Random

To some I might seem an example of a coldhearted selfish bitch. But what looks on the surface as an indifference is a sign for pain underneath. I’m indifferent when I have been hurt. My denial is a primal reaction and my isolation is nothing but a self defense.

Thoughts stumble into my mind like caged animals. I feel hunger for life that goes unsatisfied and drives me insane.

Everything has gone to hell; everything. You’d think I’d know better by now, well at least I’ve thought /hoped but I’ve been wrong. I’m doing the same mistakes I’ve done in the past with the one difference they’re inexcusable now; I have a pathetically low level of self esteem though I have much more reasons to be proud of myself now; I feel insecure to the extend of panic. The most terrifying to me of everything is that there is no one I could talk to freely and openly about it. I’m not even “crawling on the ground”; it feels like being imprisoned for life in a dungeon with no hope to see sunlight again.

People are strange creatures. Sometimes they make me laugh, most of the time they scare me. I simply don’t get them and for that reason probably I don’t feel as one with them. People. I live because of them and they are the ones I’m most disappointed of. People seem so shallow. Worse; I can’t console myself it is a product of my imagination; I am convinced they are shallow. I listen to them talking: about clothes, bags, shoes, make up, perfumes, men and how nasty men are (women) and cars, watches, gadgets, clothes, getting drunk, women and how nasty women are (men). Isn’t there anything else you could possibly care to talk about you mindless idiots? Is that what life is all about? Why bother to breathe at all then? If they have any dreams at all they’re about having more money to buy more stuff, more and more and MORE until they would bury themselves underneath. Why bother rescue them if that is all they want? “You have a voice-use it”. What difference would your (mine) voice no matter how loud it was make if you’re surrounded by deaf? You have a voice…yeah, right.

But then again who am I to judge people? No one. That is why my accusations are not spoken but written. Who am I to tell what should people do with their time on Earth? Certainly not me-the one that’s most fucked up of all I know.

I wrote that yesterday while sitting in Coffee Heaven taking sips of my Macchiato watching outside the window. I was thinking: “Why such bitterness on such a lovely day? The sun is shining brightly (too brightly perhaps), the city is dressed up in fresh green but that carefree view works as an insult to my restless mind. I need storms, cloudy skies and winds to cover up for my frowning face and if someone asks what’s with my mood to say: The shitty weather ruined it!”.

Later I caught my reflection in a shop window and thought: “Are you mad?! Look at you-you’re young (relatively), you’re pretty (more or less), you’re smart (occasionally); what the fuck is your problem?”
Yeah, I’d like to know too.