Solitude is my friend.

I think that if I display too much emotion within the words that I type up, I become lost within my own thoughts and just start sporadically going off on numerous tangents out of pure impulse. Yet here I am, allowing myself to do such a thing, and knowing full well where it's going to lead.

Today I find myself heartbroken. Not to exaggerate my definition, but I feel trampled on. I feel that part of me is giving up in its struggle, and can no longer withstand the burden it carries. It seems every five minutes, that stab of pain pierces my chest and drills clean through my heart and all I can do is cry in anguish and wait for the pain to subside by strumming on the guitar, singing stupid songs that only remind me of why it hurts. Yeah. That's how deep I'm in. My supposed talents have turned against me and made me bitter, and now I hate all of them. Even as I weave together this eloquent vocabulary, I am reminded. With every letter that goes down, I am aware. And now what am I?

Because of my aimless pursuit, I am left haggard and defeated at the very root of my own being. I hate myself. I hate my voice. I hate my vernacular. I hate that stupid fucking guitar. Everything that once made me proud to be myself now only makes me want to extinguish it. And yet I can't, because I'd be letting go of something that's a part of me. And I hate myself because of that. I wish, so much, that I was born deaf dumb and blind. Then I wouldn't care so much about it. But that chance has passed. And I am backed into a corner that I cannot escape.

Plus, I sound like a fag. Like a stupid fucking fagget retard letting his feelings get the best of him. I don't display emotions physically. I'm good at that. However, sitting behind a computer screen, and putting down the words, even though I am exposed and whoever reads this shit knows it's me, I can do it. Because behind the keyboard, I'm no longer a coward. Take it away and I'm a fucking pussy. And all I want is to let it out, because I have no other solace. I can just let the ideas flow from my mind with an abandon like I could never have in reality.

And yet I'm still sad. Still unwell. I've been reading Eragon. If you know what that is, then great, if you don't, let me tell you about it, because I think it's a coincidence I decided to read it again. Eragon is a human kid, and he's totally into this elf girl, but she isn't digging him at all. And she straight up tells him, "We aren't meant to be together" and that shit was like a blow to the top of his skull with a bowling ball. I don't know how that would make me feel.

Oh wait. Yeah I do.

Hah. Like this elf girl (her name is Arya), is hella stuck up and shit. Eragon is the coolest guy ever. He's a dragon rider, he's good at sword fighting, he's good at magic. Dude, she just totally doesn't like him because he doesn't look as good as an elf.

And now when I reread that, I think I'm hella funny. But it's TRUE. She's shallow. Arya is a shallow bitch that is racist against humans. She just thinks she's better than Eragon. But y'know, Eragon's a big 'ole whiny baby. He thinks Arya is totally worth it. Like, he totally thinks Arya is the shit, and she's perfect, and there's nobody else. Believe me, he's tried looking at the other girls, but he's just totally taken by Arya, no matter what.

And all he wants to do is tell Arya all of it. How amazing she is, how beautiful she is, how no one could ever give her everything she deserved no matter how hard they tried, and given the chance, Eragon would do everything in his power to make her happy because he knows what she's worth and he's willing to sacrifice his life to make sure that he is good enough to be with somebody like that, and even though she doesn't think so, he knows so, and even God tells him that it's true when he prays about her. And because of her, he prays the rosary every single day. And because of her, he started writing again. And because of her, he feels like he's actually needed in the world. He feels like somebody. And yet she causes him so much grief. Too much grief. He's ready to let it all go. Forget all of that devotion crap and just sleep and become a hermit in the mountains with his books and his own mind where he can grow jaded and unpleasant.

Ok, that's not exactly how the story goes. Eragon actually does eventually look like an elf, and Arya still rejects him. And I don't think Eragon believes in God or praying the rosary. But by now, you've probably guessed I wasn't talking about Eragon or Arya.

And now all I have is self-loathing. Yeah. I'm just gonna go die somewhere in peace.