I Am the World's Worst Accident | 01/26/2009 |
It's been a long time since I've even thought of Bloop.
At one point, I just came here to play with layouts and find out about all the fun stuff I can do.
Never took it seriously as an online diary;
maybe because I never really believed in the idea of online diaries.
Why would I ever consider parading my emotions and thoughts to the public for attention?
Because I'm too lazy to buy myself a notebook and pick up an actual pen to do it;
I save my hand for something a lot more special than "my feelings."
Maybe I really am just a bitter person altogether;
maybe I came to an online diary service so other people could see how bitter I am and then project their bitterness right back at me.
Or maybe it doesn't even matter.
Better this than paying to see a therapist who will tell me to take medicine;
I'm not the medicine type.
I always find myself on the brink of loneliness, and when I'm not entirely alone. I have a wonderful boyfriend; I shouldn't feel lonely, should I? Oh, but I do. Even when he's looking directly at me, even when he pauses his video games to tell me how beautiful I am, I can't escape some feeling that I really am all alone. This could be because my head is so full of nonsense. I'm constantly plagued by insecurities and past regrets that I have yet to get over. The harder I strive to actually overcome these things, the worst off I end up. I overthink them, every minor inconvenience in my life comes back to haunt me with a horrifyingly over-dramatized vengeance. And then I further to humiliate what is the essence of me by projecting this drama onto that significant other, showing him that three years along now, I have overcome nothing within myself. And then comes the shame. Oh, I'm ashamed, you better believe it, and once again, worse off. Wouldn't it just be easier if human's had the ability to deny the fact that regret even existed? I can think of quite a few people that would be able to overcome quite a few obstacles if they didn't have that tiny voice in their head saying "wait, wait remember what happened that one time?"
I went to a funeral today. My uncle died recently. I renowed fireman, with many friends, and more family than you can think to count on your hands. I hate funerals. For the normal, reminder of death, reminder of what's to come, reason as most people hate funerals, but there's a little something more. The last funeral I went to before this one, just seven months earlier was for my cousin. Twenty years old and he died in a violent car accident. Needless to say, I think that's where my ability to cope with death shattered. Maybe even my ability to cope with myself. I'm not close with my family. I can't even remember being close with them. When my cousin died, I cried, as much for him as for the piss-poor excuse for the pastor that preached his sermon. Don't get me wrong, from a moderately religious family, I have a moderate respect for religion, even if I, myself, don't get wrapped up in the technicalities of it, but my cousin didn't believe in God, and he didn't believe in Christ, and he never thought to pick up a bible. But that pastor, man, the guy just went on and on and on about God through the whole sermon, didn't say a blasted two words about what my cousin did as a person, though it wasn't much since he was mostly just a boozer. I just don't see it as being right. Funerals shouldn't be about preaching a religion, they should be about being able to remember a person in the way that brings you the most comfort. The pastor at my uncles, funeral, atleast, did that right, though he fumbled a lot on his words and looked much like he had been dragged out of bed at the last minute. But who really needs a religious debate.
I got side tracked, the main reason I brought up the funeral was because I was reminded in that moment, when I looked around the room, at all the tear stained faces, the hung heads, and the red eyes. The firemen and a few friends crowded around the back and even spilling around the sides in the aisles because the thirty-two seats were barely enough for all the family. I have a big family. It seems to be getting bigger yet, my cousins are starting to squeeze out little ones. But my uncle's mother, my grandmother, she had seven kids. Seven. Seven kids to watch their brothers and sisters die, seven kids to take care of the funeral arrangements. Seven kids to be there for each other and spend Super-Bowl Sunday's together. {go Steelers} I have one sister who I'm not on good terms with. In fact, I can't remember the last time we were on good terms. I just have my boyfriend and a childless future. Yeah, really, I hate kids.
Maybe this is where the loneliness spawns from... |
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