I Don't Know What I'm Doing Anymore.

I don't know how to feel.

Cheers.

Happiness Is Relative.

Absolute depression is more worth achieving.

Emotions. They can really tear you apart. You don't even need a reason for those emotions, really. It invites itself into any situation, mindfucks you beyond belief and then leaves you to crawl away barely breathing.

It might not hurt as much if there was a reason for it all.

I seem to have been submerged in this state of depression lately. It's been a while since I left it, since I started seeing the opportunities in life to actually have fun in my life and seize them. But it's dragged me back. Perhaps during my darkest days, I managed to sink to the bottom of the pool and sign some sort of diabolical deal to forever hold my soul within it. So as fast as I try to run, or as strong as I am to hold myself back, an invisible hand always has its gangly nails within the skin of my back, ready to pull me in when I get too happy.

Or drown me, if it sees fit.

I don't know where I belong anymore. I don't know how I am meant to feel anymore. Two months ago if anyone had asked me exactly what I wanted, I would have said that this would be it. This would make my world a little bit brighter. This would make me love life a little bit more. This would take all my problems away, for just that period of time.

Ask me now, and I could not even pretend to say that same.

The emotions that are clouding my head are a mix of guilt and general discontentment. It's like I feel that I am disappointed in a lot of things but guilty that I feel that way at the same time. And alongside all of that, I am longing for something I can't have right now. I find myself counting down the days, rather than counting away the days and putting myself in a state of denial that the days are longer than they seem.

I wish the days weren't as long as they seem.

And then comes that guilt trip I have been sent on. All I can think of is how I am letting down the people who love me more than I can feel about them at this point. How I wish I could feel the same joy and desire and passion that they feel about our embrace than I feel about starting a conversation with them. How I can't bear to let them know that only one of our smiles is true.

While the other one is more fake than the red lips on a whore.

I wish I had a reason for how I felt; at least then I could come up with a solution to rid myself of these feelings. What was meant to be a time of leisure has turned into weeks of mental torture because more than the fact that I feel bored, is that fact that I hate myself for feeling that way.

And the physical agony is just as painful. The sleepless nights, the appetite-less days and the idle mind.

I can't fucking do this anymore.

I hope it's just withdrawal symptoms from not visiting Topshop.

Cheers.

In My System.

Because I am out of it.

I am out of my system, quite literally. The system of coming up with a substantially cohesive blog post every other day has destroyed itself. And now irregular verbal diarrhea is all I manage to compose, which I try and pass off as something worthy of my blog.

Usually this works.

I think the whole novelty of blogging my life away has worn off. Somehow I seem to have found another outlet to vent my frustrations (god forbid that outlet be living) and listen to me mindlessly fabricate episodes of my life that don't really play out like I say it does.

Even at this point I am finding it difficult to get my point across. I guess it's also due to the fact that this blog doesn't get as much traffic as it used to, so I haven't got much of an incentive to blog about important things anymore.

I'm sorry.

Cheers.

Photographs.

So sick and fucking tired.

I'm just going to come out straight and say it because I can't give a fuck right now. Instead of sleeping I spent most of my night in the cold, wearing close to nothing and waiting to keel over from numbness. Or break my teeth from chattering. Or crack a bone from an attempt to balance my feet in a sea of rocks.

Or all of them at once, in a flurry of red.

But I wouldn't have minded all that. No, not at all. If there was some sort of surreal benefit to be gained from all this then I suppose I would have braced myself through the worst of the times. But I didn't see a surreal benefit. Not even one that was concrete or solidly standing in front of me - waiting to be violated. There was nil gain from having a few of my body parts die frozen. There was nil gain from sitting on the ludicrously dirty rock formations and being careful to avoid the various patches of old vomit across them. There was nil gain from asking dull questions about things I don't even care about to the people I don't even bother with.

There was nil gain from suffering through a fucking shitty night.

You can probably tell that this desperately pathetic post stems from a terrible bout of jealousy, or something within me that's deeper. Something that probably involves too many questions and too few answers.

Something you would rather not read about.

