|Subject||This IS [deadname], you know that?|
|DateCreated||10/9/2007 7:39:00 PM|
|PostedDate||10/9/2007 7:19:00 PM|
|Body||But what does that even mean?
I'm not really specifically anything. If I'm anything, it's inbetween.
I don't know why, but I just always have the urge to BE something. Just one thing. Something to define me. I've always wanted to define myself. I just want to be absolute. If I do something, I want it to be complete, and completely me. But I can't. I can't do that with anything. And if I'm inbetween so many things, I might as well be nothing.
And to other people, I don't know what I am. I'm sort of inbetween a person and a friend. To most people I accept that I am completely worthless. And everything that they have ever said in my direction, probably wouldn't affect their lives if it were gone. I'm not a necesity. And I suppose nobody is. But I want to make an impact, and I seldom do.
And when I do, it's never what I want it to be.
No, I am not completely, absolutely me.No, I am nothing but inbetween. I drift and I settle and I drift again. I go through things looking for something to define me. I am temporary. But in my eyes, nobody else is. I only seem to judge myself.
Maybe that's why I've always found a need to live my life bound to other people.
Living through parents, siblings, lovers. Life isn't the same, and you aren't you unless someone can be themselves and make their life with you beside. But why the hell would I ever think that? Why can't I just live alone? No one will ever give me that, no one can be THEMSELVES, THEMSELVES COMPLETELY. And if I have to find myself within someone, is it really ever me? And if not, if talents, if expression, if love doesn't define a person, than what does? Is there even a me? Have I just created another thin illusion through which I'm writing this journal, for God knows why?
Where in the fucking world did I go wrong?
So what do I do? Do I isolate myself from people all together, decide that is the only way to be myself?
Do I foolishly cling to the idea that by finding love, I can find myself and be truly happy?
Or do I accept the fact that I can never be who I want, and have what I want, and simply live life as a half empty shell, never involved, but never alone?
None of those answers work.
None of this makes sense.
No one wants to know this.