Detatched from everything. Think and walk and dance and talk, but always detatched. Sometimes I am a stranger in my own body. With my own voice I speak of things I do not understand. I am in a droplet of water, soundless and faint. A voyeur without eyes. He says 'I am alright' over and again. I am alright. I have to convince myself of that. That all these things we do in between the long silences mean something. But there's never been any place for sincerity there. Typically I will lie to get what I want. I will lie to get out of things I don't want. I will lie and lie until nothing is sincere anymore  and everything is just a made up word that someone used when they had to get out of a bad relationship. What happened to us? Whatever went wrong? Everything. Everything. But it doesn't mean anything. It is the broad shoulder on which we lean when we have nothing to say. We never have anything to say.

I don't get people, I never have. I don't wake up in the morning and expect to understand any of it. I'm just happy if I make it through the day. No, I'm not. That's a lie there again, you see? Nothing ever lasts. That's basically what it is. Happiness is a fleeting thing that comes around every now and then to tease us about how good things could be. I do not believe in happiness. Not everlasting sort anyway. For the most part, life is tirelessly mundane. I saw that coming a long way. Right from the get go. By now, most of the people I've come to know are strangers to me. I know their names but I don't understand any of it. There is a drive in them that isn't in me. Growing up.  I'm afraid I'm going to be stupid for the rest of my life if I don't go to college, there, I said it. That I'm going to stay a kid if I don't do all the things that people are supposed to do. Isn't that fucked up? Some self-confidence. So distracted. It's my fault, I'm so sorry. I feed it every day. With waste and self-hate and insecurity. Because then I'm not as hollow as I feel.