I guess it all comes down to one thing, really - about how I measure up to other people. I have become so used to serially comparing myself to others that it is my social mechanism. It determines how far I get by and what I am able to accomplish. It determines what my principles are and who I represent. It determines how much I laugh or who I choose to laugh with, and the tears I shed.

It determines based on something that I am not.

But it works. I compare myself to someone who resembles me and work past it to be better. I relate to someone with the same issues and work to overcome them faster. I observe someone else with the same constraints and work to break through them stronger.

It's when I don't work that it burns.

You should have already guessed by now that there is someone (rather, some people) whom I have recently compared myself to, and as it turns out - I can't overcome it. They are both more attractive than I am (by a fair mile), more confident than I can ever be (quite evidently) and just a heck of alot easier to be around. I thought I could work around it, but it just proved to be too difficult for me to even attempt.

I could have taken the high road and just believed I was slightly better. I could have worked against my instincts to compare myself and put it out of my head so I could have an amazing time. But it didn't work out that way. I ended up comparing myself up to the most petty detail, none of them being in my favour.

And just to make everything a little better, the people I had being trying to meet all this while seemed to warm up instantly to the new ones. Within a matter of hours, everything I had tried to achieve in 9 months had been sorted in 7 hours. And they even had a little more than what I had expected. It was if they had placed me in cage to watch the events of the night unfold but never letting me out to be a part of it.

Leaving me to feast on my own hungry heart.

I am still in that cage, watching others have what I deserve, or at least what I think I do. I guess the easy answer is telling me to change and find the answer within myself, but since when did we ever pay attention to an easy answer?

Since we stopped having easier problems.

Cheers.

*PS : I'll have you know that this is my 200th post. Cause for celebration?

So.

Now what?

2 days until it gets here. I've been waiting for it, no doubt; 10 months to be specific. I can recall all those nights spent alone in my room where I was sat in front of my computer, counting. Counting the hours I had spent sitting in my seat. Counting the hours I had spent alone in my room.

Counting to infinity.

And soon it will be here. This would give me a reason to replace all my future plans of spending more nights alone with something a little more stimulating and a little less liver-friendly. I'll soon be spending less time memorising the wall surfaces in my room and more time actually being normal. It's what I have been waiting for, the chance to be just like everyone else.

But as this moment draws near, I can't help but reflect all those times I only had myself to keep me awake. I remember creating routines for myself whilst trying to eat what can only be identified as my poor attempt at cooking. Once those routines were over, I'd pray that it was late enough for me to get to sleep - just to make it all a little less pathetic. But it's hard to fall asleep when on the other side of the door, all you can hear is chatter and laughter and happiness. It's almost as if, they want me to know how much fun they are having without you. That they relish in the fact that I am sleeping my sorry nights away.

That the source of their happiness is purely from the fact that I have been bound by the walls of my room until sunrise.

But enough with the self-hate. (Yes, a first.) The point of this post, as I hope it will come across, is that I am not really excited about the whole thing. I'm really not. I don't see how this will change my life. I don't see how this one circumstance that I shall be free from, can improve my well-being in any way.

Unless the world puts on a skirt and tells me the meaning of life, I don't see how I want to care.

I can't be bothered to meet new people. I can't be bothered to slap on cakey make-up and squeeze into a dress that I won't even look good in. I can't be bothered to act like I care. I can't be bothered to waste cash on something that would waste my liver. I can't be bothered to dance to music I don't even want to hear. I can't be bothered to stay awake all night.

I just want to eat and sleep and ignore people. Fun times.

Look at me. I am totally different person. I used to love being around people, meeting them and embracing them. Having the best fun with them. But now I'm just closed up. Like I started by swallowing my fist and I've just been ingesting the rest of me since then, until all I am is this little ball of ... stuff.

Maybe things will change in time, maybe it won't. Who gives a fuck, really.

Because I really don't.

Cheers.

Unsex Me Here.

You spirits, that tend on mortal thoughts.

So let's talk sex. A kiss could be sex. A gentle squeeze of the arm as a parting gesture, could be sex. The stroke of the palm on the cheek could be sex. The stroke of the palm on the ... could be sex. The clasp of hands during an orgasm, could very well be sex. The comforting hug afterwards, could be sex too.

