Automatic Stop

Hmm. I don't really know how to organize everything I'm thinking. It's not all coherent. It doesn't all flow. Oh well, I guess we'll just see how it turns out.

Let's say there are two girls. Well, there are, but it's much simpler to think of it as only two for now. One of the girls has held me, and kissed me, and given me almost everything I've wanted, and promised me that there are so many who are just like her. But I don't want her at all. Then the other girl, who I have wanted before, generally couldn't care less. Why is it that it seems to be stuck this way? For the sake of simplification, I've got one who wants me, and one who I want. Why can't they be the same person? Ha. Oh well. Anyways, the real story is a lot more complicated than that. I have no idea where anything stands, and coming to terms with feelings is something I don't do very well. I'm not trying to be mean, but I probably don't know what I really think of you for a very long time. But there are plenty of people who I know exactly how I feel about right off-the-bat. These are the people I dislike. Very rarely am I wrong in making this kind of judgment. Out of ten people I meet, I'd be lucky to talk to just one of them. I don't like people. I don't know why. Out of those same ten people, I probably would dislike close to half of them, for whatever reasons, immediately. Usually, I am absolutely right in their flaws. Granted, the flaws are what makes something beautiful, but there is a point where it's just too much. Basically what I'm trying to say through this is that I am never wrong about people, because I simply don't allow enough people to get close to me for them to really hurt me.

I was wrong, though. I don't know why, but for whatever reason, I didn't really think one time, and I could not have been more off on deciding who it was who got the chance. Plus, I've been thinking about this all wrong anyways. It's who gets the chance, not who gives me a chance. It's not my loss. There are 200,000 people born everyday, after all. One of them is better than you. It's a statistical fact. I feel like I'm wandering, and I kinda forgot where my train of thought was headed. Not an uncommon occurrence at all anymore these days, unfortunately. The point I guess I was getting to I already mentioned, somehow. Why can't the person we love and the person who loves us be the same person?

Granted (no idea how many times I've said 'granted' lately), there aren't just the two girls. There are plenty. And there are plenty of feelings all around. I don't know. I again seem to have forgotten what I was saying. "Words can never do my feelings justice," anyways.

For some reason, a list just came to mind. And if for nothing else but to remember it, I'm going to put it here.

• Smoking is the most unattractive thing a girl can do. Hands down. Ugly.
• Despite what everyone of you say, I need it. It's not a want. Its need consumes me.
• ANGER
• I could use my new team, maybe it will help me. I have missed the camaraderie.
• I need a new iPod, because mine sucks.
• Most tattoos are absolutely ridiculously retarded.
  
• I promise I don't take you for granted (that's to a lot of people). You know that I don't, I suspect. It's just that, what you're trying to convince me of isn't real to me. It just doesn't exist. I am sorry for that.
• Things could be different, but I don't care. I was wrong.
  

You are a

perfect stranger to me. I know some of the people who read this. I have learned that there are a few people who read this, who I didn't know knew it existed. And then there is you, and you are the unknown. The stranger. The person who I would never know. Of course, sometimes the perfect stranger does know me, but I rather like not knowing who reads this. Security in anonymity, right? It feels good. But everyone who reads this should get to know me. I'm not depressed all the time. Give me something to be happy about. Even people who have spent tons of time with me don't know too much about me.

The world's population increases by over two hundred thousand people every day. I recently learned this after seeing a chart with the world's population per month over the last two years. Curiosity had me calculating, and now I wish I didn't. I feel so small. I am so insignificant. Also an odd statistic, over half of all humans who have ever lived are alive right now. Strange. At least I'm not contemplating how small we are? I dunno. It's almost worse to be stuck thinking about our individual insignificance. Anyways, that was definitely not the point of this post, ha.

Easter eggs are the point of this post. I'm not talking about the pastel-colored plastic eggs that people search for on the holiday. I mean the hidden secrets placed in various things as covert nods, thank-yous, messages, or laughs for other people. The intention is odd. They have to be discovered to be realized, and realized to be fun, but the better hidden they are, the more fun they are. The realization of the intention to create a hidden message is obscure, because one can never be sure of the author's intention. More importantly, the mere thought that these secrets could be the author giving credit or sending a message to someone or something is what makes them fun. These Easter eggs of mystery are hidden all around us. They are right here. They are in popular things. Bradley and I have been playing a game called Borderlands, which has several Easter eggs to find. One of the objects early in the game is to kill a bandit named Mad Mel (Mad Max, who was played by Mel Gibson). Two 'achievements' in the game are "On A Boat," (SNL) and "1.21 Gigawatts" (Back to the Future). These serve absolutely no point, but they are fun to discover. I don't know. So what's my secret? As of now, I did not believe it. At my core I did not believe it at all. But I am beginning to think it is true. Anyways...

