hey raid.

I'm good at letting go; it seems to be something you get better at with practice. What a useful tool in this life, where nothing ever seems to be permanent. Moments, days in life distorted to such a proportion that it's unbelievable when I look back just how badly the truth was stretched. What a tragedy, this "teenage wasteland" and is it really all this that our lives consist of? Running around in such a desperation and trying to show-who's better, what's right. All these endless moments spent trying to fix yourself because of someone's conviction that you are imperfect, and pulling apart your life into such tiny pieces so you can, for the millionth time, try to put it back together in a better way. Aggregate piles of false problems that match false bravados because everyone needs room on the front page to tell about their nightmares and their humiliation. Screaming at every eligible passer-by so that someone, anyone will hear your problems...you poor desperate thing. Diagnosis of depression and life-loss in this horrifying moment, better to lose your life than deal with it? We decide to spread life so thinly, and is it possible that we indulge ourselves in pain because that is the only time when people will pay attention to us? When we are hurting, bleeding, swearing-secretly yearning for attention, this is what the masses have succumbed to, this is my darling generation? Where a sliced wrist means "tell me I mean something to you", and bloody knuckles against a wall are a sign of affection. Names are forgotten so easily, and this is lost in that is lost in the shuffle of every day things. These moments are not the only ones, where you crawl into a corner, head-in-hands and plead for a better death than slow agony...these moments are the few spread through out your life where insanity becomes a "fun" past time, because reality is...too easy. When the day starts fresh and you crawl out of bed with an idea in mind; you chose whether or not to play the dying soul routine and see just how far some sad lyrics and some pain killers can get you in this society. Then create all this non-stop drama, tear shedding, word spitting just so you can pacify your urge for realism because this reality is not. you. idea. of. fun. When you beg to be put down and pushed into the ground because that is what you like. Who will keep you from lashing out? Who will ever tell you how stupid you are?, because in truth this is what you are aiming for; reprimand, cold words, and even colder-hard hands. Is this what you look for in your momentary tirades and puncture wounds? Life become too much to handle and too real to understand .this. It becomes hard to separate mind and body and the two become one whole collision. Guilty as charged with all of the above accusations and how many times have I pulled this same routine. You think yourself so different? "My problems are real. My pain is real" As is mine, but to what extent, what proportions we go to prove it, almost "flaunt" it to the world. "Look I'm hurting, look let me show you my scars" We have become dependent on others to heal us, on others to tell us what is ok and how to feel and when to use our own minds. When did it become necessary for other people to help me with my problems and tell me how to handle my life? When did we lose track of what is private and of that lone personal will and thought which we need to survive? This burden seems to have become a heavy one if we cannot see past out own mistakes and problems. Then under the scrutiny of people you deny these previous accusations and blatantly lie that you are indeed in control of your life. How can this be when I see nothing but false truths and beggars of apathy? I see no realness in anyone's eyes and these never ending streams of people trying to be everyone's friend, trying to be liked by everyone, pleasing the masses. I'd rather be ostracized and ignorant than eternally a slave to humanity and society and the masses. I owe no debt to anyone and do not feel the need to hide my opinions in oppression of "what ifs". This is my only chance to live, and if I were to look back from this point I would be very disappointed with my life. Too much of this time spent in regret and deliberation- if I am worthy of this and should I proceed with that. This day that I am wasting will never be returned to me and these feelings I so often and willingly drown in are an involuntary thought because I have repeated the tradition so many times. So maybe realizing you're alive too late is better than never realizing it at all.