Wearing a skin-tight leather dress in public, could be sex. Exposing as much skin as possible, could be sex. Maintaining finishing school posture, could also be sex. Revealing just a bit too much of that lacy bra, could be sex. Walking around in nothing but a bin bag, also sex.

What determines sex? Who determines it, rather? Is it the whole copulative process that represents sex, while all others just become innocent personal expressions? Does it matter that you haven't had more than 2 hours of conversation with the person? Does it matter that you have? Could it be that you feel some sort of unexplainable bond with the said party? Could it mean that you feel nothing at all, except some kind of seemingly insatiable animal passion?

Maybe the fact that you have a purpose makes a difference. What if you have no purpose at all, or something totally psychotic, perhaps in the name of friendship? What if you merely have a burning curiosity of what it's all about, or the need for proof for your skepticism? What if your clock is ticking?

Tick. Tock. Tick.

I have yet to reach a conclusion (Sorry if you were hoping for one, you should very well know I seldom have an answer to any of my questions.) But I have realised that moving out from home (at such a young age as well) and to a place with starkly different cultures and social conventions can change your perspective on life in general, better than any old fable or anecdote you might have been told. I had made principles for myself before moving out, and was quite content with them. But moving to a place where you have no companions or anyone you can relate to, almost forces you to change into someone the locals can recognise. You transform into something that allows you to relate yourself to the others, even if you can't recognise yourself.

It is sad. When you have to forget you thought you were, and pick out a new personality to try on. You never know if it will appeal to the rest, and more importantly if it will fit you. So it begins, the process of self-discovery. You have no clues, no directions and no right answers but plenty of wrong ones. Those who came to love you as you were before, may leave because they no longer appreciate your new personality. And the people you try so hard to impress, may decide they don't really like you that much anyway.

So what are you left with? Nothing. No side to defend you in your times of greatest need, no purpose to fight for, and no person to see you through the hardest period in your life.

You only have yourself, when all you wanted was everyone else.

And that's where the lesson lies isn't it? The higher power would not have been able to make it clear to you otherwise. It wanted to make it clear that the only person you should ever have to need and want is yourself; everyone else being a delightful bonus. Because the only person who will be there for you until the end is yourself, you can't lose it and you can't change it.

But I digress. This all relates to sex in some weird foreign way, but I basically wanted to make clear that as my perception of life has changed, so has my perception of intimacy and sex. When you should do it. How soon you should do it. With whom. How far you should go. I think I have new answers for them, but I don't think I can reveal them right now and right here, because it's something personal. More personal than this blog. And if it bothers you that much that you have to know, then you can ask me in person.

Knowing me, I will explain it to you in explicit detail.

So, sex? Fun times, no biggie. Once that's done, you can unsex me a la Lady Macbeth.

Because power has no gender.

Cheers.

Gam Zeh Yaavor.

Can I tell you a story while we dance as the sun starts to bleed?

I always imagined that life would be beautiful. People never grow old and people never die. People are honest and people never lie. People always laugh and never cry. People make love and never hate. People treat other people with respect and tolerance and people never ignore and forget.

People love other people, always.

Just one of the many fallacies of my thoughts. I suppose I lived in Utopia in my past life, the only downside to that being that I died. Everything was purple, everyone was happy. There was never a reason to be depressed. There was never a reason to fall out of love.

Never a reason to start a blog and discuss bitterness.

This weekend gave me yet another reason to sit alone and over-analyse the intricacies of life. Run my plans for the future through my head and find reasons to revalidate them. You would think that this tires me out, drains the blood from every other part of my body, or tears me open from exhaustion - but it doesn't. I guess the pain keeps me awake.

Someone told me I would not be good enough to achieve what I want. It broke me. I felt like I had been laid down in front of them to be stepped on and then tossed to the side. It hurts not to be taken seriously, and even worse to be lied to that you are being taken seriously. Deep down I know that there is a burning jealousy within those who know me. I can feel it. I can feel the hate for something I can't recognise or fathom.

I know that there is something inside me that makes you want to hurt me.

But I can't let you do it. I can't let you take my dreams away from me. I want to break free from what I have been given and run from it as far as I can. To the other side of the world. To destiny.

Cheers.