The Product of an Upfall

Dear Diary, Nov. 2016, 

Laying on the floor isn’t always bad when you’re laying there with your best friend. Mindlessly laughing at nothing when just out the window you can see the faint tint of a lighter blue and orange. At this moment you start to realize this is what life is about. To just uncontrollably laugh with your best friend because you’re best friends and that’s just what you do. To look at them right in the eyes and know that this person is your soulmate. Platonic or not, they are your soulmate. You love them and will continue to love them just because they were able to make you happy for a portion of your life. You can turn to them and say anything and they would know exactly what you mean because they are your best friend. They are your soulmate. Nothing  can change the eternal bond the two of you will share for the rest of your lives. whether you stop being friends or end up married, you will continue to share the bond that was once the only thing that truly mattered. 

It is  in these moments when you share your deepest secrets and weird habits. You tell each other what you love and what you hate. There will come a time where you  don’t even need to tell them certain things because the little piece of their brain that is connected to yours will have already shared the information. Sometimes you will laugh together. sometimes you will cry together. You will share feelings about things. you will obsess over similar things and talk about those things for hours. You will share life experiences with them. 

They will mean everything to you.

You will mean everything to them. 

But, my dear diary,  nothing lasts forever. 

-

Dear Diary, Jan. 2017,  

my mind is never not racing. all kinds of thoughts flowing through it nonstop. it’s almost enough to drive a person mad. or maybe this is just normal and I’m too weak to handle this. its 2:19am. i have school tomorrow but i don’t really have school tomorrow. its crazy how much you can hate something but the minute its taken away from you, you miss it almost more than ever. why do our brains work like that. its like that with all things as well. no matter how miserable that thing is, you miss it at least a little when its gone. even depressed people miss their depression when they’re happy. its almost comical. 

why do feelings feel so awful. why do i feel feelings for people who don’t feel the same feelings. why do feelings fuck us over like that. 

why do we lie about things to other people when we know those things aren’t true. we know it as we say it. but we still continue to lie, then make a story out of it. 

why do people like to destroy their home. even if they are told the home they are given will most likely never be replaced, they still don’t take care of it like they should. 

why do people in higher up places love rules so much, but never follow their own. why do they think just because they are placed higher in society they have the right to control everyone else but not play fair. 

why is the world not fair. why do people hate the concept of equality so much. even people who are put down by the majority don’t fully support equality. 

If war is started by simple misunderstandings, why do humans have such a pattern of not listening to each other. why don’t we respect each others opinions. we all want to live longer, better lives, but we destroy that possibility by disrespecting other cultures and viewpoints. maybe if we listened more instead of just plugging our ears and pointing fingers maybe the world would be a better place. 

Every free country on the planet fought to be free. but why would we fight to be free just to turn around and fight to conquer. 

-

Dear Diary, Jan. 2018, 

drugs don’t give a shit what color your skin is. it’ll drag you through hell and back until you don’t have anymore functioning brain cells. these drugs are everywhere. worldwide. they don’t care if you’re blacker than the night sky or a pale rich asshole. you could be living in bum-fucked-egypt or on the highest floor of a skyscraper in Shanghai. cheap drugs, rich drugs, suburban drugs, hood drugs, its all the same shit with a different name. they don’t fucking stop till everyone looks the same on the inside. burnt up and fucking dead. 

we live in a society so fucking divided we argue about who produces the most or the best drugs when we should be coming together to find a better way to keep all economies stable enough to not have to rely on drug sale. everyone thinks its a fucking joke but people are dying every fucking day. Everyone left and right overdosing on the new biggest thing.

don’t get me wrong, drugs are great. they make you feel great. but maybe if we made the world less shitty to live in people wouldn’t be turning to things like drugs to take them out of reality. 

maybe i’ll try to get another journal in before a year passes again. 

-

Dear Diary, Nov. 2018, 

saturday after thanksgiving (24th) of 2018. 

this was the year that i learned that i should do things only for myself. i spent weeks working out and dieting so i would be in shape enough for my cousins not to make fun of my weight but it didn’t matter because they still found something. they always do. even my adult cousins and aunts and uncles found something this year too. apparently i’ve been labeled an alcoholic or a druggie or whatever else they think i am. they think I’m a bad influence on their kids (my cousins). they didn’t care that i’m doing well in school or keep a stable mindset or write or work out. they didn’t care about the good things that i do because they’ve seen me at my worst and think thats all i am. 

it made me wonder if it really is all i am. last year i was blackout drunk all the time. this year i didn’t touch a fucking drop. i haven’t drank in months. but they don’t care. 

this year i smoked more days in a row than i ever have, but only after i found out they didn’t care about how clean i was. maybe the two things aren’t correlated, but i think they are. i didn’t want to smoke that much. not really. but a part of did. they said all of what they said and, for some reason, instead of proving them wrong, i thought fuck you and proved them right. if they don’t want me around, i won’t be sober enough to hear it. and i don’t fucking care. 

