Let The Depression Continue!!!

Taking Over Me
By: EvanEscence

you don’t remember me but i remember you
i lie awake and try so hard not to think of you
but who can decide what they dream?
and dream i do…

i believe in you
i’ll give up everything just to find you
i have to be with you to live to breathe
you’re taking over me

have you forgotten all i know
and all we had?
you saw me mourning my love for you
and touched my hand
i knew you loved me then

i believe in you
i’ll give up everything just to find you
i have to be with you to live to breathe
you’re taking over me

i look in the mirror and see your face
if i look deep enough
so many things inside that are just like you
are taking over

Geez.  Why do I put myself through this?  Why do I let myself feel this way about a person when I know there’s no logical reason for even possibly considering that he would maybe be interested in me?  Why do I let myself get depressed over someone who probably couldn’t care less about me?  I mean, it’s not like I have any evidence to the contrary.  I might as well be a brick in the wall for all he tries to mak communication with me.  And though I may not call him, I do E-mail him.  I do invite him on things.  But every time, “no thanks.”  “I’m busy that day.”  “I’m not interested.”

And that’s the worst freakin’ paradox of them all.  The best thing I can usually do is invite him to something where there’s a group of us, but he doesn’t like groups, so he refuses, yet that’s how I get to know a person at least on a preliminary basis, but he doesn’t like groups, so he refuses . . .

You see the loop?  I see the loop.  And it kills me.  I’m so close to just giving up, because like he even wants to have a conversation about anything with me.  He wouldn’t even answer me when I asked what his major was!  He told me to guess, and when I said I had no idea, he said to ask Mike, that he could probably guess.

Why am I getting into this again?  Once again, I’m in a situation where another person has all the control, and I’m left with nothing because of my own God-damned emotions.  I suppose I didn’t come so far as I thought in the past year.  It seems I keep losing, never truly gaining.  And it’s not that I don’t look for what I’ve gained, if anything.  I am looking.  Or trying to.  But I don’t see anything.  I just know what I’ve lost, or what I’ve discovered wasn’t there in the first place, or realized the truth of something when all I saw and wanted to see was an illusion.

I don’t want illusions.  I don’t want broken dreams.  But I also don’t want to give up on him.  I don’t want to stop believing that somewhere inside him is someone who wants to be included, who wants and needs people.  Not just people, friends.  I’m stupid enough to believe that not all hope is lost within him.

Stupid enough . . .

When did I become this?  Thinking that hope is stupid.  Thinking that dreams aren’t worth having because they won’t come true, anyway.  When did I stop believing in Prince Charming and reside myself to remain locked away, with no hope of love ever reaching me?  When did my hope run this thin?  When did my life become a running gag of soap-operatic tactics and solutions to which there is no real end?  That’s not called “life.”  Life isn’t supposed to be this way.  It’s not supposed to be a fairy tale, either, but it shouldn’t be this way.

Maybe I should just let him go . . .  It’s not like I matter enough to him for him to notice me not being there . . .  Sometimes I wonder if anyone would.

That’s not true . . .  I know some people would notice I’m gone.  If nothing else, because I incessantly IM some.  Heh.  It was odd.  On Sunday, I woke up to Q 104.3 playing Hey Bulldog, a Beatles song off the Yellow Submarine album, and they were on the line, “Some kind of solitude is measured out in you.  You think you know me but you haven’t got a clue.”

How true those statements are.  Some kind of solitude is measured out in everyone.  And no one, no matter how well they think, knows everything about someone else.

I miss my innocence.  When I thought the world was this big happy place, and far away meant the front of Airport Plaza, instead of the back.  When, for the most part, everything could be made better with a band-aid, or cup of Kool-Aid.  When Christmas was a magical time of year, and there were no death anniversaries five days before . . .  When everyone I knew loved Christmas, and couldn’t wait for the holiday to get here.  When all I looked forward to was the presents and home-made noodles.  When my biggest concern was trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve so that Santa Claus could come and bring all the rest of the presents.

When did the weight of the world decide to fall on my shoulders?

And you know the scariest part?  This is neither all I can deal with, nor all I’ll ever have to in life . . .