So I feel like I'm almost slightly forcing myself to do this. Even though last night, I really wanted to write, but I wanted to read as well, and it was just messy overall. Though I have a decent amount of time, and even if thing don't turn out as planned, I have been thinking so much lately it's making me sick, so I should be able to get something down. Right? That would make sense.

Anyway. This whole thing started around Wednesday. I think. Or was it Tuesday? Wow. Shit. Yeah, it was Tuesday. That sucks actually now that I think about it.

Anyway. Tuesday has become group day. And this group sucked really, even though it's been a while since I've seen Star and How. But really. Group was devoted to things I didn't want to deal with. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was tired, but I felt disgusting. And because we were talking about Boyfriend troubles, I didn't feel like I could come out with "Hey everyone. I'm sorry that you guys can't find 'true love'. The truth is, you're not going to find it. So stop actually looking for it. Now onto me. I feel like my soul, or whatever inhabits this fat husk of a body, is decayed and broken beyond any hope of total repair." While it would have totally drawn everyone's focus onto me, I don't think I could speak more than that. I'd just retreat.

So I was pretty much stuck. Saying anything would've made it so that I couldn't say anything more about the subject. But if I stayed silent, I'd just be tortured by it. So tortured I was. How and Star went back and forth between eachother, praising their perceptive abilities. How even though the people of the group put masks on, they could see through them. Why? Because they pressed three people slightly, and bang! Go figure. They're not feeling too great. One even cried. And then I'm in my little corner, wondering how pissed off people would be if I just got up and left. Because I'm just this writhing mass of shadowed snakes, and nobody can see it. Not even the self-proclaimed Seers of Emotion.

But that state would eventually poison me. And seeing as I wouldn't be able to write about it here anytime soon, I decided that I needed to talk to How. Even if it was just for a little bit. So I set up and appointment with him later in the day. Again, face to face, whatever was inside me, wasn't visible by him.

So anyway. Skipping some stuff I can't even remember at this point, I got to his office, and guess what? That damned man forgot about me. He was having a meeting with the others in his department instead. Through the day, I was wondering if I'd be able to pull back up those emotions that I had felt in group, because the moment I stepped out of the office I easily fell back into normality. But I was able to call them back up, ready to talk to him, and then I was forgotten.

I don't think I've ever felt so damaged by anyone else inside the school. He might have as well punched me in the face. It would've been easier to deal with. But being fucking forgotten.

But how do you know he forgot about your meeting? He wrote it down, right?

Yes. He did. Next day though, I saw him and he didn't say anything about it.

So the man who I thought wouldn't forget me as long as I was physically present inside this gross establishment, did just that. Maybe I'm just too much to deal with. I'm either emotionless, or bursting with it, exploding blood and sadness on his carpet, and then leaving. The most important people are obviously the one who deal with physical problems. Drugs. Parents. Whatever. A rotting soul can come last, because if he's learned anything about me, it's that I've become a professional at holding a persona so strongly that my deep pain is trapped beneath one way glass. And then I find a way to strangle it to uselessness for a period of time.

There is nobody that I can trust with everything. Not even myself. But at least I am the only one who knows how to fight myself.

After walking around a little, things calmed down. I felt like shit, but that was by myself. The second I found some people to be around, it all more or less went away.

But I've been thinking about it for a while. 17 years has taught me that people are all essentially simple creatures. Regardless of whatever depth a person has to them, we are all shallow. I can pretend to be whoever I want, and I don't even have to do it well. It's all superficial. I don't have to believe in anything. I just have to copy the person I'm with well enough so that I'm not conspicuous.

 I had a talk with my Mom about this. Just because I was really into the taking mood on Friday. And we just talked about people in general. I can't even remember how we got onto the topic. It might have been me purposefully getting into it.

The thing I realized though, is I don't know if I should be proud of myself, or disgusted? My Mom admitted that even though she's can tell how we're all feeling, it scares her a little sometimes that when she looks she feels like she can't tell anymore. That instead of seeing what I'm really feeling, she's seeing what I want her to see.

So if the person who gave birth to me, can't see through what I make, what chance does anyone else have?

Though what does that make me then? Should I be glad about this? I mean, through all my moving, being the new kid, not being able to fit in very well, be alone more often than not. My sixth grade self would be in awe at what I've become. He'd worship the ground I walked on, and be elated that his wishes do come true. Of course, he'd be upset at a couple of things. Nowhere near enough to be upset with me, but enough to be a little disappointed.

