Writing Myself Into Rust

If you allow something so unnecessary
get you down there’s no one else to blame

I need something stronger
something extra strength

I’ve millions of materials to trade
if you could offer only love
you’d be like a god to us
like a drug dealer
all sold out of trust
but you threw it all away

I used to mind that everyone I know seems to hate themselves
but I do it as well

we need something stronger
something extra strength

In an attempt to 1. procrastinate and 2. clean up my computer, I decided to re-organize my files and delete irrelevant files. From Monday to today I’ve been in a pretty bad mood. Resigned to failure (as I mentioned in my previous entry), etc. But I found a file on my computer labeled, “turningpoint.html” and naturally, I was inclined to open it. 10/15/2004:

t ea r s of ei r: I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m not feeling happy now.
Tenor player: That’s too bad something the matter?
t ea r s of ei r: Yeah … somewhat.
Tenor player: That blows, you could always blow it off or just talk about it to whoever sometimes that helps
t ea r s of ei r: I could talk about it with you but not like you’d give a shit.
t ea r s of ei r: And I don’t blow things off.
Tenor player 973: K, well if you want to talk just go right ahead
t ea r s of ei r: And you’ll listen w/o insulting me?
Tenor player: If you wish, besides I think I won’t be insulting you as much from now on
t ea r s of ei r: Why would that be, hm?
Tenor player: A question of mine has been answered with such a little sliver of doubt that I don’t doubt the answer. Anyway continue with your troubles if you are so inclined

For the longest time my AIM saved conversations (as I am frightfully forgetful, and were there for reference). After re-reading the conversation I realized that very rarely was I able to ~talk~ about anything because everyone assumes I’m normal/happy/composed. As I’ve gotten older, that’s less true. People in the real world understand that real people have real problems, they’re just not blatantly out in the open. Or maybe people still think I’m the perfect picture of togetherness, who knows.

Anyway, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders now. I got a very uncomfortable feeling reading the conversation… for one, the problem that was bothering me then is now solved, sort of… after a gazillion years, but then there is this sad realization that from 2004 to 2010 I still can’t talk about my problems (oh I wonder why!). Yet, something about the conversation making me uncomfortable made me realize that I don’t need to share my feelings to feel better (because it makes me uncomfortable). So the solution to my current talk-phobia isn’t finding someone that cares, which is a relief, because that’s one tough to find solution. Hence, why I feel lighter, happier. Another solution must be out there.

Somehow, I doubt any of this makes sense. It almost seems counter-productive to regress into a shell. But I don’t think that’s what has happened here today.

Happiness is boring. Depression is catastrophic.

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