-

Dear Diary (I wish your eyes belonged to someone else), May 2019, 

My whole attitude changes when I’m with you. I don’t know how, but it does. I try to make every piece of me more noticeable, because when I’m with you I don’t care what you know about me. All I want is for you to know me. When I’m with you, I amplify the parts of me that are bad because I’m accustomed to having partners who romanticize being fuck up. All I’ve known is to act like your heart is misplaced and the rest will fall in line. Even though, when I’m with you, I feel better than I’ve ever felt.

         Maybe I shouldn’t put all the blame on you­­­–regardless it being positive. I have to take responsibility for my own feelings, but it’s hard when I let you control me without you even knowing. In my head, I’ve given you everything. But the daydreams have trouble translating. You have more power over me than you will ever know. I would drop anything for you, or at least try to. I’m wrapped around your finger but I’m invisible to your eye.

         Sometimes, you make me forget how much I hate being alive. On those days that we spend aimlessly driving, making plans as we go, it reminds me that I’m just going through the motions of life but they can sometimes be good. When I’m alone I don’t have that. I wish I could use you all the time.

         Part of me hates how much I’ve let you affect me. Because, in my heart of hearts, I know this is all in my head so why can’t I move on. Why am I still stuck trying to grab your attention? Why do I try so hard to initiate a relationship that I know could never exist? Am I stupid for holding onto some broken hope? Am I crazy for letting it drive me?

         I know I’m crazy for being so dramatic, but I’m overemotional and can’t help it.

-

Dear Diary, Feb. 2020, 

I am fucked up. Not on drugs. I haven’t been drinking. But I wish I had been. It’s easier to feel less fucked up when you are fucked up. 

Why is it so hard to love the people who love you yet so easy to love the people who don’t? Its not fair to the people who do love you, but without the people there to not love them back there would be no cycle of unrequited love. 

Do you ever walk without your legs? Like you body is moving but it’s not your body and your everything else is either absent or just idle. I don’t know. 

I’ve spent so much time trying to narrow down what it is that’s wrong with me, but honestly, what if I’m just normal? What if everything I feel is normal and I just have a low tolerance for life? What if I’m just a weak ass bitch who can’t take a hit? Maybe that’s true. I mean, to some extent I know it is true. Maybe I just wish things were easier for everyone. But if everything were easy, I think we’d all be supreme assholes. And for that, I’m glad everything is not easy. 

But I do wonder when god will decide I’ve had enough. Maybe this is all just god’s way of telling me I shouldn’t have been such a fucking piece of shit. I should’ve prayed more, I guess. Instead, I pray to myself because that’s all that really matters. I’m the one who is actually here, not god. If god was here, maybe he’d pray to me, too. I might deserve it just a bit. He’d pray to me and everyone else who has had the shittiest hands dealt in this godforsaken world. 

All lives are shitty, I think. What if no one is happy? It’s so easy to feel happiness but does that mean you're happy or does it mean you can feel? Maybe we’re all just empty. That would make sense. If we were all empty that would explain why we change so rapidly. We can’t even control when we change, it’s just something that happens. If we weren’t empty, could we control the changes? Some people think they are in control, but that’s only when they are feeling something they don’t think they need to be in control of. 

If any of that even makes sense. It probably won’t later. None of my thoughts make sense later. I’m not upset about anything that I think, though, even if it doesn’t make sense. It is just my brain. My thoughts will come whether I want them to or not. So, I think it’s probably best to try to make the most sense of them, or at least some of them. Not even to really make sense of them specifically, but just to organize them into the sensible and insensible categories. I just need to come to terms with the fact that my brain is mine whether or not I control it and that it is the one I will be consciously stuck with until the day I die. Which is fine. It really is fine. I don’t even know what goes on in other people’s minds but I’m sure as hell it’s not near as interesting as what goes through mine. 

-

Dear Diary, April 3, 2020, 

I am the same person, yet in a different form. I have seen both sides of every coin, but now I reside on the third side of those coins. I am stuck in the middle of who I used to be and who I am trying to become. I am both trying and failing while fighting and running. I am still while stuck in perpetual motion. But fuck it, that’s life.