Invisible Man

I feel like empathy is a petty thing to ask for and I would rather not be sympathized with. Sometimes I just want to be heard and don't care about the response. Sometimes.

4 years ago exactly, I was spending the day with my dad and we had each other in hysteric laughs on and off. That's something about my dad that I love so much: he is me. And we both think, we both feel, and we try to solve universal problems like scholars. On this particular day, however, it was just us spending time together, smiling. As the sun began to set and the air was getting crisp we passed a wreck and began joking about being heroes and saving the people inside because he could run fast and I was super strong in our fantasy world.

Now, this probably all seems really stupid, as do the majority of day to day conversations. But this particular exchange of words will always have importance to me because it would be a while before we were happy together again.

The body pulled out of that car would be a boy, a 17 year old. Kurry. He would sit next to me at lunch, but never again. He would make everyone in the proximity laugh, but never again. He was just gone. Not many people realize how it effects an individual when someone just disappears.

This is the day that changed my life. Not because of his death, but because it was the start of a chain of events that no one had the power to stop. A chain of events that I would spend countless hours, that I was supposed to be sleeping, crying over. 

And today, I don't feel sad.

I don't feel much of anything. 

And I can't decide why.

Somber. 

I don't find myself wishing he was alive for my sake.

For his mothers? Yes. For his little brothers? Yes.

But I know it will never be for me again. 

Today, I am sad for everyone else. I am especially sad for my older sister who, before she had dropped out, had become closer to him than I would ever be. 

And for me, he's just a missing person. 

Here's to happiness and clarity.

I've been doing this all wrong. You see I'm not a bit sad. I'm completely content with EVERYTHING. I just get cynical some days and this skewed view is a consequence. But when I think about it, the ratio of days I write cynical blogs to the days i do not is extremely low. 

I'm happy; I'm happy.

Soy diferente.

You.

The you I talk about, the you I address.

Do you even know who you are?

Some times I don't even know who you are, so don't be afraid to be confused. 

I'm confused too. 

I used to be able to critically analyze everything and spit out the logical answer like an android. The problem now is that I feel everything so deeply instead of brushing it all off. I can't decipher fact from emotion. It's all so beautiful yet deadly. And no one will acknowledge the fact that there is this other thing happening in our society, this numbness that is enjoyed by the mass. Emotion isn't real, it's just this thing generated by our need to be like those around us. Unimportant things have become so important to our drowning generation. I can't name it, but I can put my finger on it.

I just don't want to be part of it; I just can't be part of it. Instead, I observe everything, wondering how we became such melted plastic, regurgitating the lies we have been told about EVERYTHING. It's the lies about how life really is. We paint each other this beautiful facade of happiness and the american dream and all the stuff that comes with it that and it's just unrealistic. Life's always going to feel the same and you're always going to have to work to gain any amount of pleasure. This silver platter idea that we have in our heads is poisoning our perspective.You don't just get to a point in your life when you can stop planning and just live. We have psyched ourselves into believing in this stagnant life style in which we are always getting to do what we want, when we want, with no budget and no concerns. 

I say that it's all a fake, but like the other 7 billion people here, I believe that I'm going to get there someday and I'll be so happy.

We'll never make it. And I'm so sorry :(.

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...