Please, let me know what you're thinking. I really want to know you. As I write this, I look out at the campus, and I see a thousand strangers. Maybe one of them has read this. I like knowing that perhaps someone there knows me, only they don't know that I'm me. It makes me feel like a secret. A secret I will share with anyone, but only each person individually. I am your secret, and you are mine. People suck. Fuck them, because we have each other, and that's all we need.

disappointment.

We always seem to end up right where we started. It's ridiculous, I know you'd agree. I remember saying many things several months ago about how I felt, and for this whole year I've thought about how ridiculous and stupid what I said was. I was just wanting her back. We lived so far away, we both knew it would never work, but for a brief while, when we were together, it was pretty excellent. I would call it the closest I've ever been to bliss. Just holding her was unbelievable, and she would hold me back. Imagine the difference between a blizzard and a day in November. Warmth. Warmth is the difference. The warmth is what I felt. We made each other feel good. But we did know that it was only for so long. It wasn't our choice, but perhaps it was for the better good. After some failures three years later, I was convinced that it had been as good as it was ever going to get already. I wanted the past back with all my heart. Then, I tried my best to buck up and get over myself, so I took a few girls out. This was around December of last year. They may have cared, they may not have, who cares. Fuck them. This is where the beast started taking hold. None of the people I met ever felt right, and those who were close had an absolutely overbearing flaw to them. And not one of the kinds that eventually you grow to like, the kinds that are in their way, not mine. I was told each and every time that I am "a great guy", and all that shit, ultimately still a rejection anyways. I got so sick of hearing that, and from people who I didn't need at all anyways. Whatever, who cares. That is, until I snapped. One too many times, I was too sick of it. You can only sink so low. So tired of trying. I had done too much. I gave up; something I had never fathomed I would even contemplate. I gave completely up. Nec Spe, Nec Metu. I had no fear, because I had no hope. Hopelessness is a really fucking depressing thing. Fortunately, it seemed to be just what I needed, because I started feeling slightly better. I did not care. Period. At all. I could not have given a shit about anyone or anything anywhere. It began to reflect in myself. Not caring felt genuinely good. I came off as a cold-hearted asshole to most people, but I never was exactly nice, and I kinda was cold-hearted. Ha. But then something happened to crush my work and change my view again. For the first time ever, I was wanted first. None of this, 'you text me first' or this 'but you have to ask me out' shit, it was just plain and simple. But now, I feel in the same place as I always end up, yearning for the one good time I've ever had. I know there will be better, but I'm still not likely to actually believe that... I don't actually want the good time back either, I know how much I learned from it. I don't want it, but it sure seems like I do. I don't know what I actually want, just like I don't know how I actually feel. Sandi's right about feelings and the rest of the world, but I already knew that. My problem with what she said is that I don't know how I actually feel anymore. Numb, I guess? One of my favorite brain quotes (who am I kidding, there are only like, two, so this might as well be the only one and thereby my favorite) is that "Experts have figured out that the brain has no ability to actually predict your emotional reaction to life changes that haven't happened yet. In other words, you physically do not know what you want. The act of sitting around pondering it is apparently what fucks you up." That said, I don't know what to do. I forgot where I was going with this whole thing (memory loss is the worst). Anyway, I don't care. At least, I don't think I do. I mean, I know I do, but I don't care at all? Fuck. I just confused myself. How about I recognize that I shouldn't care? Who cares, whatever. Haha, ironic. I am lost and I am scared, and so are you. And if you're not scared, you're not understanding what I'm saying. And if you're not lost, then you're even more naive than I am. Anger is overtaking me now, so I guess I do care after all, but I shouldn't. I don't want to.

Nec Spe, Nec Metu

Thanks for stating the obvious, Sherlock

So, in case you haven't noticed, I haven't posted in a very long time. The whole "write a book through the blog" idea sorta stalled, mainly because to get feedback I had to give away the ending, which led me to write non-continuous chapters. I'll post everything I wrote sometime later, because eventually I would like to actually finish one damn book. The other reason I haven't really been on here lately (aside from being busy) is that I just haven't cared recently. I haven't needed to outlet anything, so I haven't written anything.

I don't give two shits anymore. I hate feeling that way. I don't know how I feel. I know I care deeply. I am disappointed, I am unsure, I don't know what I want. Today I really just needed someone to talk to, but everyone I went to decided I was not important. I gave people a chance, I listened, but when I need someone to talk to, no one wants to. So I'm back to writing here. Not that I care if anyone reads this, but because you, my stranger, took the time to read it. And the fact that you're still reading means you care, even if it's just a little bit. I thank you for that, I need it.

