Sometimes, certain things in my life start to flash, but then they fade away.
I barely could notice if it goes down, like the sun does every evening, because it's
rather too fast or I simply do not pay any attention. Sometimes, it even comes naturally,
that is why I am not sure if I should raise myself up and try to stop it,
or just give it all up and stop to care, if I did in the first place.
Likewise, people come and people go. I built many walls around myself (that's for sure),
thus it always surprises me if someone keeps hanging with, as a friend.
If you read my previous senseless notes, you already know I appreciate that.
But in my life there is more loss of friends than gather, as I think of it.
Maybe I am too annoying for the rest of the folk out there, I am not sure.
They listen to me, and they hear me out, but sometimes they don't even bother
to tell what they think, and just start to ignore me. First, it looks totally okay,
and I just think I should let them rest a while from this spineless worm.
Soon, I am not certain: what if "that's it"? Maybe I should wave goodbye to
these, and don't touch them? Maybe I wronged them so harsh, they won't even
stand to see me? And all of this start to plague my mind, because...
...what if not? Is it just a sign that I am not competetive enough?
Look, I feel disoriented. This is why I am typing this, after all.
It's not just plain and simple as it looks like, I could've just talk to
someone for all good, but... It doesn't get me anywhere.
How much does it mean for me? Is there some kind of a reward
for doing this? To keep on "making yourself better"? To keep on with
this "win friends and influence people"? They say I should try harder.
They say "time to change" on those billboards. They say "be yourself".
And how am I supposed to do that? I do not wish to guess who I am
before I "be myself". What if it's just right for me, to stay alone?
To slowly regress, and bear all the pain and misery life's got to offer?
Is it worth it -- to fight? to stand up? to believe those infinite motivators?
Why bother? Is that what supposed to make all men happy?
Their influence, their money, their family, their saturday parties?
What for?
I don't really know anymore.
Everyone's got rainy days, I believe. It appears, I have. For these years,
everything I see coming, is more and more regrets, as I move forward.
Am I even moving forward? You guess. It's just how people deal with
the depression, I suppose. Someone's up to get over with it, someone lets it go.
Me? I am the depression. Funny or not, it feels like it's the essence of my living.
Noone wants to have it on their schedule. The average just throw it outta window.
Who needs a guy that keeps on whining? That keeps simulating sorrow while he doesn't
even know sh!t? His family is there, his pockets are not empty, his life is alright.
What's the matter now, then?
Too many many question marks. That's what... makes my punishment.
No, I haven't seen the sorrows some people had to face alone. But it appears
to me, I might just sense enough, without experiencing it. While somebody would rather
shut the window when it's cold outside, mine seems to be opened.
In the times when it would be a great idea to stop thinking and just quit something
because it only inflicts pain (and probably some bad chemistry in your body, who knows?),
I keep on asking myself: "why?!", "what does that mean?", "how should I.." or
just as easy as it could be in the material world - "is it worth it?".
Maybe a month ago I thought: "yes, it does". But something changed, and I don't know anymore.
Things start to blur. Even my eyesight, which is a rather straight sign I should stop playing
videogames all this much.
On the top of that, I keep writing here. My rational thinking yells to me:
"JUST STOP THAT, YOU WANKER!" because noone need this kind of trash.
I cannot even express my thoughts so they could actually mean anything worthful
to these grown up boys and girls who read "Of mice and men" or something alike.
Not a great writer, I am.
So, instead of making some kind of point, to sum it up, and close the book,
I'll leave it open. What this book might be in the future, is yet a question.
Would that be a solid plot? Does it contain something to look at?
Will anyone remember it? How many people would even will to see it?
The writer leaves the next page blank, before it's not too late.
I barely could notice if it goes down, like the sun does every evening, because it's
rather too fast or I simply do not pay any attention. Sometimes, it even comes naturally,
that is why I am not sure if I should raise myself up and try to stop it,
or just give it all up and stop to care, if I did in the first place.
...and the people
Likewise, people come and people go. I built many walls around myself (that's for sure),
thus it always surprises me if someone keeps hanging with, as a friend.
If you read my previous senseless notes, you already know I appreciate that.
But in my life there is more loss of friends than gather, as I think of it.
Maybe I am too annoying for the rest of the folk out there, I am not sure.
They listen to me, and they hear me out, but sometimes they don't even bother
to tell what they think, and just start to ignore me. First, it looks totally okay,
and I just think I should let them rest a while from this spineless worm.
Soon, I am not certain: what if "that's it"? Maybe I should wave goodbye to
these, and don't touch them? Maybe I wronged them so harsh, they won't even
stand to see me? And all of this start to plague my mind, because...
...what if not? Is it just a sign that I am not competetive enough?
Look, I feel disoriented. This is why I am typing this, after all.
It's not just plain and simple as it looks like, I could've just talk to
someone for all good, but... It doesn't get me anywhere.
How much does it mean for me? Is there some kind of a reward
for doing this? To keep on "making yourself better"? To keep on with
this "win friends and influence people"? They say I should try harder.
They say "time to change" on those billboards. They say "be yourself".
And how am I supposed to do that? I do not wish to guess who I am
before I "be myself". What if it's just right for me, to stay alone?
To slowly regress, and bear all the pain and misery life's got to offer?
Is it worth it -- to fight? to stand up? to believe those infinite motivators?
Why bother? Is that what supposed to make all men happy?
Their influence, their money, their family, their saturday parties?
What for?
I don't really know anymore.
Crisis
Everyone's got rainy days, I believe. It appears, I have. For these years,
everything I see coming, is more and more regrets, as I move forward.
Am I even moving forward? You guess. It's just how people deal with
the depression, I suppose. Someone's up to get over with it, someone lets it go.
Me? I am the depression. Funny or not, it feels like it's the essence of my living.
Noone wants to have it on their schedule. The average just throw it outta window.
Who needs a guy that keeps on whining? That keeps simulating sorrow while he doesn't
even know sh!t? His family is there, his pockets are not empty, his life is alright.
What's the matter now, then?
Sinopsis?
Too many many question marks. That's what... makes my punishment.
No, I haven't seen the sorrows some people had to face alone. But it appears
to me, I might just sense enough, without experiencing it. While somebody would rather
shut the window when it's cold outside, mine seems to be opened.
In the times when it would be a great idea to stop thinking and just quit something
because it only inflicts pain (and probably some bad chemistry in your body, who knows?),
I keep on asking myself: "why?!", "what does that mean?", "how should I.." or
just as easy as it could be in the material world - "is it worth it?".
Maybe a month ago I thought: "yes, it does". But something changed, and I don't know anymore.
Things start to blur. Even my eyesight, which is a rather straight sign I should stop playing
videogames all this much.
On the top of that, I keep writing here. My rational thinking yells to me:
"JUST STOP THAT, YOU WANKER!" because noone need this kind of trash.
I cannot even express my thoughts so they could actually mean anything worthful
to these grown up boys and girls who read "Of mice and men" or something alike.
Not a great writer, I am.
So, instead of making some kind of point, to sum it up, and close the book,
I'll leave it open. What this book might be in the future, is yet a question.
Would that be a solid plot? Does it contain something to look at?
Will anyone remember it? How many people would even will to see it?
The writer leaves the next page blank, before it's not too late.
