A certain sadness brings to me a measure of creativity. It sounds a little masochistic, and while in fact I sometimes do seek it out, I haven’t been this way in a while. I’ve been physically healthy for more than a two years now, I’ve stayed far from romance, and I’ve managed to squeak by in school, keeping both my grades and sanity intact. I do honestly believe that this has affected my ability to express myself.
I am of the opinion that many people, but especially myself have no true, authentic self. Instead, I quickly find the most appropriate façade for whomever I am interacting with, and follow through. This, on more than one occasion, has lead many to believe that I have no personality, and I fear this diagnosis correct. In the past, though, this has allowed me an exquisite aptitude and sensitivity to my own feelings as they’re constantly shuffled into new bodies as well as the feelings and thoughts of others while trying to become something more pleasing. If I don’t know you, I won’t know what shape to assume, and this leaves me in a very awkward, shy position. This lack of identity explains my actions fairly well.
I’m the obsessive, ruminating kind of guy. Often I find myself in spirals of thought, wondering why I am and about my relation to the world, and then finding myself starting it all over again. When someone says something rude to me, I don’t feel angry, accept it, and then let it go. No, I feel angry, ask why, and when no one answers my thoughts, I feel angrier. It applies to first dates, too. In a very selfish way, I cannot tell if I like a person when I meet them, simply because I’m too worried thinking about whether they like me or not. One of the things I do is think about something over and over and over again, and that’s when I start writing.
And to put it bluntly, I’ve been pretty happy lately, though I’ve paid a high price for that freedom. I haven’t been able to explain, adapt to, or feel anything with and for anyone for months. On the other hand, before, I also paid a very high price: you can be too sensitive to live in this world. I’ve been called pessimistic before, but I really do see a positive future for us. I’m really terrified though, that I won’t be able to talk about before it comes to take me away.
Did you know that many of the waitresses in Las Vegas are hired as models instead of waitresses, so that they can be hired and dismissed on the grounds of beauty?