Back to my original thought idea, today I felt extremely weird. I thought about things, and I didn't understand what I was thinking. I don't know what's going on, and I don't like the feeling. The only conclusion I came to was that maybe I was just fucking sick of it and didn't care anymore, but I know that's not true. In Biology I couldn't handle it anymore, so I told Heather about a small fraction of the shit that is my fucked-up existence. She said something very interesting. When I told her (vaguely) that 'people' were bothering me, and I wasn't sure how I felt, she told me that I shouldn't let people bother me. I had never thought of it that way. It made me think that it might be part of the odd feeling; the fact that I'm so used to being bothered by people, that when I stop caring for just a little it feels very alien.

I don't know what my problem is, but there's no escape. I go to a psychiatrist tomorrow for depression. I still don't think I'm depressed, but it's hard to argue with how I come off. There are so many things I could fix, but nothing I could make more perfect. I am deeply, deeply upset. "I just wanted to hold you in my arms" - Muse. I have decided (after much reading) that I have a new label for myself:

Cameron - A probable victim of either the Nirvana Fallacy, depression, or both; although I'd hate to admit to any of them.
Nec Spe, Nec Metu

Chapter One

He sits against the wall, panting hard from running so long. Hunger is overtaking him; he hasn't eaten in three days. Reflecting on his situation, the dangerous trip to what was the old supermarket is justified by the ever continuing need for food to survive. He had thought of simply taking over the whole building before, of arming it to the teeth and defending it. He knew in the back of his mind what a death sentence that was, however. To do that would be to corner himself, living safely until he ran out of either food or ammunition. Then it would be worse than before. No, it was much safer to hide. To run away. To quickly steal only what he needed to live, then retreat to safety. The world is a living hell. There's no escaping that fact. His entire existence consists of running and hiding at night, and sleeping during the day. The monsters hate the daylight. They can't get him during it. Therefore he has become nocturnal, only going out when the sun is gone and it is dark; only going out when the monsters are active and looking to feed. It's an unfortunate paradox, but it's better than spending his most vulnerable time sleeping while he is hunted from every direction. With his breathing now more under control, he quickly scans his surroundings. There's the old police-station down the street to his left, an old 7/11 next to it, and the back entrance of the supermarket he came for sitting right between the two. Peeking both ways down the street from out of the alley, he decides that the coast is clear, so he makes a dash for it. Being careful to remain in the shadows and not make any more noise than necessary, he runs to the back of the gas station, hops the chain-link fence, and ducks down in a low ditch with a view of the door. Pausing a moment to catch his breath and listen, he again concludes that he is undetected, so he slinks up to the door and goes to work on the lock. Open in less than a minute, he quietly cracks it open and slips through. It is dim inside, but there is a light coming from somewhere. He can feel their presence. Smell their stink. The monsters are here. On his guard, he moves quickly to the canned goods aisle. He grabs as many cans of food as he can stuff into his backpack. Speed is his friend, and he only wants one more thing before he can leave and hide for the remainder of the night. It's a dangerous move, but in this world he finds the small comforts of the old days much more satisfying. He is at the aisle now. Briskly tiptoeing down the row, he finds the Fritos and is just about to grab a bag when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. A monster has found him. He rips the chips off the shelf and sprints for the back door, bashing it open and running into the dark night. Sounds are heard, more monsters are aware. He throws caution to the wind and runs in a straight line, disregarding sneaking in favor of the fastest route. He's already been seen, he doesn't have time to be careful. He's past the police station now, his lungs burning with the effort of sprinting flat out. At last he makes it to his alley, baseball sliding to the end where his entrance is. He finds the hidden hole, and drops carefully down the ladder, sliding the manhole cover over his head at the end. The sewers. Nasty. They do offer a quick and relatively safe way around the old city though. And with the exception of the one monster he killed, they don't seem to wander down here often. Plus, they seem to know they could never catch him in here. He's become an expert at navigating every single passage of the old city's septic system. He turns down an auxiliary passage, avoiding the main sewage line altogether. It's not that much faster to take the big passage, and there's no sense risking being killed in case the monsters did happen to follow him this time. It's a little less than twenty minutes to his destination through the sewers, and he makes the journey safely. Slowly pushing up the cover inside his de-facto dwelling, he looks in every direction before deciding the coast is clear. Hopping up into the room, he closes the ladder hole and secures it tight with a bike lock. He's in an old culvert with a small, grated drain from the street in the low ceiling. It measures roughly eight by eight feet, stinks like none other, and contains only a sleeping bag, TV-DVD combo, bookshelf, and microwave. "Home sweet home, I guess," he thinks to himself. Yes, welcome to his humble home.

