Gripping Sanity

I shouldn't blog when I have nothing to write about. I shouldn't waste your time and impose my thoughts on you when you are already busy with your own problems. But I have no choice, my dear reader. I have no other outlet. I've got no one to talk to but you.

Imaginary you. My reader doesn't have a face, or a name. When I'm writing in here, I do not care who will read this. It could be him. It could be her. A past student. A high school or elementary school friend. A friend of a friend. You could be my cousin (but I very much doubt it). Or you could be one of those who added me as your friend even though we haven't met at all. Or you could even be someone who just passed by, browsing through friendster.

What is with this blog? Why am I putting so many stuff in here? Why can't I just write my thoughts in a private journal instead of publishing them here?

I've asked myself these questions a lot of times before. And the reason behind all of these, I have discovered, is as wrapped in sappy melodrama as my entries here.

I live in an imaginary world. And this blog is a big part of that world. If I delete this blog. If I stop writing, I'll have nowhere to go to.

For you see, I am looking for someone. Someone I can talk to about everything. Friends can only go so far. Even LE doesn't know everything about me. I'm looking for someone who gets me. Who appreciates what I appreciate about me.

I've always been a lonely person. Ever since I was born, I've never felt I've completely exposed myself to a single person. Sure, I tell a lot to my close friends, to my students, but I feel that they barely scratch my surface. I have a lot to talk about, that even if I venture into telling you about something as personal as my sex life, I'm not bothered about it. Because there are deeper things in me than that.

If my blog suddenly became Riddle's diary, for sure Riddle would be alive by now. He would be bloated by my essence.

I feel like I'm a hole reader. Not an asshole. Just a hole. No matter how deep I dig into me, I cannot seem to find anything clearer about me. The deeper I dig, the more I get confused. Perhaps it's just me who's making my life complicated. Even so, I cannot stop myself from thinking that way. So what should I do? (See, this paragraph clearly illustrates my way of thinking.)

I should've been a philosopher. For if I was, I shouldn't be wasting time writing about stuff about me. I could be using my brain cells to think about philosophical questions which could benefit society.

I'm so full of myself. And you know that very well, reader. For you see, I have to keep this going. If I give up on me... If I look on myself any lower, I'd probably fall into a depression. That's probably my self-defense mechanism. I think highly of myself otherwise I'd go crazy.

I remember asking John Ray, a friend who is an occupational therapist, when a patient with schizophrenia starts showing symptoms. And unfortunately, he said that 21 (my age) is still within the age bracket.

I'm not sure if me going crazy will be a relief for me or not. It will be a relief since, then, I will be able to justify all my ramblings in this blog. I can justify the erratic things that I've done. I can justify falling in love with a guy and breaking up with my girlfriend. I can justify my hedonistic escapades. I can justify why I'm so damn crazy!!

If it turns out that I'm normal, then it would mean that I'm an outlier. I would be shunned by society. I couldn't probably accept that. I'm already shunned because I'm bisexual, now they're going to push me away because I think too much and too abnormally?!

Why can't I fit into your world reader? Why can't i make myself think like you do? Feel like you do? Look like you do? Fuck like you do?! I'm so fucking abnormal in almost everything I half-wish I could kill myself just to complete it!

The feeling of killing myself has become so very very tempting again, reader, I should be afraid not excited. It would be... glorious to kill myself. And why shouldn't I? I'm abnormal, right? I don't love like you do. I don't LIVE like you do! I'm an ABERRATION! Even God doesn't approve of the things I've done. He doesn't even approve of me being myself!

Now you. You! You and you! You keep pushing me to come back to God when He has mentioned that man laying with mankind is an abomination!!! How do you expect me to behave? Come back to Him and ask to be changed for something He did to me? How do you explain that you HYPED-UP BLINDED religious people?!!!

Damn! This life sucks! And now you, you who consider yourself as my friend. You will post a comment here if you care for me a bit. You will say stuff to try to make me feel better. Vague stuff about religion, about  life, love, some harmless-looking saying to spice up your comment and I sure do appreciate that but that ISN'T ENOUGH to change me completely. What are words? Will they change my sexuality? Will they change how crazy I am? What can they do?!

I'm hopeless reader. I'm hopeless since the help you can give me isn't doing the job it's supposed to do. I think you realize that by now. I've put myself on the edge, no, I've JUMPED inside insanity (or am I sane enough to even use that word?) you cannot help me. You cannot help me anymore reader. What's wrong with me is in the inside, and the only person who can change that is me, and I CANNOT.

So can I kill myself now? Because I can't see the sense in my life. I can't see my purpose anymore. Ooops that was wrong. I CAN see where my life will lead... A straight humps-free road to eternal loneliness (or damnation, if you want to be more melodramatic.)

You know what, I've made a bet on myself. If the guy I fell in love with will come back to me as a friend, and forget whatever has transpired, I will start believing in God again. I tried my best to tell him. But he didn't. So...