I Can't Win

I can already tell whoever cares that this is going to be a pointless post. I promise. It doesn't offend me if you just stop reading right now, because I'm just going to ramble. It'll tell about yesterday, and why I'm so fucking mad, but this is no earth shattering post. I swear. I'm winging it.

So yesterday, I was pretty damn mad, or upset. I don't really know which. Anyways, I finally got sick of my parents' house, so I took off for Denton at three in the afternoon. My mother force fed me chili before I went, despite the knowledge that I absolutely despise spicy (I would rather go hungry). I drove up to Denton with no stops and no problems, and finally felt at home. I love it up here. I'm not that far away, but emotionally, it's forever of a distance. Later on, I decided to send a message to a girl I hadn't talked to in quite a long time, being brutally honest about how I felt. She initially took it quite well, but then her problems arose. I remembered everything, and she was extremely doubtful that I had meant what I said. I definitely did, but I don't blame her for not believing me. The last I had talked to her, things were quite different. I mean, I have thought about it so much since it happened. Basically, I totally abandoned her. Not gonna lie, it was mostly in self-interest. But it wasn't because she wasn't absolutely amazing. It was because if I hadn't, I wouldn't feel right about it. So, I guess that's a little off-topic, although there isn't really a topic, so the out-of-place statement is this one... Whatever. Yesterday we talked until about eight o'clock, before I learned how upset she was. I didn't know what to do, so I drove out to her. For the few hours I had just holding her and talking about nothing in particular, I felt so good. I mean, I had hurt this girl more than she ever deserved, although I didn't mean to, and to get the chance to lay down in her bed with her was great. At twelve-thirty I left, with the promise that I wasn't leaving for a year again. I will be going back, I know. I got home in Denton (again) at around three in the morning. I had driven almost two hundred miles in one day. Every mile was worth it. Every solitary, music-filled, monotonous mile was worth it. I felt good. Driving itself had felt good. But most of all, I felt good because - only for a brief second - I remembered that there are other people in the world worth caring about. It was like a breath of fresh air. What a relief.

I suppose I really like driving. Only if I'm by myself, though. And nothing beats driving on a foggy night like last night. I would look out to my left, and see grass seamlessly blending into the stars above. Indistinguishable. I would look out to my right, and see the same thing. Looking straight ahead, I could see the dashed-white lines screaming past me, but I could only see one, or two lines ahead. I was in a silent bubble. Moving through the incredible void swiftly, but alone. There were no towns, there were no lights, there was nothing in any direction. Only the giant moon on my right, my music, and the road directly ahead.

I was shocked back into life when my alarm went off three hours later. Too early. My throat felt like I had eaten nothing but sandpaper, and my head was a cacophony of explosions, beautifully orchestrated to the pulse of my blood in my veins. Lovely day to die. I asked Brad if he would sign into our class for me, and he agreed, so I turned over and waited for oblivion to overtake me. Unfortunately, I was not to be so lucky. Today, as it so happens, has not been a happy day. The euphoria from the previous night wearing off, I settled back into reality. And my own fucked-up existence. First contact with the outside world for the new week, which I had struggled to avoid, was not exactly pleasant. It may have been good intentioned, but I don't really think so. Then I heard from her. She seemed happy, apparently. It was nice to know the last night hadn't been a cruel dream. Third, I heard from Ksenia, who I haven't talked to in years and years, since the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in high-school, to be exact. Nothing much there, just checking up, I suppose.

I am a very honest person. I tell you straight up what I think, and that is all. I do tend to want to please, so I will try to cushion the bad things, but I'm still going to tell you exactly what's wrong with you. I have tried that before. It was unappreciated. In fact, it was hated. I've never been so down. So now when I get asked the same question, and I know the answer hasn't changed much, why am I going to choose to relive the hell? I am not. At least, not right now. I hate this so much. When I am honest, it is under-appreciated. When I care, even though no one else will, it goes unnoticed. But when it's not me, for whatever reason, it's bliss. I'm beginning to think I'm alone. Someone needs to tell me it's worth it, even if it isn't. I'm done not caring, but now I've offended everyone possible. How can I care again without re-offending everyone? Besides, does it even matter? I'm starting to doubt it. I'd hate to see it leave, with everything I am, I would. But what ever changes?

See, I told you this meant nothing. If you've read this far (and not shot yourself - or me, for that matter) you should probably consult a professional. I'm sure I've ruined your life in some way as well.