Sigh

You know, I give up on this. I was going to add to this blog because it feels incomplete, but I don't know what to add, and I'm not sure if there is anything to add anyways. I just hated the idea of posting something so completely depressing and emo that I wanted to balance it out a little bit. But, I can't seem to get myself to add to this, and it's kinda long anyways. I'll just put this up as the rambling thoughts I was experiencing one night.

It wasn't last weekend, but the weekend before last, on Sunday night. I was sitting on a friend's couch, after midnight, and couldn't get to sleep because I couldn't stop thinking. I was thinking about certain people, and what they've done...and what I wish had happened. Things like that.

Don't worry too much about what's written here, I'm mostly over it. I am still depressed most of the time, about the stupidest things, but not this bad. This is just something I ended up typing out when I was in one of my worst moments.

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I suppose many people have come to realize that I am typically a very depressed person. To the annoyance of many people, I am well aware. I was once good at keeping that hidden within...I think. But I guess I just can't pull that off anymore. Certain people have taken notice of it...people who typically don't notice such things.

It shows, I have been told. Perhaps in the way I carry myself. But these are not the kind of things you tell people...not normally. Yet still, my soul craves to spill out, and I'm wondering if maybe I'm losing myself.

Perhaps I have...and I just haven't figured it out yet.

Don't ask me why I am so depressed. I don't know the reason myself. I ask it of myself each night before going to sleep, and I can never come up with a concrete answer. You may find me late at night, laying back on my bed, or couch, just staring at the ceiling. Wide awake. I don't even know how far back such feelings go. Sometimes I feel like they've always been there.

Maybe there's just something wrong with me.

I don't know what to think of the world around me anymore, either. It all seems so very alien, and I feel like I have no place to call home, to call my own. The only true belonging I have is my laptop, and even then it is just a machine. What joy is there in that? It is a mere escape, some over-the-counter medicine for this hurt in my psyche.

Many people have heard me say how I miss being young. How I would love to be at a simple age of eight, or twelve, or ten, or even younger than that. The world was simple back then, and my mind was focused on what truly matters: having fun each day, as much as possible, in the ways I know how. I look back at the way I was then, and though I think I was such a fool, I was at least happy...

At least I think I was. I have to think I was once happy. I can't remember things very well, but if I do not think such a thing...well, what kind of person spends their whole life in depression? Such weakness is not to survive in this world where the strong climb over the weak in order to achieve their own desires.

Some people are better than that. Some people... but they are few and far between. I guess I just don't trust people very well anymore. I have some good friends... Though sad to say, only a small handful within physical reach. I wonder, perhaps, are they too late to save me from my own depression? Or is there anything even worth saving?

It's a silly thing, to lose all confidence in one self. Yet it happens...

Sometimes I feel like I've forgotten how to feel. Like my heart is numb. That's a weird thing to say though, for obviously I do feel.

When I smile...I have to force it, for the sake of those who would see. I can't seem to feel happy.

I have to tell people I love them, for I know I do...I know it's not gone. But I can't feel it anymore, and it isn't a pleasant feeling. I don't even act as though I do anymore, because my heart doesn't have the feeling with which to act.

Even anger is something beyond my reach these days. I know there are people I hate. I know that certain people should get on my nerves, when acting a certain way. But I don't feel the anger. I can't fake anger very well, though I guess some people don't see the mask.

I have to put on my mask again. I did it once before, but then it was to protect myself. Now it's because I don't want people to know how empty I am inside.

That's the perfect word to describe how I feel...empty. Hollow.

People tell me I'm a great person all the time...I'm not bragging, either, because I don't believe in it. I just know that people tell me all the time that I'm awesome, or that I'm a great person.

I have to stop myself from just staring at these people incredulously and ask “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Confidence in one self...believing in one self...they are both important things for surviving in this world. Then why do I lack it, and yet still live? I always tell people they have to believe in themselves, before they can believe in anything else. Perhaps that is why I don't believe in anything anymore.

