The yearning void inside

Nothing is ever enough. I always want more. From myself, from other people, from everything. I don't know how to stop this ravenous hunger inside. And yet, at the same time, I don't want to burden other people with being needy.

I can see why people drink and take drugs. Because maybe, somewhere, there's something that will stop me from feeling this.

It should be noted:

This is the place where I come to explore emotions. It's not me: you will never know my job, my location or other details of my life.

On the other hand, this is me. Naked, unadorned except for my own pretentiousness. Self-doubt, anxiety and insecurity, we have a triple special special on today.

It started out as what I call my "emo blog of emo woe". But sometimes I'm up and sometimes I'm down. I struggle with depression, get irritated and am ecstatically happy for no reason.

I'm human.

I don't think before I post but I refuse to delete, either.

Welcome

There's this disconnect

Between the emotions that I can show and the scorching rage that's inside of me. We live in a disposable society that pays lip service to the idea of equality while demonstrating that you better not actually be different.

You have to be: interested in boys, interested in sex, interested in fashion, the right sex for your gender, fitting an externally imposed idea of feminity where you shave your legs, accept that your body is wrong because it doesn't match with an unrealistic ideal, accept that other people have more right to your body than you have to say no, chin up, smile, nice tits, sit with your knees together, ladies don't, be happy, be nice.

Be nice.

This is the bullshit you put on me and you want me to be nice.

I telll you what: you don't hurt me and I won't hurt you. When you tell me that I'm wrong for being myself, that hurts me. I'm going to tell you that you're a moron.

Be NICE

Dedication to a creative life

As evidenced by the long silence here, it's hard. My fickle heart constantly shifts my priorities and the banks that I thought were so stable that I could build on them turn out to be shifting sand underneath my feet.

The worst thing is that I do this to myself.

I don't know how to be otherwise. If this is me, would not doing this, even if I hate it, be not-me? I am driven by a constant need to reach out and yet I am absurdly, paranoidly protective of my innermost self.

Hence the exposing of my deepest inadequacies in public on a completely anonymous blog. *rueful handwave* I like self-excoriation, obviously.