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. 

Finding true solitude

 It's 6:10am. Recently I have tried the whole relationship thing. What I have found, as an asexual is that it is of little interest of me. Time and time again I have found myself trying to grasp on to the tails of normalcy. Like many others, loneliness is a bane of existence that seems to tether us to our connections. Time and time again I find myself disinterested in more and more of these ideas. It is strange, I would think, to others. Yet I see that in an ideal world, I remain alone. I alone shadow the light of life, I alone could ever think of the love I have for others. There is simply no reason to love another when I could easily love myself. Love can no longer be limited by another. just and only, simply to love myself.

Always forever

 Today it's 6:03 am. I am in a drunken stupor. In these moments I find myself ultimately disgusted. Disgusted by the vanity of humanity. I find myself in another rant against the core of human nature. I find myself true in these moments of solitude. For, every moment every second I feel the freedom of solitude, I veer farther from the closeness of human nature. I am not truly angry, but disappointed in the nature. Recently, I have tried to connect. Dating and relationships seemed very uninteresting to someone like me, for most of my life. My early years of life consisted of iffy friendships, off-putting remarks by strangers, and the closeness that could only be felt by true loners of the free world. Solitude has brought me my real nature.

Unaware

 It is currently 3:16am. I am sitting here with nothing but the whirling letters stabbing my brain like a bundle of tacks. In these moments of silence I tend to struggle with acceptance, accepting the person I look at in the mirror, accepting my life is a random accumulation of my past mistakes, accepting my lost friendships. I sometimes feel at times like these, an unimaginable ache. An ache, a yearning for the love I shared with my friends, of a different time. I miss the moments I have alone, I miss the moments I had with no fear, no obligations, blissful ignorance. I have this massive weight that I cannot ever escape from, and with every moment that passes I break another rib. I still have writing though, something to whisper to, something that is entirely mine. It's all I have really, all I should ever need from life. Writing.

Gnashing

Currently, 7:20pm. I am now at the ripe old age of 27. Two.. seven. Twenty-seven years since the day I breathed my first breath of air. I am surprised, ultimately that I have lived so long. I expected to die much sooner, to an accident, to a small mistake that I made, or to a murder, violence or to myself. My death has no meaning. Who bats an eye at the hundreds that perish every single day? Not to mention the animals slaughtered for their flesh, every beat of their hearts extinguished by the conveyer belts of impending doom. I keep thinking about the 27 and under club. You know, the many artists that died before or at the age of 27. Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, to name a few prominent members. I can't help but think this is the year, this is the year I'm finally able to move on from my past mistakes, anger and sadness that so much stayed in my life.

 What ridiculous things I taste, in the air at twenty-seven. Lately, things have not felt very real anymore, my physical touch I feel is becoming numb. Everything I do is similar to yesterday, days don't feel real. I sometimes think that I want to throw myself from a car going 70 to see if I feel anything.

 How I long for the taste of my blood and sweat from the scraping of flesh. I hope that something gives this year, I don't feel like I have very many more years to give.

Christmas

 It's currently 12:29AM. In the time of jolly merriment, I find myself sitting here in a cold night. There's no time like Christmas to enlighten me of my true detachment. As much as my family warms to my small mannerisms, I unlike they, do not feel much of anything when they express themselves. At times I feel like I am some sort of monster, a type of psychopath, with little emotion. Then I remember tearing up at the hint of death from imaginary animals in movies. No, this detachment isn't something to fill with moments with other beings, it's something intrinsic to my soul. I remember looking around the local store, couples hugging, family yelling at each other in a form of endearment. How annoying I thought, how they plaster themselves in happiness to express to the world for them to be jealous of. I linger in disgust, how crass they are! I should look within myself though, for they have what I do not, and I do envy that to a degree, but I shall try to despise them not for how they love. For we all crave love, even from animals. 

Tricks

 It is currently 12:20AM. There's a few tricks to a good home life. A good homelife consists of strangers gawking in admiration of your dedication in a family role. The loyal son, the thoughtful daughter, the strong husband, the loving wife. A good homelife comes with one casualty, true and honest genuineness. For every path they show you, your family will always decide what is correct for you. If you heed their requests the pestering and disappointment that comes with rejection, will cease.. for a time. Because for every time you will yourself to submit, a little piece of your very essence is stripped and rotted away. There will be a point in the future where you will stare back at the figure in the mirror and question, who the fuck is that? Wasted, months turn to years, and years turn to decades. Wasted time that could have been used to make something of your life, of your dreams, of your hopes, singing songs that would ring through your soul. A trick to a good home life? Complacency.