I really just feel that empty, that numb. And I don't even know what caused it. I can't remember the last time I was really happy. I mean...really, truly content. I don't think I'm meant to be content.

You know when somebody anesthetizes you for a shot? Or maybe when a dentist numbs up your mouth for, perhaps, a root canal? It's just like that. You know it's still there. You know that you're still whole. But you can't feel it, and the only reminder you have is when you feel it with part of you that is not numb, or see yourself in the mirror. But you can't touch your own soul. You can't see your own soul. So how am I to know that it's still there?

There's other people in my life. Close friends. Friends who, maybe once upon a time, I'd hoped to get closer to. Friends who I no longer talk to, or even see, due to the circumstance of my life. Friends who I talk to almost daily. And I don't feel very close to any of them, however it may seem. I feel distant from the people around me, as though I'm not even here.

I don't even care for my family anymore. I seek to get away from them. The only goal I can visualize in my life is to leave my family and get back to surviving on my own.

And yet I don't want to be alone. That is the one thing for sure, out of all this confusion in my head. I can't stand the idea. I'm a solitary kind of person, and yet I don't want to be alone. Quite the paradox, I'm sure you are thinking, but that's the way of things. I could even claim that I'm afraid of being alone, these days.

But at least if I could get away from my family, survive off my own hard work, then I would have less conflict and less stress in my life. Even if only a small amount.

But then what? Am I just surviving to keep surviving? I don't want to end my life, far from it. I couldn't imagine doing such a thing. But what's the point in living just to keep living?

I've made it this long in life because I've always had some sort of purpose, some far-distant goal in reach, hoping that everything goes right. But I've lost my purpose, and everything went wrong. So what am I supposed to do?

I thought I could live on by living for another, giving my all to make the people I care about happier, make their lives less stressful. It worked for a while, but things continue to fall apart. Things just get worse, no matter what I do. So what am I supposed to live for? What is my purpose supposed to be?

And as much as I try to be unselfish, I still want other people to give their all for me as well. Over time I feel bitter about my so-called “friends” because for all the times I share with them, I still see them being self-centered, asking for more and giving little to nothing in return. It's hard to be selfless when you feel so embittered by the truth.

Perhaps I'm too much of an idealist, to want to have a purpose in life. I read much fiction, of all sorts. And always the characters have a purpose. But what sort of purpose can I have in this world, lacking such wonder and amazing things? There is no adventuring in the way that I crave. There is no magic, nothing to set me above being a normal every day human being. No special power. I'm just human, with my own flesh and bones to apply to the world.

Is that why I feel the way I do? I don't feel special? I can't even begin to fathom if that is the reason.

Everybody is the protagonist of their life...but don't protagonists have goals? Through all their character flaws, and their bumbling, they're supposed to find something good, something worth finding. What have I found? Nothing but pain, heartache, and loneliness. Nothing but failure.

I am still young, this is true. But it seems I am not so determined a person as I had once believed. What is supposed to keep me going? Hope itself? I've lost such a feeling.

It seems I have made friends who pray for me, who care for me, and genuinely wish good things on me. I don't feel I deserve such friends. Is it that these friends are supposed to keep me going?

How can that be the case, if I feel I don't deserve such treatment?

How can I find my hope once more? I've hoped, and hoped, and hoped...from one thing to the next. I've been through many hopes in my life, and I think I've spent all my hope. A man can only be beaten down so much before he loses sight of why he should get up.

I love heroics. Anytime I watch a movie, or play a game, or read a book, where somebody gets all heroic...you might catch me tearing up, as though I just saw the most beautiful thing in the world. I crave such things in life. I want to be the hero. But why can't I hold true to such heroics?

Heroes never give up. Heroes keep on going, against all odds, because they believe in their cause. Because people believe in them. Because if they just give up, they would be nothing.

Thus why I feel like nothing. I feel like the heroic adventurer who has been battling through hordes of undead minions...and now stops in the battle to wonder if there's an end. If the goal is even attainable. One who has forgotten the goal, and now knows only the fighting.