#dATribes


I think, therefore I write. I write because I have no other way to openly and accurately express myself, nor anyone to express myself to. The only ones who understand are part of the cycle, leaving me in lone support of an empty hope.

When I start thinking about things, I tend to think until my head hurts so badly I vomit, or I become so weary I pass out. Because of this, my only therapy is writing. I write small letters to no one; typically they end up in a journal that's lying beneath my bed, and is put through the shredder the next day because I was smart enough to not impulsively announce my feelings online.

Here I am: hypocrisy in my fullest. I'm a fucking idiot; I'll be the first to admit it. I so adamantly refuse to admit that I could ever be a certain type of person all the time, and yet I fall into traps that I set myself up for repeatedly. One such trap is trying to forgive someone for stealing money from me via credit card, leaving pornography in the possession of my parents, defiling their guest linens, and being the utter bane of my existence throughout half of highschool by doing nothing but having that "Eddy" approach with all his friends. He's with me, all his other friends are dumbfucks. I'm the only normal one. He's with another, and it's the same for them. I'm the dumbfuck. He doesn't even ask for an apology or even admit that he's in the wrong, and I want to forgive him anyway. I feel bad because he acted upset about something he'd completely fabricated.

I'm the dumbfuck. Wake up, Steven. WAKE THE FUCK UP. IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN. Your feelings are being abused, and you're falling into the same social bottomless pit you happen across every god damned day. You assume the worst, hope for the best, and during the battering of emotions, you remain cynical, rightfully-fucking-so. But when the fist is lifted and rests, you jump into your overly-optimistic, unrealistic idiot self, and you run embracing what has become your pathetic masochistic comfort zone. Seriously, wake the fuck up. You have hope elsewhere, and it's not slapping you in the face every five minutes for being you, or just for existing. The details are vague, but it's worth pursuing. I hope.

An utmost desire to SEE hope was thrust into my lap a couple weeks ago. I finally let go of the past, but now I have no future to move on to, so I've become a drone. I'm going through the motions, falling for traps left and right, smiling back at the face that just said, "Fuck you," and spat on me, and pretending that my role in life is to pretend I'm a salesman. Selling what? I don't know. My soul to the devil for ten seconds' sanity, perhaps. That seems like something worth fighting for in this day and age.

Sanity. Either I'm insanely angry, or insanely out of my mind with 'appreciation'. I can't find the middle-ground. Allegedly, love is mutual, but I'm beginning to think otherwise. Some will be blind to one's true desires all their lives though the love is smothering them. A few of them because they refuse to see it for whatever reason. That's called 'spitting in their face.' The worst part is the term 'unconditional.' That part's a bitch. I don't think I've ever said it, but I meant what I haven't said.

My heart is fickle, both physically and 'mentally.' I have a problem making decisions or truly reading people's intents; I always have. This is an issue people often try to label with Asperger's or some other title that people try to give me to feel self-important, seeing as they don't have it. But, I'll become so twisted on the lack of communication displayed, intentionally or not, that all I can do is scream, but half a second after the voice leaves my mouth, my heart pounds and I become dizzy and lightheaded, and I'm winded. I can't yell. I've had an occasional cough all my life from this. Being truly helpless is insanity. I can't take anymore of it.

Now I have to make a decision: fall for it again, or move on and fall for it later, at which point someone becomes the fallback (if you're keeping up with me so far, don't comment about this; I'll delete it). I despise the idea of marking someone your fallback. It's just like being chosen last to play on the kickball team, which let's see... we had PE and played kickball once a week during elementary school, and that happened to me about once a week. What're the odds of that? I'm still the fallback, and I'm close to falling into a trap and bestowing that unfortunate title upon someone who truly does care.

Fuck that, I'm rambling and almost making sense. New topic. Stories. There are two sides to every story. Those who are ignorant to one side are simply ignorant. Ignorance is unfortunate, but truly insinuates a lack of choice in the matter. Arrogance, however, does not. Fuck arrogant pricks. Fuck people who vicariously remain misinformed while presenting the only side of the story they've chosen to hear out. FUCK. THEM. That's rash action; remind you a little bit of animal nature? So, tell me. Are you a human being with understanding, or are you an animal that wants to aggressively protect your cub from the harmless five-year-old with a stick? Probably the latter; often times adrenaline and frustration lead humans to use base instincts. Because of this, perhaps being numb to emotion might be better in the long run. I can keep myself 'safe', though I'll never really be happy, but fuck. I won't ever have to deal with supporting anyone else. It's been a one-way street so far; how about a blockade? I've heard alcohol helps with that. So does changing phone numbers, e-mail addresses and deleting/clearing out online accounts. It's not hiding from anyone. It's simply closing the one-way street that's lead to nowhere but bullshit and egotism.

Friends become enemies? No. They're just passersby. That's all they've ever been, apparently. However, if someone tries to break down my blockade, even after reinforcing it a few times after their barging though, perhaps I'll open a side-road for them. Otherwise, just pass on by, passersby. There's obviously nothing to see here except a waste of time. Hmm. "Waste of time." Sounds familiar. I've been used to wasting time as of late, hoping for something to change, but I should've known. It won't ever change. It takes a lot more than a social martyrdom to shift someone's paradigm. At this point, I've been fighting through non-stop illusions and epiphanies that scare me shitless for as long as I can remember, and I don't even know what my goal is, what direction I'm going, or even who I am.

Remember? Memory? Dammit. Mine's gotten terrible. Absolutely terrible. It's not the sarcastic, "Oh, I forgot to take the trash out, now it smells," memory loss. It's loss of important memories. Words that've been spoken to me with true meaning. What a hug feels like. What a kiss feels like. The feeling I got when I gazed into her eyes. I'm forgetting motary functions. I'm forgetting how to speak. I'm forgetting my second language. I keep forgetting that it's 2009 and not 2006. I keep forgetting that shit's about to hit the fan financially. I've forgotten what size clothes I wear, or how much I weigh, or even how tall I am. I've forgotten my eye colour. I've forgotten her eye colour. Even at this moment, I can't recall. I'm forgetting birthdays. I forgot for three days straight what my birthday is. Would a weak heart have anything to do with this? Perhaps a certain part of my brain isn't getting enough blood/oxygen? Hell, I've even forgotten how told hold a pen. Not metaphorically... I literally picked up a pen and had no clue how the fuck to hold it. I forgot how to do long division.

I'm decaying, and I want to do so by myself. Everything around me has become grey-area, and I'm so weary of the confusion that I've forgotten how to walk from point A to point B without tripping over every obstacle that comes my way. I've been alone so long that it's my only comfort zone. If something isn't going wrong or isn't bewildering me, then I'll make something hellacious. I think I'll sail a ship to the middle of the Pacific and wait for the storm.

...I think I'm already there. Waiting. I think. ...I forget what I'm doing here. I forget what got me so agitated that I needed to write. All I know is that I made the impulsive and absolutely fucked up decision to post this on deviantART, and not in my journal so that I could trash it tomorrow without any proof. I've forgotten who I'm crying out to, or even who I can cry to. Only one name's coming to mind right now... hey! She just popped online. Now let me wait for about 15 minutes to post this.

...I forgot to press submit. Oh, it's 'send' now.

P.S.: If you want to know a little more about me, keep in mind that all of these thoughts went through my mind in less than ten seconds. Ironically, it'd take me two minutes to tell you what forty divided by eight would be. This speed-philosophizing is normal for me.

P.P.S: STOP ASKING ME TO GET ON SKYPE, PEOPLE. I FUCKING HATE SKYPE. I think I'll go uninstall it right now.