I thought I'd left it behind. That ridiculous teenager's view of life that could be compared to that of a washed-out, alcoholic, old soap-opera actor. The view in which I've seen it all before, nothing new impresses me and I've thought over all the complicated parts of life so many times and dissected it so many ways that it's such a chore to even begin the form even a single thought about it again. Tonight I had a flash of that again, that which I thought I had left behind almost three years ago. It was almost nostalgic. Had it been a vivid flashback of a happy memory, it would have been almost enjoyable.

There’s nothing like a couple of good heartbreak movies or television shows to tug at the old heartstrings of your own beating mass of bloody pulp. Not only could I relate to the ridiculous events in those audio-visual tales and the resulting feelings displayed by the characters but I of course could not help but think about past events of my own life.

Having reconciled somewhat with my first love I find myself in an awkward position: I don't really have anyone to blame anymore for who I am today. I don't have the energy anymore to go into specifics about what I loathe about myself right now but if you're an avid reader of this rarely updated internet diary then you should already be roughly familiar with what I’m not comfortable with.

Love is a strange thing. Annoying, irritating, and recurring. Just when you think you might be rid of it, it comes back to haunt you. An unwanted visitor in a broken home that has just begun to repair itself into some empty, inferior form of its former self. I’m losing my people skills. Whatever confidence and charisma I once had seems to be lost, replaced with a silence and lethargy that seems to increase intensity the longer I let it drag on. I thought, not so long ago, that a relationship would save me from this situation, would rescue and revitalise me but now seeing friends start and end them makes me think again. Perhaps I’m not ready for another relationship. Perhaps heartbreak hotel is the home for me and when I go out I should look but not touch. I realise how pathetic and depressing that sentiment seems to be but if I force myself not to think of it as such then it seems almost reasonable. Sacrificing potential self happiness in exchange for others' could be seen as going hand in hand with such a situation and I believe I’m well on the way with that.

I still can't help feeling though, that there's just something or things missing from my life at present. And so in my present miserable and tired state of mind, what does one do? I have no idea. One might step out into the cold night air for a short trip to the nearest convenience store to obtain telephone credit. An effort to stay in contact with those who one cares about and keeps one sane and feeling appreciated in this awful desire-selling, fantasy-whoring, happiness-consuming world. On the way, one might flip out a little white stick and take drags of pollution, taking a little bit of death into one's body to kill you just that little bit more inside. I don't even really like it. At one point I swore never to do it and now I do it whenever I feel like swearing. It feels cool to casually kill yourself a tiny bit and take it in stride for the sake of promoting an image, even if you're just promoting it to yourself. It also makes me feel ill. Spit on the ground like a man to get that taste of ash and smoke off your tongue. That’s the taste of self-loathing, the taste of shame. Savour the flavour and then hurl out a big gob of self-disgust.

Another feeling seems to have returned to me, a blast from the past, only this one is so much more welcome.

It is the urge
To curl up into a ball, an impenetrable fist of tears and pain,
To fall asleep

And never
Never

Wake up again.