The Conception

Oh fuck. You better watch out. I think I'm pretty excited. There's a new project on my mind. I plan to start it tomorrow. It's going to be epic. With your encouragement I think I can do it. Wait, watch out, it's going to be so awesome. You are the first ones to see it. My fucked up world is being set aside, and I am creating a new one, right here. One step at a time, I hope to build an epic. One post at a time, I can do this. Hopefully if it's broken into small enough chunks and shared I won't have time to refute it, I won't have time to call it shit and destroy it. In the coming posts, please comment any and all supplemental ideas you have for me. I can't wait. You shouldn't be able to either, but I can't tell you what to feel. You're perfectly allowed to think my idea is retarded. I sincerely hope you'll help me though.

It's going to be awesome, I promise. Just wait and I'll show you.

Cloud Nine

There was a hopelessness that permeated my world, emanating from my skin, soaking into all my organs. My stomach no longer bothered to call attention to itself. Instead, it swallowed its growls, seeking nourishment in emptiness. Except I am not hopeless. I am filled with hope. And this hope is killing me, eating my consciousness from the inside out. My heart begs me to believe that everything is okay, but it is continually destroyed. My brain knows that there will be many others, but I find myself refusing to let go.

Many Thoughts, Many People

Now, before I go off offending anyone, I'd like to note that this is a sloppy collection of thoughts about many people. It's not in any order at all, and it's not about any one person. It is about a lot of different people, and I will never tell anyone who is who. Not that it matters. This just feels sort of akin to one of those 'private entries' that I seem to believe I could maybe get off my chest, provided there's sufficient anonymity. I thought I might as well give it a try. This was not meant for any purpose, it is simply some things I thought.

I wish I hadn't given you up. I had a golden opportunity but I gave it up. Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I hadn't, and I get mad. I think you're great. I really wish I didn't have feelings, and I could be a shallow asshole. I know it would be amazing. I really wish you would give me a chance. You have no idea. Sometimes I think you missed out, and sometimes I think I did. However, every time I think about it I am immensely happy that things between us ended. You two could have been something special. But you weren't, and there's no harm there. I hate you both and your fakeness. Sometimes I regret ever meeting you. Our time was so short, yet you fucked me up in so many ways (Hahaha, ironic). I think I've cared about you more than anyone else I've ever known combined. The three(?) of you treated me like shit and I fucking despise you all. I hate how I feel like I have to fake that I like you at all, you whore. To be perfectly honest, I only talked to you because I thought you were pretty. I'm glad I did, but it doesn't seem like how it should have been. I've actually thought about you before, believe it or not. I think you could be attractive if you weren't such a retard (Not that I'd ever want you, Haha). Too bad. I hate your personality, if it weren't for that, I would probably like you. Self-centered bitch. I secretly liked you for a long time. I hate talking around you because I feel like someone around us always knows something about me and wants me to talk about it, and I think it shuts you down. I never even talked to you. I really wish I would have. Ha. You are an enigma to me, I don't try to deny that. Every time I see you I am reminded of how I liked you, got over it, wondered why I ever did, then became your friend, and how now I think you're kind of a bitch. We had some... interesting... things. I don't know why I was ever attracted to you, because honestly, I find you a tad annoying. I can't remember anyone being as great as you, even though you also kill me. I love all your flaws. You are perfectly imperfect. Haha, I don't like you, but I can see what you think of me, and I think it's amusing how quickly you would change your opinions of me, as you already have once. You're strange... Sometimes I am jealous of you, but we wouldn't work together anyways. Thank you and you and you for always talking to me, and thank you for making me feel good about myself. Thank you, Ciera (No point not telling you... ha) for commenting on some of my posts, even though I don't really know you, and for making me feel like I write some good things. I'm a little sorry for how I handled things with you, I don't think you're anything too special, and I wanted to bring you back down to Earth, a little bit. Haha, still, I was pretty harsh and blunt, sorry. I don't know much about you, but I think you're quite nice, and pretty, and I wish we could've gotten to know each other. You are pretty awesome... I wonder what things would be like sometimes. Ha. I still think of one night with you and how different things would be. You were remarkable, way to fuck your life up, haha. I do wish we would have stayed friends though. You could have used someone to talk to. Ha, I had a chance to play the asshole, but I passed it up. Too bad I ruined a friendship with you to do it. Oh well. You are breathtaking. There's just too much I could say about you.