I"m not sure I have a point but I feel like talking a lot soo...
I"m uncomfortable about something going on in my life but I can't decide what it is. I't's just making me feel restless, dissatisfied, and lacking. Something about me? I know, I am unhappy with my life. I need to get away. What have you. But I've tried that. The problem is I take me wherever I go.
It's faith. In what? God? Spirituality? Being "good?" It's not wanting to be responsible for other people's doubts, and not wanting to participate in any forum that admits that I just don't know. I just don't know. I don't know and I doubt every. thing. Which is okay, I've said that before. It's okay not to know. But I used to know. I never doubted. I had faith. and it defined a me. It's hard to let go of something that helped me be me for so long. But I've let go enough to know I have to decide. If I don't I'll fall off one way or the other. but what if that's not it?
I's love. It's being in love with the wrong people. Trying to replace them with wronger people. Substitute wrong people. Then substituting those people. Then not even pretending I love any people. It's being so alone in my own self doubt that I don't know if I understand what it is to care about it. It being you, him, her, anyone. I care, but only about the people who need me. If they don't need me then they're just people to react to. Can you get to a place where you just don't connect to anyone. Where you live in your head so long that you can't imagine that anyone else can see you anymore? I don't feel like a person, so I don't act like one. This is too vague, it might not be this.
It's only crying when other people are feeling real emotions. A boy reads a poem with his hidden pain and I'm sitting there crying and wondering why. Why am I crying right now? I don't even know what this poem is about. I'm probably crazy. Then he explains that it was about his friends death, and he starts crying so I understand that. It's staring at a woman who publishes books by authors, poets, artists, who are trying to capture something and suddenly tearing up with anxiety. Like I can feel that she knows, and her author knows they aren't accomplishing anything. None of that is real though.
eh whatever I feel better now. Still don't know what it is though.
