end.

"No. Fuck it." Every time I try to come up with an interesting line, I try to impress. I try too hard. Trying isn't the fucked up part of it. The fucked up part is that I'm not doing any of it for myself. I'm doing it for the rest of the world so they'll pay attention to me. If I tried to impress myself, if I tried hard to work on my life, it'd be so much better. But I'm not. So. No, fuck it. This time, I'm writing a testament for myself.

Under all the stories I tell, under my white boy accent I got from my friends, under the outgoing and lazy traits I've seen to be popular, under all the shit I've filled my mind and body with is someone I didn't know. I was everything I had wanted to be all along, but I had constructed a fake personality to be, and I had become what I pretended to be. This was my one outlet, to write while thinking of my real voice, a pretender pretending to be the person I had forgotten in hopes he'll come back, and I'll be true again. Everything I've done these past five years wasn't me. I don't think I can fake this life anymore, lest I lose my soul for good.

The world isn't a mystery. Read a thousand books, and you'll learn to see everything fits together, and you'll realize just weren't looking from the right angles. The world has a plot we construct for ourselves. We can't forsee all the accidents and mistakes, but you can expect them and account for them if you can learn to read the storyline. My entire life I've been able to read the signs, but I've lived like an actor following a script, unable to avoid penned tragedies. I speak with a goddamn mumble because at some point, I just memorized the lines and stopped paying attention to what the fuck I was saying.

When I say I'm tired, it's not something that can be fixed with rest. If someone stabs you in the chest, you can't fucking sleep on it and get better in the morning. I don't know where I'm going from here. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I can't let my life go on cruise control any longer. I am so tired of believing the lies and excuses I've told myself to get by. After all the books I've read, every single one has a better ending than I've seen to occur in real life. I don't know what I believe in any more. People attribute the greater things they don't understand to God and Science and move on. I attribute God and Science to those greater things, and I'm going to move on.

I know the secrets to being happy. I know the secrets to flawlessly destroying yourself.
I don't know how to live. I hope I find out.

This is my testament. Thank you for reading.

I bought back my heart with it's weight in blood,

I set it to beat to the tick of a time bomb, and I have destroyed everything the very moment I gained what I had been looking for... for so long.

Take my body, and burn it in a boat.

I think I've had my last meltdown. I've thrown away almost everything in a short span of time, and I don't think I even regret it. The semester is over, winter is entering it's long stretch, and I've started sleeping all day waiting for the sun to set. I'm not quite sure what point there is to being here, but here in this room I am, waiting for something to start, so I can start anew. I realized I can spend my entire life alone. I'd be depressed, of course, but wouldn't I be just as depressed by being continuously wrecked by other people and myself?

This will be short.

I need money to buy a better place to sleep in and eat healthier. I need a job to have money. I don't want to work anywhere where I'll start hating myself. And I can't think of a single place where I'd be fine with working. So I'm more or less fucked.

There should be someone to hear me out about all I have to talk about. I don't want them to tell me anything, just hear what I have to say simply because they're interested. Not because they care, but because they read what I write and let it affect them. But I'm not sure if there's anyone who'd listen to me, much less be changed by me.

I guess that's why I started this blog.

Travel Journal #1

I hope, no, I day dream that if I make any more mistakes, I can learn from them. I have become more conscious of my day to day affairs, and I have realized that I accomplish nothing every day. I want to change.

I sit in a car, somewhere I don't want to be, on my way to somewhere I don't want to go, and I want to rid myself of the part that is easily pressured and convinced by others along with the part of me that is desperate enough to want to listen to them. However, this requires me to first convince myself, which is naturally impossible.

I have given up on relating to the desires of other people, because everything they claim to have is everything I want, but everything I see them do I mentally ridicule them for or is impossible for me to accomplish. I really want to be sorry for once and genuinely change myself, but it seems no-one I know is capable of it, and we're all humans, so maybe I can't either.

I haven't been in love for a long time. It might be best for me. On one hand, I have been far more clear-minded, but on the other, I haven't been truly happy in so long. The piss has been taken out of me, I have no vigor to help accomplish anything on the numerous lists of things I wish to do. I need to forgive myself for my past errors, but I want someone else to first, or it's impossible to think I can get past my past self.

It seems like I destroy or under-appreciate everything I have, and I am told I do it because I enjoy being upset. I am told I do it because I enjoy being unhappy and depressed. I am told I do so because I am only happy when I am suffering. After being told that for so long, I've almost come to believe it myself. If I desire anything, it is for these statements to be proven wrong by myself or someone else. Because despite all my unhappiness and 'suffering', I'm not truly happy.

I lack fear. I am not afraid of anything but losing my very own soul. It has come to mind that people are driven by fears that they have to overcome. If everyone else has fears, maybe I need to start being more afraid. If I have something to conquer, even myself, I can get better. I hope I can get better.

I don't feel like I'm growing much these days.

This scar turns purple in the winter.

Fuck everything I was originally going to say in this post. Because it was entirely meaningless shit I pulled out of my ass to make a filler post for this part of December.

I'm not a goddamn patron saint, but forgive me if I want to mean something to someone.

I don't know who I am, or where I'm going. That's what I was going to say. But that has become a lie this night after too much stress and too much night-time backseat driving. I know where and who I am, and where I'm going doesn't concern me. I haven't slept in around twenty four hours. That's helped clear my mind more than I can tell you. I have thought, it is true I want fans. Though I only want a fan I can be a fan of.

But let's start with the basics. I want to tell almost everyone I know this:

"Don't ever talk to me again. I don't intend on seeing you from here on out. If you're wondering why, the reason is so simple I can't hardly understand it myself. I couldn't until now, after five years of interference between my heart and my mind.
I surround myself with people who see me as someone more than just someone. Each person I consider a friend or lover is a bigger part of my life than myself, and is essential to me.

I thought about whether or not I'm essential to you, and I'm sure you don't have to tell me what the answer is.

Tonight, I realized I'm expendable, a detachable part of your life. There are six billion people on this Earth, and to you, I'm just another one you just happened to become familiar with. I'm not your best friend, I'm not your lover, I'm not someone you need. I am someone you hang out with because I am funny, or I'm a hypocrite and I ask for attention. I could so easily walk out of your life and hardly affect you, and because that is what it is, I'm going to do so. After this, I will never talk to you past a common greeting. You can tell our friends I'm a dick for all I care. But as far as it's going to go, you are going to watch me walk away and not fight for a single damn thing. And I'm not going to fight to change someone else. So what you're going to do here is watch me walk away without a single 'good-bye'."

And it will go unsaid. Because I don't have the guts to say this to anyone without the naturally made opportunity, and no-one has the patience to hear this out without interrupting me. However, here in this journal lies my resolution, and I will hold to it, because no-one else will hold me to my promises. I am so entirely sick of thinking after a night of going out how bad I felt being there. But that's my life, a motto of repetition,

J. Cassaday, Feeling Bad Everywhere.