Who's That Girl?

I'm not her.

I am forgetting how to deal with the things life snowballs at me. It's getting harder and harder to actually focus on something that I want and need and prioritise towards achieving it. I'm getting side-tracked by everything imaginable, including myself. Something always seems to be in the way of my plan, even when I don't intend for it to be there.

When things are good, I need to meddle with it. Question it. Swing it around like a boomerang and see if it comes back to me. Because the good things that come to you, aren't always as they seem. But - for god's sake - it's depressing that I don't know how to appreciate it for what it's worth.

And when things are bad, I think to myself that everything is going according to plan.

Leave home, pretend to work hard, and fall in love with someone who doesn't remember my name.

And what happens when things finally start looking up?

The questions start to pop up again. And they don't stop till the good times go bad, where I can wallow in my natural state of despair.

My problem has pretty much solved itself out, but here I am already coming up with a new one.

I know there is no us. I know there was never anything I could do. And yet I hoped that somehow we could make it happen. And now you've given your heart away to her. It should be better for me, to see you happy. And to see me alone.

And people ask me why I am psychotic.

Cheers.

Brown Eyes.

It's just a silly song about you.

The one person I need to talk to right now is unavailable and totally unaware of my feelings. So I am left dictating my feelings to an empty box. An empty virtual box with an address out of millions. I had always wondered what would have happened if the global web network decided to untangle and self-destruct.

Why, my emotions would run astray - infecting others with insanity.

And you think you know exactly how you feel until you attempt to put it in words. Just then it will occur to you. Nothing you feel makes sense. It is all just a cloud of colours that you think is a huge burden on you, until you actually try to translate it into language.

And after that massive failure, you will laugh at how crazy you really are.

But it's just as funny that you continue to try.

Because I want to tell you all how I am feeling. I want to tell you that I am okay. And I desperately want to lie to you at the same time. I could probably accomplish that.

She told me to get over it. I told myself to get over it. And Myself told Me that I would. But I don't know how I could possibly trust so many people at one time. So many things hang on the line. That constant uncertainty is my biggest issue, and all other things pile on top of it. Once that foundation is cracked, the rest of the bricks topple down.

But it's just your luck that you had the best contractor in the world.

And I want you to tell me too.

Tell me how you feel. How you want me to feel. Talk to me. Help me help you. Get me out of this fucking mess I've created.

But why should you then?

It's not your fault I'm schizophrenic. It's not your fault I have been plucked out of the middle of nowhere to now grow up and live my life alone while surrounded by so many aliens. Aliens with different habits, different styles, different attitudes, different personality defects. Aliens who aren't like me.

Aliens who don't like me.

And finally, the paranoia has a chance to kick in. It causes the thoughts that painfully sever my memories. I hurt myself everytime I turn around to watch my back. I hurt myself everytime I think you want me too. I hurt myself everytime I want you anyway. I hurt myself crossing the odds to find you. I hurt myself when I need to impress you. I hurt myself when I want to be accepted by you. I hurt myself just thinking about you.

I'll understand if you don't want me anymore.

But it's always going to be your brown eyes.

Cheers.

Play With My Heart.

Because that's all you're getting.

The truth is, I could fall for someone for any reason. Because they're nice to me. Because they're nice to other people. Because they are so fantastically gorgeous. Because they are good-looking and nice to me. Because they are cute and nice to other people. Because they are funny. Because they are hot and funny. Because they are smart. Because they are tall. Because they have nice skinnies. Because they pay attention to me. Because they laugh at my third-class humour.

Because I can't help myself.

I despise the way I am for this simple reason. I have no control over my emotions and my instinct started malfunctioning a long time ago. And there is no cure to how I feel.

I can't tell you to stop playing with my heart, because you aren't. I barely know you. Or rather, I do. You're just like me - I'll say one thing and do another. I can't be taken seriously. I can't handle the pressure. I don't want you to stick to me.

And here I am, taking off that noose around my neck. Allowing you to embrace me, to warm me in the cold, to inhale the scent of my hair. And finally allowing you to leave me. Dreaming of you, for nothing.

Boy, you are good.

Cheers.

I'm Sure You're Always Going To Want Some.

More.

"What I need is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, me attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction" - Chuck Palahniuk

Facebook is a mind reader.

Cheers.

The Broken-Hearted Girl.

A permanent state of mind.

Sometimes you don't always get what you wish for. You might say that some of us never get what we wish for. True - it's always the other person you watch with intense envy that has everything that they could ask for, while you sit by and watch as your dreams hang over your head like steel bricks.

It's always that other person with the excellent grades.
It's always that other person with a partner to look out for her.
It's always that other person who gets along with every new person she meets.
It's always that other person who charms everyone who sees her without even trying.
It's always that other person who has travelled the world.
It's always that other person with a beautiful story.
It's always the other person with a group of friends who love her for everything she is.

It's always that other person who loves herself for who she is.

It's always that other person.

That other fucking person.

And then you think to yourself. Why am I different from her? Why does she have it so easy? Why can't that be me?

