Dido Style

I hate how the people I really miss don't miss me. It drives me insane to think that I'm constantly trying to be the mortar in the cracks of these relationships with no avail. 

You got me. My hands are up. It's all up to you.

Ciao

Well, kinda.

I am starting to have friends. (Though this is debatable).

I don't know what it is about living that makes me so grey. Surely I'm not the only one who sees the utter deification I am living in. And more than anything I think this makes me want to talk to people as though they all had a mental handicap that I somehow overcame, or maybe never had. I say the same generic conversation to avoid boring the surface mindset of such cookie cutter, average joes. It's always the same disconnect, so I sit on my thrown and observe every aspect of the people around me and analyze there potential thoughts in depth, just trying to figure out if they possess at least an equal amount of consciousness. I would like to say that like I have a high realization of life; I believe I do.

The main problem I face with dissecting people close to me is that I always find out too much and then I have to put my facade back up and pretend that I only know the them that they want me to. I used to scoff at the phrase "ignorance is bliss" because all I could think about was the agony of only having enough sense to realize that there are things you'll never uncover because you just mentally can't. Maybe I'm right, but I also know that in context, the saying is pretty spot on... except maybe it could have an amendment: "complete ignorance is bliss."
It's more truth full, don't you think?



... seriously, everything I just wrote is the problem with me. I'm too critical and self-righteous. I put my state of mind on this pedestal but want to play life like an equal with the same expectations I have for others. I care, but I don't. I just want to be happy and live life. It's all about actually trying to experience life, right? It's about being human, right? Maybe you'll fight me on this one, but this is me actually being happy. I really think all of this but in the most sickeningly cheesy way. If I could just reach a little farther maybe all my vanity would be worth while.

On Second Thought:

There's actually more for me to say.

I feel different than anyone: alienated.
It makes me want to congratulate myself: good job Mariah, you've broken out and managed to become something no one else is, lonely. Are you proud of yourself? I'm proud of you. Isn't that what everyone wants? And you did it! You didn't even try, it's just something you always were. You were always afraid to speak, always afraid to show someone that you had emotion, but isn't that where we're all headed? You just made it there first. Or maybe you're the only one who will ever make it.

Now that I'm done saying things that I'm about to nullify, I will nullify:

You are just like every other person on this earth, feeling like there is absolutely no one who really understands you and you think you're so clever for figuring out that you have emotion. EVERYONE already figured that out so long ago. You're just like every one else. Stupid. And moreover, you're worse than everyone else because you're ignorant to the fact that you aren't the only one who has shit happen to them, who has to try to live while dealing with life. How dare you think that life is so hard for you when you don't know a thing. You think your eyes are too callused to cry, but, in reality, you're just too dumb to know that you're supposed to be feeling these things, it's part of humanity.


I hate that I've started saying too much.
This is the internet.
In some ways, I don't care though because if you are taking enough time to listen to me whine, you're just as bad as me.

And so, here we are, together. I've accomplished nothing; you've accomplished nothing. I guess that makes us friends.

This started out for you.

Now, I guess, it's for me.
It's to make me feel something.
To make me feel real.
It could still be me being your puppet though...