Hello anonymous.
I don’t know what to tell someone who has hidden their identity. Then again I never really know what to tell anyone. If you are still interested in my writing for whatever reason, I do have something else besides Tumblr (The only reason I checked this was I looked in my spam folder on Gmail). Let’s be strangers.
I’m sure you can find many other cynical introverts that enjoy preaching ideals and absolutes to anyone who will listen.
If you want to talk, you know where to find me. Facebook, Gmail, whatever you prefer. Quickest way to get me talking is by saying one word.
“Hi”
My life is saturated with pretenses.
I invent excuses to spend time with friends. I invent excuses to speak with those I care about. I invent excuses to write.
Tumblr is a way to express my opinions. But it is edited, refined, and altered. I want a bit more ugliness, a bit more truth.
I wrote for myself. I wrote for garnering respect from peers. I wrote for a plea for attention.
The truth is I am addicted to having existential crises, but moreso, discussing those issues with trusted people. I’m not deeming that as a good or bad thing, but I realize now that I probably shouldn’t cheapen my own emotional growth by whoring myself out for red hearts next to my posts.
I think now I’ll just write to write. No points, no validation, no reblogs. I’ll still seek social acknowledgment and respect, but in a different medium.
I still think Tumblr is a fine medium for writing, but more importantly, introspection. I have just decided to partake in it less. In due time I’ll probably stop altogether. Additionally, I am fully aware of the irony of posting about posting less (akin to LAST POST EVER GUIZ TELL ME TO NOT LEAVE AND MAKE ME FEEL IMPORTANT).
It’s been a damn good year.
Thanks for listening.
I don’t miss people.
You can’t miss someone that has never left. Those that truly matter to us are already internalized. Their perspectives, personalities, and experiences are as much a part of you as they are of them. You don’t need the external stiumuli of a person anymore, they have already forced you to question, to wonder, to learn. For a time they were physically there in your world, but those that are important exist permanently in your life. We talked with them to understand ourselves and become aware. We opened up ourselves and tore away those very parts of ourselves. Once we’ve done that, these persons are a part of you, because you’ve internalized them. A person makes you reevaluate your existence. A verb makes you feel less alone.
The act of missing something is synonymous to craving a function. But people aren’t functions.
You miss people because in a moment of loneliness, you crave a function. It could be bitching, dancing, singing, or kissing. The problem is that anyone could fill those verbs. Sure it might not be the exact same, but some verb, not someone fills that void. And after a while, you forget your loneliness. They were replaced. A function was transferred.
A function is not internalized. A person is.
Those that matter aren’t verbs. They aren’t people you “do” things with. They aren’t replaceable and they aren’t external. You cannot miss someone who is a part of you. They’re still here.
So from a thousand miles away, I will not miss you. You’ve made me happy.
Thank you.
Hate is love.
I personally don’t find much true difference between the two. Love or hate, both are declarations of being important enough to matter. There is nothing wrong with a love-hate relationship, or even particularly strange. They are still based on intense feelings toward one another. I use the term relationship loosely, as a relationship exists between good friends, lovers, or acquaintances.
The closest thing I have to hate is my feelings towards Ryan Chow. A man who pisses me off to no end. A man who is my de facto enemy. A man who is superior. A man who is my best friend.
I think he is a bastard, I think he is exemplar. I think he is a generic being, I think he is a champion. I think he is a tragedy, I think he is the greatest man I know. But I still think about him.
It doesn’t matter what you think, only if you think.
Make me important enough to hate
Depression is anger channeled into nothingness. A way to deal with emotions by not dealing with them whatsoever. No pain, no anguish, no torment. But no solace.
It is very possible to shut out everything. But then you will never feel the unexpected joy of a cool summer breeze once again. Something unearned, something unplanned. But something beautiful.
If you’re mad, you can make change. If you’re pissed, you can start anew. If you’re enraged, you can declare “never again.” Unbridled rage can be the greatest motivation. It’s better than the alternative.
“Because nothing hurts like nothing at all.”
And we fell back into it.
Like a dream.
Or a fever.
Boring is the ugliest thing you could ever call somebody.
Boring means that the sum of their life, experiences, perspectives, love, and pain is not worth enough to hold your attention.
Call me a bastard, I’d agree. Call me an idiot, I’d understand your point of view. Call me boring, I’d be disappointed.
Boredom is the saddest thing.
