ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"Recognize / I have all the answers / though the questions haven't formed inside your mind\" - Worth Every Scar Citizens. Commuters. Neighbors. Roommates. Lovers. You have no idea what they're thinking. It's sad, really. The world is so big, our connections so intimate, and none of us know the horrors of our own minds, much less those of the people near us. My roommate, five feet from me, sitting on her bed eating an egg and vegetable scramble, doesn't know that sometimes I think of climbing to the stop of the seven-story staircase in our building and throwing myself down them just to see how much pain I could put myself in before dying. The person next to me on the trolley, whose shoulder gets nudged by my elbow each time the train rocks to the right, doesn't know that I think about tearing their throat out each time they breathe noisily through their nostril. The girl listening to Pop/Rock Guest Listening Station number 27 at work doesn't know that I think about running my fingers through her hair and brewing her coffee as though it were the penultimate moment of my existence. And I don't know that the person two spots down from me at this computer station is so annoyed by the rhythm of my fingers tapping the keys that he's concentrating on not swallowing his own fist to rid himself of the aggravation. No one knows anyone. These defeatest thoughts are not with me all the time, and I'd never choose to act on them, but they surface from time to time and they frighten me. Painful reminders of my own mortality, fuel for the fear that I may be a closet sociopath, the truth that I am lonely and paranoid, assured that I will die alone. A lot of people don't know the truth about me: that I am really a very sad and lonely person, unable or unwilling to connect with others in a fulfilling away, always on the outside, never truly in the moment. I hate it, but I know it's true. I have fleeting moments of happiness, but I know that I am mostly sad. It's a combination of reasons: personal tragedy, failed interpersonal relationships, the curse of the thinking man, the link between creativity and psychopathosis.Anyway, I've gotta show tonight and play rehearsal before that, so my demons will be exorcised soon enough to purge myself for another week of work. Happy Memorial Day!1:22 p.m. - 2005-05-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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