Because you can't. You're sitting here thinking about the whys and the hows when the answers are right in front of you. She's prettier than you, she doesn't make a fool of herself, she has the most beautiful personality, she loves everything unique about other people.

And she's perfect.

You? Why, your flaws are aplenty. Look at yourself - you're ugly, you lie about yourself, you lie about other people, you try so hard to get people to like you, you grovel at the sight of what you can't have, you make ridiculous statements that are completely uncalled for, and you basically bore us with your mere presence.

It's a good thing tears never show in the pouring rain
As if a good thing ever could make up for all the pain
There'll be no last chance, I promise to never mess it up again
And now you're gone there's like an echo in my head
And I remember every word you said
It's a hard thing faking a smile when I feel like I'm falling apart inside
And I am helpless sometimes, wishing's just no good
And you don't see me like I wish you would

I remember this song.

It was the beginning of my troubles.

Cheers.

Lying Is Your Latest Passion.

Once you've had me, you'll always come back.

There's alot to be said about patience. And there's alot to be shown by it. And just as much to show how hard it is to have it.

It is a virtue, but how many of us are actually virtous? How many of us are actually willing to defy the boundaries of self-control - just to see what could come out of it.

What could come out of waiting for a star to fall.

Pixie dust, maybe. A scatter of intergalactic debris, perhaps. Or maybe a dream that you once had that was never realised.

And then we are slapped back to reality. The subject : me, one and only. The dilemma : the total disregard for and lack of patience. The outcome : potential self-destruction (which is always the answer to my problems, isn't it readers.)

And when things don't come my way instantly, I start to think. Why isn't this happening to me now? What am I doing wrong? What is so wrong with me that nothing ever seems to click into place my way?

Me, me, me. This narcissistic approach to problems ultimately leads to my own implosion. A mental breakdown, if you will. The fierce wave of thinking that leads to an internal malfunction.

Finally, when the dust clears - it will still be thinking.

And we arrive at the crux of this very issue. I just never seem to be good enough for anyone good enough for me. It's always someone else who gets the privilege of sweeping him off his feet, or watching him fall in love (or like, easy now) with them, or monopolising his dreams until he forgets the meaning of sleep. While I stand by, watching the romance unfold, desperately trying to hide my emotions with a mask of contentment.

Ah, I know that feeling all too well. The I-Like-You-Alot-But-You-Like-Her-More-So-I'll-Just-Be-Happy-For-You-While-I-Find-My-Gun ...

... feeling.

Also, the Everyone-Around-Me-Is-Taken-Who's-Going-To-Take-Me feeling.

And finally, the I'm-Pretending-To-Not-Care-And-You-Believe-Me feeling.

I don't think this affected me as much as it did before. Maybe it was because I was promised the situation was going to change. Or I had persuaded myself that this dry spell might not go on forever. Or maybe I was just too darn stupid.

Because if things had wanted to work out, it would have showed me something by now. Someone would have come my way and lit it for me so I could see in the dark. Someone would have lifted me up from the ground and dusted off my worries. Someone would have taken me into the rain so they could see me bare. Someone would have held me tight to protect me from what I could live better without.

Someone would have come for me to save me from myself.

But no one is near. No one is even in sight. And as I arrive at this conclusion, I am digging a deeper void in me.

Thirsty for attention and hungry for love.

Permanently.

Cheers.

Paradoxial.

I'm feeling a little paradoxial.

Why do I feel the need to own everything I set my sights on? Why do I incessantly desire something that may as well not exist? Why do I feel possessive over what was never mine and can never be?

Why am I so fucking stupid?

And it all starts when I see the best in people. All you avid readers are probably feeling deja vu here because essentially all my 'food for thought' posts are based on how I view people. And it's a chronic disease of mine that I choose to ignore the flaws so blatantly and glorify the good as if I was advertising.

Noble?

Fuck no. Try naive.

So stupidly naive that I can believe the words of fools and liars and devils just because I see that little bit of good in them. How could I have been let loose in the world when my judge of character is so prematurely developed? It's sticky situations like this that make me question myself and drill at my walls to see if any ounce of maturity dribbles out of it.

But your flaws upset me so. I force myself to look at them and observe them and analyse them as if I was piecing apart my heart. As I rival my natural instinct, I am crying inside, begging for an alternative punishment for my sin - that is, simply appreciating you for the good that you are.
In the battle of mind versus heart, the mind is always supposed to have the upper hand.

But then again, the heart exists.

Is it capable of fighting a ghost so powerful it can master full control over itself? Usually, no. The heart is quick in its action, while the mind dawdles in its own meticulous strategy - forever calculating. If the Fates are forgiving, the strategy sets it straight in time. And when they are not, the heart leads you to emotional suicide.

And here we are. Putting the good and the bad side by side to see which one is stronger, while I mindlessly (it's in battle) assume that you could be better than this.

But a man is just a man. And a schizophrenic is just a schizophrenic.

Who realises neither.

Cheers.