That was the last day I’ll ever be at Arrowhead pool. I am very glad to be rid of it. Yuck.
Three hours was enough to change my mind for the better– this is going to be good, it has to be. I love playing but so many people were bitter that we were so few and far in between with experience. But those people we were missing came tonight anyway to support us, and I’ve really never been so happy to seem them. Some are poor sports about their parts, but I’m just upset I can’t play everything so that I could help everyone learn faster. This is what’s supposed to happen, this is how I am supposed to feel. And I did it all on my own.
Some ideas are just too big to keep inside, you know? Some things, so beliefs are too much for one mind to handle well or even at all. I’ve been told I’m cryptic, so I guess I’m here to quit it. I won’t pretend I’m not upset– these past few months have been something I’ve never tried before, and it’s tested me beyond all ideas of strength. But just when you’re nearest to be the most unhappy a human creature can be, you can find something. It’s not big, not more than an inch. It’s not always pretty, either. But it’s something that we should never sell, nor give away. It’s something no one can take from us. It’s the integrity of ourselves.
I found it today, when I thought there was nothing left. I hate looking at it, I hate looking at myself. I hate taking charge for myself. But I don’t hate myself. Even when I thought nothing was left but a very good book or a mediocre movie to make out of my life, I found something– just an inch. And in that inch, I am free.
I’m not going to lie, I’m still upset, really upset. I want to discuss it, work on it, and I will if you want to, but that’s it. My inch of self is more than enough to keep me preoccupied till the end of its days; I shouldn’t need you. I must apologize, too; I know something is wrong in all of us, but mine little demon is out to get everyone I know. It’s for that reason that I just need to move on. If you talk to me, I’ll talk back, but I have to do everything to keep that last little inch free. It’s true, I only want to make things right and have all of you back in my life, but if that isn’t in the cards for us, I’m going to have to make the best of it. I hope you understand, I have to save more than just myself.
I have this strange tendency to feel things deeply. For no reason, I make silly events into monolithic ideas and stories. It’s dangerous, but it’s part of my imagination, and it’s part of me. I’ll be working to do my best to curb it, but until then, please understand that yes, little things that don’t bother anyone else bother me. Remember though, I’m working on it– please try and understand.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop caring about you. To be honest, though, this is the first time I haven’t been able to find words to express what I want to. I spend too much of my time craftily hiding away thinking that’s enough to speak to the world. But my inch of self that really is free of the place I live in, the people I spend time with produces so big thoughts, mostly about you. I think I’ve done a decent job of telling you how and what you mean to me, I just hope you keep those big thoughts nearby if you need them. They’re positive, and I’d love to dote them upon you, if you like. But they’re too big to keep alone up here, and it’s been driving me insane. They’ll always be there for you if you want them, but I have to go somewhere where they can’t bother me anymore. I don’t know where yet, but I hope you’ll visit.
I want someone to tell me what to do now, but there’s no how-to for this. The more I think about it, the more it becomes my responsibility. Things are rough, but you won’t see it anymore. Right? right. Who knows, I could just be convincing myself of another fake idea. All I know for sure is that things are on the way to right. I’m sure of it.
I’ve been told I’m hard to talk to, being that I usually invoke conversations that require more than ten minutes of thought, and apparently that’s bad. But right now, in the rain, I really want to discuss anything with anyone, one on one. I know it’s bad to want, but I want to talk to you. So I write it down, but the letter just stays in my car and you walk away once more. But why should I be upset, what difference does an undelivered letter really make in the end anyway? At least it’s raining, right?
I really don’t like myself in the evening and at night. It’s funny, because I’ve always thought that’s when I operate best, but I’m really not a nice person when the sun goes down. I don’t suck blood though, just life. Tell me what you really think, it would make things easier. If you ask me tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll just be embarrassed and shrug it off. But really, when I think about it, what’s the point? If silence is the next best thing to what was, what does it matter? What’s another day if we’re already getting used to this?
It’s not always jealousy, no, and contrary to popular opinion, it’s not always self-serving. The most enjoyable part for the sadist in me, though, is quite despairing (at least until tomorrow morning). I want to yell, and I want to be angry. I want to point out every single mistake that anyone’s ever made, because if it’s not my best friend and I fighting, it’s Israel and Pakistan bombing each other. At what point do we realize that new freshman are going to be looking to us to set the example and figure out that instead all these years really have gotten to us. College becomes escape more than departure and we’ll grow up old and finally make up a “depression” to put in our history books to blame our bitterness upon. The masochist in me does drive me to express these points to a certain, yet unfulfilled conclusion, but even I know what feeling this way has become an unhealthy, degrading habit. The other, unnamed and unloved portion is more fun. I keep the idea that people are good and can change hanging around, that people really do care enough to be big enough to make the first move, buy CDs with their friends, and at least put a full effort into their shadow of happiness and caring. Situations change, this one has to, too.
Don’t they say something about babies, their helplessness, and their appearances are their greatest allies against an otherwise harsh and cruel world? The adults that surround us have a natural inclination to care, and I’ve got a feeling that never leaves us, for anyone. For it’s exactly the moment when I want to yell, scream, or stab someone that I remember that we are, or at least were friends. Call it lust, parental instinct, or friendship– call it anything you want, it strikes and keeps all attempts at being angry and expressing real emotion at bay, at least until the next day. It is this cyclic situation that is responsible for model’s cliché of “world peace”. There’s something to you, in the way you look (good or bad, especially the bad), the way you walk or speak, the way you twist your hair or spin on your toes, the way you kiss your best friend, or the way you sit in a chair that’s quite disarming. Add dismaying to it too, because I still haven’t a clue what to do. I’ll reiterate that this is the ranting of a deranged fool at an ungodly hour, but keep in mind that these are real feelings. Do not ever assume you have the authority to justify, ignore, or rectify feelings. Feelings, good and bad, are grounded in something logic doesn’t bother with: humanity. If you don’t like that, though, please don’t worry, this will all be gone in the morning. I know how hard it is for you to be human.