Journal: Move on
Hey. Just though its about time to get rid of the coming out journal entry. Its served its purpose.
I wish I had something to say. I wish... I still had words to speak out and I wish I gave enough of a damn anymore to express whatever it is goes on in my head. But I don't, and that's what this journal will have to be about.
To be honest, im winging this. I honestly dont know if this Im typing wil be the last sentence of this entry or the first of a paragraph... Its all... gone down, you know? Wait... for what? If I try and fail, if I try and succeed. If I pursue my dreams... or what were my dreams... and reach them, or if I pursue them and I fail... no thought comes to my head. No opinion, no feeling.
When I walked along the borderlines of my imprisonment I would feel excited, I would feel anger at being imprisoned, I would feel anxiety and eagerness to get out. I would fill myself up with images of that change would be like. Beautiful clips of a life worked towards freedom, and later of freedom spent next to what mattered. A bottle, a friend, and a guitar.
How I walk along those lines. I look down at the light filtering along the ground from under those locked doors and... and nothing. I odnt feel happiness. Imnot happy to be trapped. I dont feel anger. My conditin has become so... irrelevant... no, thats not the word. So... numb. Matter or not, it doesnt <wow, that sentence made sense>
I dont know what to do. But thats hardly an issue, since I see nor feel a reason to do anything at all. I want to be happy. I want to go to my friend to my bottle and to my guitar <in his basement. You know who you are> But what if I did? What if I went and lived the life I had wanted to live? Nothing. Theres just nothing. No matter how happy I am, I will be nothing. And so that happiness I cannot reach... and it doesnt matter. And it matters to me - to me. But it doesnt matter. And so it doesnt matter...
I dont hope you understand. I dont expect you to, nor do I expect you not to. This isnt for you, it isnt for anyone. Its just being typed by whats left of a person in this body that happens to be gifted with fingers.
Im sorry if that was rude.
I want... I want... so what? I can want al I can. I can have all I can, I can live all I want... but so what?
Its not about me anymore. Its not about others. Its not even about. Its just... haha a waste of time. Sitting in bed at night with nothing to do. This is what silence does. The problem is this silence remains through day and sound. Hahahaha and nonexistent instruments cant break silence. And instruments dont exist.
I dont hope you understand. I dont expect you to understand. I wish... I wish I didnt understand.