It's been a while

I want to say that I'm doing better because technically, I am. I'm in college, I'm making money at work, and I'm getting good grades so far. A lot has happened in the past year, and I feel like a completely different person than before. But today, I remembered this blog and all the angsty dramatic things I posted for all the world to see, and I wonder if I have truly changed or if I have completely morphed into the person described in these blog posts? I used to be excellent at playing it off. At lying to myself. And don't get me wrong, I'm still great at both of those things. But I've been putting in less and less effort. Things make less and less of a difference to me. I don't think I want to die at this very moment, but I cannot picture myself at an age advanced in years. I'm more scared for the future than I have ever been. I think it's because I've seen how easy it is to completely fuck up everything. And the whole time, I was telling myself that it wasn't my fault, but I think that is a lie. 

But the past is in the past I suppose. People around me say that they believe in me, and I think to myself, wow I'm so lucky that I have such kind people around me. I think about how sad they would be if I left. I think about how many people would show up to my funeral. I think about what they would say about me. What words would they use? What would they want everyone to know about me? That I was a sweet girl? That I was nice and smiled? Would that be my legacy?

But no one knows about the real me. And people pretend to and it fucking pisses me off. Even when I'm in a group, I'm a loner. They can't hear my anxieties and they would never guess what goes on in my head while I have a smile on my face. They don't know what goes on in my room at night. I've always had my secrets, and I'll always be alone in them. I wonder if I'll feel like this forever.

I have scars that are visible when I wear short clothing, but I make no effort to hide them or cover them up. I used to in the beginning, but these days, I think they're pretty. Like a tattoo of long straight lines. But isn't that kind of fucked up? Every time someone sees them, they get a peek into the real me. No one has really said anything about it (except that one person); what would they even say? And how would I even answer?

I go to the same school as that person now and I'm terrified that I'll see them on campus. They saw the worst parts of me. And then they abandoned me as soon as it was convenient. It was a short-lived affair, but it was the first and only "serious" relationship I've been in thus far, and all it has done is reinforce the notion that people always leave me after they get to know me. 

I think that's why I like to keep an air of mystery these days. I don't know how effective it is, though. But I prefer that others let their imaginations run wild about me than for them to find out who I really am. The brain loves to try to make sense of things; to solve puzzles even with the most limited of resources. It will also likely produce conclusions that are the most favorable to the individual, which is why I don't like to get into too much detail about myself when meeting new people. They get the bare minimums of my persona (appearance, voice, body language) and fill in the rest with whatever stereotypes please them the most, and I'm OK with that. 

I don't know. I'm in a season of mixed feelings. I want to die but I don't want to make my parents sad. I want to find a true human connection but I'm afraid of rejection. I want to do something amazing with my life but I don't have the confidence. All these things are true simultaneously, leaving me in a mental stalemate. I can't belive it's already fucking September. The weeks are whizzing by, probably because I'm high most of the time. 

I feel so stupid writing this. I'm a melodramatic self-obsessed asshole. I really should keep this shit in my diary.