Here I am

 It's 12:23am. I put off writing for a while now, I always feel weird typing, or expressing myself now. It's strange to be sober and write as if I can do it well enough without substances. I guess I'm very unimpressed by myself. The way I do things, it's very wishy washy. Inconsistent. Like this entire post. Anyways, I recently went to Boundary Dam in Washington near the border, it was nice I wrote a few things so I'm going to post them.

I made it to the dam. I keep thinking though, what it all meant. To be here the long trek across Idaho, just for a mediocre and underwhelming reward. I think about it frequently, the boredom. In solitude, I find myself overwhelmingly bored, and unsatisfied. In socializing I get the positive emotions associated with it, the joy in every interaction, the laughter you might get but it always feels like it's missing something, something solitude could fix. In the end, solitude is the only thing I could ever fathom to give myself to. It's peaceful, to be at the brink, to have very little and not need others, but nonetheless it brings boredom. 

Here's a few pictures I took during the long drive. There's a few more on my instagram too.

Well aware

 It's currently 2:35am. I decided to write this in midst of my trip. My thoughts keep racing, and I feel so good? Good. I feel so tortured daily, day in and day out the monotony of life. The constant upkeep of social life. Nowadays I feel enamored by the allure of you, of solitude. I try the ebb of socialization, of the need of constant admiration or love of connecting. Yet I come face to face with my end game, the realization of how damaged, how rotten I am. I do not DESERVE love. I DESERVE to suffer, to feel pain and torture. It is my curse to bear. Humanity is not something I wish to connect with. People are much too selfish, evil, and diseased. No more, I cry for release. The release I get is in solitude, for my adoration of the alone. No more I will desire, to connect I reject them. I reject their attempts, I am alone in my desires. In my solitude. I will love no other! I will love you, my solitude. 

Unsure

 It's 11:35pm. I haven't written in a while, my friend. I feel as if I've missed you. Like listening to a faded whisper. The ocean divides us, and yet I can hear your soft voice. I've been in reality more, and less in my own head. I will admit, it has made me question what I am. Where I lie, whether it be in this solitude and daydream, or is it with the connections I've made? I know that when I am with others, no matter how much fun and life they bring me, I cannot fully let them see me. I can show them the face I've built. The mask that I've woven through years of analysis. Who is Brian? Who is the person I see in the mirror? For the longest time I've seen a stranger. I've been speaking to a friend recently, I've asked them who they are, but they meet me with questions about themselves. They themselves know not who they are. I empathize greatly. I feel for them, I feel that they deserve to learn about what they want, who they wish to be. The world is so much bigger than what they've thrown themselves in. Life is experienced so intensely, it's vastness not limited to emotion. I wish all my friends get to live, at least for the time they have left. For me though, I feel as if I am an alien amongst man, a misaligned speck. I am wrong, and I will never be corrected. It is my disease, my curse. 

Nevertheless Alone

 It's 11:48pm. Tonight I feel drunk again on my emotions. Again I find myself distraught and tossed across my room. I have felt somewhat sad as of late, missing my first loves. It's interesting to view, such wrong people who entered my life could leave just as fast. I feel a little abandoned, which seems like such a foreign emotion. To miss, even when they still live? It makes little sense. I think I got too close, opened myself too much. I felt it though, their pull away, their disinterest. I could taste it. I could taste it in their movements, their face when I told them about my sincerities, their tone. How I wished my love could withstand such brutality, my heart cold as ice, made of stone for so long had begun to melt. After this though, this sorrow, this failure, I have fallen into my old ways. The old ways of numbness, of solitude. I think, truly, this must be my future. This, along with my distaste, my distrust, and anger for my fellow man. I speak now, as a man that has lived through heartache, one who has gathered most of the flesh from my heart, never again. It was never on my path, and as much as I forced it, it can never be. Alone I will walk until my feet shall bleed love, but it will be mine alone and forever for myself.