I’ve regressed. I’m back to talking to myself in my head and listening to the same music I have played over and over for years. Today was just another day, except I’m 17, and I think I pissed off my parents. It’s supposed to be my special day, and the most exciting thing I did was take apart a bed, enjoyable, but not notable. I could tinker with things all day, it helps ground me in reality. Life becomes as simple as pulling a screw out of a hole and turning a screw driver. It’s the simple tasks, I’ve found, that are most satisfying.

I’ve never changed. I always have the same haircut, the same clothes, the same interests. Joseph is the kid who is in every class who just sits there. Reliable old me, the guy who bothers with you a text about politics or his depressing life when you just started blissfully forgetting he existed. I stopped initiating text conversations with my friends a while back. Haven’t received a text from any of them in months. Do I give a damn? Not really. I’ve just learned I’m probably not that important to most people. Oh well, that’s their problem, since I’m such a (Narcissistic adjective needed) person. I’m just unsure why people don’t want to do anything with me. If I suddenly went quiet, never texted, only said hi to people at school and exchanged a few bullshits, and never invited anyone anywhere, no one would really mind. I’ve thought about going to the doctor, to ask about my mental health, maybe I’ll get diagnosed with depression, then it’ll be official and I can REALLY beg for sympathy.

“I’m depressed”

“Oh really? Maybe you’re just a whiny bitch?”

*pulls out diagnosis

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you want a cookie?”

I probably shouldn’t though. Knowing the state of US healthcare, I’d probably get sent home with a bottle of happy pills, just because some fat cat in charge of a pharma company needed a little pocket change. The day I begin taking pills is the day I kill myself. No way am I going to live like some half rate heroin junky, relying on a drug to get my hit of happiness.

I just wonder why no one wants to be with me as bad as I want to hang around with them. This isn’t something new. My memories from elementary school are always of people hanging out without me. I probably seem odd to most people, probably look like a dumbass who is just taking advanced classes to attempt to go to a nice college. At least, that’s what I’ve heard from people who didn’t know me well, a grand total of 2 people. One is now my friend, the other was and always will be a self righteous asshole. A very intelligent fellow, but a complete dickwad, nonetheless. I’m a nice guy though, probably too nice, unless you start talking about politics, in which case I get very un-nice, for lack of a better newspeak term. I like books, movies, and politics, seems like I would be able to get some next level conversations going, except no one reads anymore, and my taste in movies probably has more in common with those of kids born in the 80s, thanks dad.

On a side note, everything on this blog is probably going to be more bloggish. I got tired of poems and stories. Those will show up once in a while, when I feel like being a cryptic bastard. This is far more therapeutic than being poet.


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