So basically, I understand that people could say that there's a lot I haven't done, simply because it's true. I mean, I'm 20 years old. I'd like to think I have a lot of my life ahead of me still, where I willl have the opportunity to do a lot of these things. But for someone to point it out in a really condescending fashion makes me really upset. Like I understand, I haven't actually been in a legitimate relationship ever, but do you REALLLY feel the need to mock me because of it? I'm sorry, who told you that you could decide what I do with my life? Fuck off.

I hate myself. I hate everything. I do this to myself all the fucking time, and it's some booolshyt, like, let's be serious.

So lately I've been thinking a lot, and generally when I do that I freak out, and generally when I freak out I blog... hence this post. I completely envy people who know exactly what they want to do in life. I seriously go over everything in my head, and there's really nothing that fascinates me so much that I'd like to make a career out of it. And sure, I could settle for something that I'm decent at, but I'm not going to spend my life working at some place doing something that I'm only mildly interested in when I could be doing anything I want. And maybe that's the problem. When I have too many options I don't know what to do with myself. Even for instance, when I'm writing a paper. If a teacher says "write about whatever you want" I draw a blank. I can't do this. There are so many endless possibilities, I can't even fathom to think of all of them, let alone narrow that list down to one topic that will end up being my paper. And maybe the issue lies with the fact that I dread thinking about things. How instead of facing stuff, I flee. I don't like confrontation, I don't like facing reality, I would rather leave a problem unsolved and never have to think about it again, than go through the whole ordeal of fixing everything. I've quit almost everything I've ever done, and if my past has any indication of what lies ahead, my future is screwed. And the most frustrating part is all of this is my fault, all of this could have been avoided. Everything is not okay, but the good thing is I can pretend like it is. And maybe that's what life is. Everyone pretending like they're happy, like they don't care, like they do care, like they believe you, like they believe IN you. How is anyone supposed to believe in me when I can't believe in myself? I don't feel like I'm worthy of being believed in. I don't feel like I'm even worthy of being liked.

I never understand why I do this to myself.

I guess people read this now too. So yay. I literally wish I was capable of writing in a diary, but for whatever reason whenever I try to write in it I have nothing to say. I sit there and stare at my pen and try to write, but I can't think of one damn word. And somehow when I type, I can go on for days, and literally type everything. But really who wants to read that? Sometimes I have these super intense thoughts, and I don't think anyone should ever read them. Or know about them. And sometimes I feel like all these thoughts and all these emotions are going to cause me trouble. Some lady told me all her heart problems because of stress and working too much. This scares me more than anything. I need to dance soon. I need to do something. I really wish I never stopped dancing, if I could go back and change anything I would tell myself that it's the stupidest thing I could've ever done. I would yell at myself and say that stopping now would cause the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. Like part of my soul is missing. Like I'm constantly forgetting something. Like there's a void in my life that can only be filled by movement and music. I miss the days when I could have a horrible day and let it all out at the studio. Where I could go to practice, and do a routine over and over, and get yelled at, and have to do strength because we sucked. And then do it all over again. I would NEVER in a million years think that I would miss that, but I do. I miss the headaches I got after practice. I miss the lights, the atmosphere, the people. When I'd be so physically exhausted and sweaty, and I still knew it was worth it. I MISS IT ALL SO MUCH YOU CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND.

I recently read a suicide note some girl posted on her tumblr, and it was honestly one of the saddest things I've ever read. I sat here, crying, not only because it was sad, but because at one point in my life I felt the exact same way she did. And the fact that her situation was so much more intense than mine made me seem even more like an idiot than I did before. And I know people are always like "I know what you're going through," blah blah blah, but I honestly could relate. And maybe that's why I got so emotional over it. I've honestly felt that low, like there was no other option for me but to give up on everything all together. And this is something that only 2 people know anything about. And the fact that I even posted anything about it on here is a huge step for me.

So I use this

as a means of venting where I feel like most people won't see. Heck, I'm pretty sure nobody else uses theirs anymore, so I'm thinking nobody will see this at all. And maybe that's a good thing.
But lately I've been feeling pretty buh. Basically almost as bad as it was before. And I know that's a pretty vague thing to say, but I know for a fact that nobody fully knows what I'm talking about, so I'm going to be as vague as I please. And maybe it's partially my fault that I have nobody to talk to about these things, but I don't know. I feel like a burden. Like I'm trying to make my problems everyone's problems. Like if I talk about it, I'm being so self absorbed and nobody really cares. Like if I tell other people... it becomes reality. And I don't know if I'm ready for that.

Basically

Ever since I can remember, I've been fascinated with figuring things out. Why people act the way they do, why they say the things they do, just basically anything you can imagine. So when we started dissecting behavior patterns in serial killers in my 12th grade forensic science class, I was enthralled. This was everything I ever wanted, and more. (Except maybe not because we were studying creepy old men who do some pretty nasty things, but we can pretend this is what I wanted? Eh?) So when things don't have a definite answer, it makes me a little anxious. I need answers, I need things to be explained, and when people fail to do so, or there just simply is no exact reason, I go a little nuts. This is why I hate when people tell me half of their story, or only explain things half way. This is also why mythbusters makes me angry. Because sure, there are times when they can prove or bust a theory, but there are certain times when the theory just is unsolveable. And that is not okay with me.

Sometimes

I go through my old posts and try to figure out if I can remember exactly what I was talking about. So I decided to blog again, mostly because I need some place where I can just be all "alghelakgjelagjeal" and not really worry about what exactly I'm saying, and whether or not it's something I don't want a lot of people reading. Because let's be honest, who actually reads this blog? Amirite? So this is the start of my blogging. Again. I mean, I'm not exactly sure if it's actually going to happen on a regular basis, but we can try right? And I may not always say things that are happy, or exciting, or interesting but that's just the way it goes. That's just the way I roll? God this blog brings the references out of me. I'm really glad most people don't know this exists now. However that is all I'm saying now. Soooo....
goodnight. aaaaaaaaaand goodbye.

So I'm offically

done with my blog. It's pointless and a waste of time and emotion. So I'm going to go through the rest of my life like a robot. Not get too emotionally attached to people, because they don't care that much about you anyway. Never fall in love, because it's a waste of time. And never tell anyone anything because all they're waiting for is their turn to speak. They don't actually care what you have to say.

I've come to realize

that I sometimes liked boys, just for the sake of liking someone. Like it was something to do, something to think about. Something to distract me from how much I hated myself. I really truthfully hated myself.
I felt like nothing I did was good enough. I wasn't talented, I wasn't extremely pretty, or smart, or anything worth being proud of myself for. I was just average. Maybe even below average.
But I'm starting to become more confident. I can say that I find myself okay now. I'm not extremely smart, but I'm not dumb. I'm okay looking, not beautiful, but not ugly. And I'm okay with being single. I really am.