breathe Me|
The Nature of Social Dependency.
I believe my writers block has gotten ahold of me again.
If you haven't noticed.
Myspace is a pastime of mine now, since I have nothing to write. And to be quintessentially out of any energy to seek change in my life, I'm now addicted to nothing and the passing of it as I used to be on cartoons.
And though I seek with a passion to be a better person I find the residual effect of my nihilsm still seeping into my nirvana-washed everyday thoughts.
My spelling has gotten worse. I find it a desperate and sad conseqence of my involvement with people.
I am at war with myself.
I just want to get things done, and not bother people.
I don't like that I am now hooked into this teen drama frenzy, and I like complaining about it although all I have to do is walk away and the problem is solved.
I actually don't like talking about it. I don't even like thinking about it, it disturbs my peace of mind. I spend so much time trying to find my peace of mind and it gets so confounded by this astounding stupidity that it vanishes like my personality in room of my peers.
I am afraid I'm going to get frown lines on my eyebrows sometimes. I tend to have them pulled down alot, which makes me look like a mammoth. I am vain for thinking so.
I am completely washed out. This doesn't concern me, but other people. They think I'm a bundle of screaming personality and hyperactivity, and lack the ability to calm down.
Well, I would guess since none of you ever stop screaming that you don't notice me when I'm not. So you only noticing me screaming makes you think that is how I am, a hyperactive moronic teenager, instead of a not as hyperactive person having a nervous breakdown because she can't hear herself think.
So please, shut the fuck up.
Sometimes I am afraid that I am an angry person. I read what I say to myself and it sounds very angry, but I'm not really that angry. Just at the core.
I hit my head against a box yesterday. The people involved should know why.
It didn't give me that bad of a headache, suprisingly. But knowing me I'm just going to subject myself to the same psychological tortures tommorrow, and wonder why I'm still alive.
I'm not kidding, I should be dead. From the array of genetic diseases I have probably inherited from my mysterious, sickly family, I should have Capgras' syndrome and maybe cancer.
Maybe I do have Capgras' syndrome.
You do look different lately.
(I'm watching you, imposter.)