But then it also makes me wonder. Why can't I just be normal? I don't have to be just like everyone else. I just need to have some solid friends that all fit in a general area. Not way across the board, because then that just keeps me spread thin. Of course, that hasn't happened.

So that's one half of what I've been thinking. Or roughly at least

The other has been something that I tend to think about from time to time, just because I have yet to experience it. And the book I've been reading has me thinking about it yet again. What would it be like to hurt someone? I guess it sounds horrible unless you've been inside my body when I've been dipped into the pool of anger that I hide away in my chest.

See, I feel like I'm composed of two very huge pools of two emotions. Sadness, and Anger. Every other emotion is dwarfed by the sheer strength that the two dominate ones hold. Basically, they're opposing forces, which I why I'm able to hide them so easily, but sometimes they spill over. Sadness is shadows, Anger is fire.

Anyway. Anger is something I don't have to deal with very much, since it's the one emotion that I've had the most work on suppressing, because when it gets out of control, it's incredibly dangerous. Something I've  told How, and he asked if I could drag it out inside the group. HA! That would end up being terrible. Because every time I dip into my anger purposefully, it's a controlled, cold and powerful hate.

Off topic slightly. SO, in the book the character has to deal with the fact that he's been trained to kill, and now he's been asked to stop. His life has been filled with killing, and now without it, he's not sure what to do. And it pains him to hold it back.

So that got me wondering. When I get mad. Like really, 100% angry, there's no suppressing the feeling, it's painful. Because instead of holding back what I'm feeling, I have to hold back my body. Which when I was a child, didn't matter, because I just let myself do whatever, and my weakness kept me in check. But now, my muscles ache to be used. They burn with this power, this terrible urge to be used without restraint.

And it makes me wonder. What am I really?

Because when I sparred in tournaments. It was delicious. These were people I didn't know, and they didn't know me. So when we fought, nobody cared about the other person. It's the closest I've ever gotten to full freedom with my body, and it loves it. It loves being able to go as fast as it wants. It loves winning and listening to my mind completely without rules.

The dangerous thing was, I've hurt someone sparring. Kicked him in the face. And it was so effortless. No pain on my part. And when I did it, I felt no remorse. I kicked and knew it connected somehow. Even though it wasn't the goal, it was accepted error. I was able to see blood coming out of his nose in the split second before I turned around to kneel. I thought I had broken his nose, and all I could dwell on was how easily it had been done.

Turns out I didn't break his nose, but I ripped it instead. Not as bad as I thought. Just little cuts. But they still bled like he had broken it.

Now I know I'm capable of fighting without remorse. And I don't know what kind of power is inside those muscles when they burn. I know my strength enough that in the dojo I can avoid hurting people. But I don't know where it ends. Where is my limit? And I feel like a monster wondering that. Could I kill a human with my bare hands? I probably could. Could I fight someone trying to kill me? I want to find out at the same time I don't.

I don't know.

I feel like there's something more to me. Something that's grown deep inside those pools. And it wants to get out. Maybe it's something terrible. But maybe it's something worth getting to know, because it is a part of me. 

Sigh. I don't know. I really don't.

One thing I do know though is what this blog has become. It's become a trash dump. Not because the stuff I write in here is bad. I've realized that the things I write down here are things I just can't hold inside my body. Which would explain the range of things I write down. From petty teenage things, to the complex subjects.

It's all stuff that when I get into school, I DO NOT want inside my head. For example. I don't really want to like Holland. So I talk about it here, so when I get into school, it's gone. I also don't want to dwell on what it'd be like to get into a real fight inside school, so that goes here too. God. Here. Friends, Sex, Drugs, Depression, Anger, Opinions. All go in here.

Maybe it's more like a shower then. I wash here so I'm clean everywhere else. Makes life easier to deal with.

Though I'm realizing, that my capacity is becoming larger, which I why I don't write as often anymore. I can carry more baggage and still appear fine. Though when I finally dump my baggage, there's a decent amount of it.

I'm getting tired of writing. I've pretty much written something longer than my research paper back in the beginning of the year, right now. I have other things to do. I think.

Out~

Are you gay? I've only read a few of your entries, but I kind of wondered. That, and how you always put "Out~" at the end. I think, too, you should talk to your doctor about your depression. Mention DYSTHYMIA and ask him to test you for it. Let me know if I'm wrong about either of the above.