Choose

 It's currently 7:05pm. I sit here once again, but with something to say. Something I feel. Emotions are hard for me, that I am sure you already know, reader. To try and conceptualize an emotion is kind of like pulling out a tooth. The twisting, the pull of the tiny white rock, the taste of nickel, the release of the nerve from your gums. Most of the time I do not feel intensely. The times I do feel, I feel strange, nauseous, sick. Like I ate something rotten, sitting in the pit of my stomach, just aching to get out. I feel sad? I think? Annoyed, more like, frustrated. I usually try and listen to music to help me truly enter this emotional state, but I feel like it's not helping. It's as if music gives me no reaction, no feeling. I tried recently to invite some friends to go and do something, flakes. Disappointing flakes. I understand, people have things going on. Not everyone should cater to me, yet I feel like I cater to everyone, I bend my knee to whatever they wish. I think it might be time to distance myself. I'm just tired of trying so hard for my friends. I think I'm just going to do what I want, ignore everyone else and have fun on my own. I want to live again, and the only way to DO THAT is to do things on my own, forever. Forever in LOVE with MYSELF and MYSELF ALONE.

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. 

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.