Breathing feels like beathing for two.

Warning: Verbose, melancholy rant.

I'm a fallen creature. Sometimes I wish that the next day would be different. That I'll have different classes, that I'll just be stuck in someone else's life. Because I'm sure that I can do better with anyone else's but mine. And all these conflicting feelings...and all this anger...and I get caught staring at the floor, mind stuck on the floor...and damn nearing tears already in sixth period. I feel somehow wronged. I feel like I deserve to be happy too like every other sixteen-year-old/seventeen-year-old out there, and around me. To be perfectly honest, I'm not that happy. I'm not happy. And I feel like screaming it out, because it feels like I'm always looking forward to something else, but when that something else comes, its hollow. And I'm afraid that one day, I'll get tired of looking for something to look forward to, and I'll end it. Just end it. Because I honestly see it in my future. Because all I think about is the future. And the past. And I don't live for now. I don't live for now. I have never said, "This was a good year." Because I don't think I've enjoyed anything in this life. Except for a few things. And today I was thinking about how people say that life is just a series of good moments. And I thought how bad I am wasting this. Because what good moments? I don't even have a moment. Because I only feel good when I look back. It feels like a waste...a fat waste. I'm a waste of air and space and resources and food when others have none. When others have nothing. I have everything, and still...I find no satisfaction. And I hate myself for that. Because everytime...And this is not for anyone to read. This is not for anyone to read and then hate me for it. Hate me because I'm ranting and I'm acting self-concerned, because it is my blog after all and I'm allowed to think about my own welfare, aren't I? Maybe I belong alone. Because sometimes I think about how different it would all be...and how weird it would be...how great it would be. And I know that maybe my friends are reading this right now and maybe they're feeling hurt that sometimes I want to feel alone, and I don't understand myself either, so don't be mad. Because I'm fucked up. And I've always been a little fucked up and too pensive, and I'm fucking tired of it myself. I'm tired of myself. period. Because I honestly don't know where I belong. And don't feel sorry for me either, although I know you're not. Because I'm definitely wonder if I'll ever find what I'm looking for. If I'll ever enjoy the moment. Because what do I enjoy now? It all has something to do with being alone. I see myself alone in the future. And not that it isn't scary, but its a little comforting. Because I can't see myself depending other people's opinions of me to lift me up and validate my existence. And I'm this big melancholy shit. This is a horrible way to live. It is horrible to live. Always looking forward and backward, and never knowing where you are. Because I remember what's past as something beautiful and gone. And I always see the future as something better. Better. And then the future becomes the present, and it feels the same and I'm looking forward again...trying to feel something. I can't feel! I fucking can't. And I don't know why I try. Because others are watching. The only things that count are the things you do when others aren't watching. Hah. Got that from the Spanish story. What do I do? I watch movies. I read books. I write in my journal. and everything just seems fucking pointless. Because I'm not out there. I'm not your normal sixteen-year-old enjoying adolesence. I'm disappointed in the lack of happiness I've found at this point. What the hell is up with me? What should I do? Because the fakes are eating me alive. And I've got a bad case. I'll never know and I can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel i can't feel. and I guess all I want is for someone to come up to me for real and tell me that this isn't just me. That I'm not the only one who isn't living. Because I feel dead inside. And it feels like I'm on the verge of what I really mean, but I'm just a coward to really say it. Or I don't know at all. (and the uncertainty doesn't have anything to do with sexual orientation for all you shitholes thinking that right now). Fuck. What is the point...when all i need to do...all i have to do...is something so simple...and its hovering over my head...and its hovered...but i'm waiting. For that perfect moment. That catalyst to speed it up. And I can't find it now. But I'm putting faith that I will find it. And I hope I'm right. Because no one should always be looking for something. Because its a self-inflicted torture. I hate myself. I hate the world. I hate time. I hate school. I hate that I have nothing to plunge my head in and busy myself with and all I can do is think about all this at night when I'm about to go to sleep and then I have this feeling in my chest and then I wonder what it is and then I realize it is just what happens before you start to cry. I hate tears. And this heavy breathing...I hate that too.