Heart of Stone Eyes of the sun

 It's 8:14pm. Right now, nothing seems interesting. I am an uninteresting guy. Lately I feel like most of the things I've been doing show no promise. In that way, everything seems useless. What am I to do with this? Am I supposed to figure out why this is? I think it's my brain's way of telling me I'm supposed to be working on my passion, my true passion. I'm supposed to be writing. The days drag on, but they go so quickly. Already it's been 10 years since being 17. I'm 27 now, and in this time usually people have full careers, children, or are becoming who they are truly meant to become. I have none of those things, I feel as if I was cursed to die at a younger age. Now, I sit here rotting in my cage of flesh, preparing to lose my mind, numbing myself with alcohol until I realize that I am in fact a walking disease. Nothing will save me from myself, I have to crawl out from the depths of hell biting through mountains of teeth and skin to salvation. I will be saved and I will do it myself.

Sex

 Right now it's 7:38pm. I'm sitting here in complete and utter distress, yet again my brain refuses to let me ponder meaningless interests or ambition from the standpoint of my fellow man. It's been reiterated more than once, that I am an asexual. I have always had a disinterest in sex, and all associated feelings with this. Romance could only be felt through observation for me, never felt it firsthand. I numbed myself to a point in which romance could never be in my life. At the same time, I didn't feel upset about it, the only thing that upsets me about this is the rest of my being. I believed and still do believe I must be unwell, or too messed up to ever even consider love. The fact that sex is such an integral part of our society is upsetting to say the least. Disgust, anger and sadness, those are the feelings I attribute to sex. It is disgust because of the act itself, genitalia, something we all hide as to not bother others with it's disgusting presence. Anger because of my own personal incorrectness, my own inadequacies. Sadness because of my irritable nature, my ugly and frankly unnatural demeanor. I keep asking myself WHY why do people find sex such an important part of love? Then I remember I am not normal, I am not like they, why do I keep trying to force myself to be like them? Sex is important because it shows them gratitude, it shows interest, it shows that they are beauty incarnate. Sex is integral for them. Not for us, though, not for us. 

Where

 It's currently 12:48am. I want to talk about my recent thoughts. Lately, I have been noticing my insecurities more often. More often than not, I find myself enthralled with fantasy in romance. I long for someone to love, and to be loved intensely, completely. I stab myself in my stomach though, consistently. It would be a horror to let my significant other look at my organs. I like to push friendships away, it seems. I know deep down I have a significant disinterest in companionship. For many reasons, I like to show love in small bursts and leave. I enjoy the distance, I enjoy being 'free' from the cage of love. Many days I mull in loneliness. Many days I cannot find the tears to cry. I simply wallow in my sadness until it passes. I am coming more to terms that I as a person simply cannot ever truly love. It does not cause me much distress to know I will die alone. It does not mean that I do not feel this empty hole in my chest though, and the times that it does come around it's unbearable, like I'm falling eternally in a void of darkness. Even in friendships, I cannot entirely be close with my friends. From everyone in my life, I feel the closest and more open with the two friends I have. I have shared my deepest and most troubling thoughts with them. I will never truly be open with anyone, lest it be myself. These pages, granted, digital, I find myself as open as I could ever be, yet I hold back. I'm starting to think the intimacy I want is only in my head, and imagination of intimacy is what I'm mimicking in reality.