Selfishly preoccupied with thoughts of my own mortality

There is bliss in a warm pile of laundry. A reason to keep going.


Despite my obsession with order, it is one of the only messes I enjoy.

"How can you trust your feelings when they seem to disappear so quickly?"

I realized today why I cannot feel close to other people. It is because they reject sadness, like a disease. They run from it, hide it, medicate against it. And I welcome it like an old friend, chase moments that I know will bring me that melancholy ache. I don't know why, but it is this love for the morose that sets me apart. I want to linger in it. Maybe it is because the spectrum of my emotions is so short that I am happy just to feel anything at all.

I want to meet someone who will appreciate my pull towards it, love me despite it and maybe more because of it. How can anyone love a broken thing, though? That's like asking someone to pay full price for something that doesn't work; something that can't be fixed.

This is why I like being alone. The cycle continues.

That's you
drops of water
and you're on top of the mountain of success.

But one day you start sliding down the mountain and you think wait a minute; I'm a mountain top water drop. I don't belong in this valley, this river, this low dark ocean with all these drops of water. Then one day it gets hot and you slowly evaporate into air, way up, higher than any mountain top, all the way to the heavens. Then you understand that it was at your lowest that you were closest to God. Life's a journey that goes round and round and the end is closest to the beginning. So if it's change you need, relish the journey.

Sometimes I wish a great tragedy would occur in my life so that I would have a reason to feel so out of step. Can you think of anything more selfish?

No one, not even God himself knows what a man suffers on the inside

I've been trying to act out of character in hopes of feeling some things the way normal people describe them. Still I feel nothing. The spectrum of my emotions is so short I barely know how to put my thoughts into words, hence the absence.

I feel cold on the inside, like nothing can jar me out of this strange sleep paralysis.

I've been chasing carnal pleasures in hopes that maybe they can stir up something inside of me but all I see them leading to is a particularly characteristic and unattractive downward spiral.

Is it possible that I'll be this way for the rest of my life? I can't remember the last time I felt awe, or rapture, even sadness escapes me.

I've been chasing my own emotions.

UP+UP+DOWN+DOWN+LEFT+RIGHT+B+A+START

I'm 22.
I might as well be 45.

Not to sound melodramatic or anything, but If I could hit RESET I would.