I was 19 when I was drunk at a party and a friend approached me and asked me how I have it all. I asked her what she meant and she confessed her admiration for my party image and grades. it’s interesting – what people only recognize on the surface. that was a time of my life that had been full of such emptiness that i could not even respond with an honest reply such as that there was more to me than what she mentioned, because there was even less beneath the surface. there were holes inside of me and there was a void that had rot all of my body that i could no longer try and escape. i just wanted to be remembered for something else, but then i realized i could not be remembered for much more if i didn’t even know what else there was to me. my life had lost all meaning for a couple years. i wanted to be remembered for what i’d written, but then i remembered that nobody in a world like this has time for a trivial sadness like mine. and so i spent my day writings entries like this instead of telling someone that i was just sad, that there are many days when the idea of crawling out of bed doesn’t seem like a good one. i wanted to be more than the parties i went to and who i was during that and what energy i brought, but then i realized that was the only image i ever depended on in order to deter myself away from the darker parts of myself. and i could not blame anyone for the parts of myself i did not reveal, because i was too ashamed to accept them myself.
maybe this is my own confession.