you’ll never find it if you’re looking for it.

Fucking hell. 

I tried to update my livejournal, my most “public” online journal, but I found myself staring at the screen.  Words wouldn’t come.  Too many people read that, I can’t write for them.  Not today.  My audience expects a certain quality of BS that I don’t want to produce.

It’s kinda sad, how many online journals I have.  But not surprising, when you think about what each is used for.  My livejournal is like the journal that you hand in to your English teacher.  Mostly positive, but with a few “pensive” moments scattered about for extra credit.  It is definately written for an audience.

This is my semi-private journal.  I can liken it to the diary I used to keep when I was in therapy.  Mostly private, but still meant to be shared.  Of course, I never shared what was actually written in that, just want she wanted to hear.  In that aspect, this is a little different.  This is stuff that it wouldn’t kill me if someone read, but is still a little uncomfortable.

My private livejournal is the stuff I don’t want anyone to know, ever.  The writing in it is mediocre, nowhere near as eloquent as this.  The sentences are sometimes incomplete, and the general flow is unorganized and random.  I hate reading it, I hardly ever do.  It is the equivalent of a private, paper diary.

I don’t know why I wrote that. 

I don’t know much.  I’m feeling overwhelmed.  I know I can’t do this much longer.  Something’s going to give, and I don’t really know what, exactly.  I have so much work I have to do, but my motivation is gone.  I don’t care if I fail.  WHY should I?  Who am I doing this for?  This isn’t for me.  I don’t want to be this bloody perfect.  I want to be happy.  The two don’t coincide.  I feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.  I used to like the school, the grades, the test scores.  I used to like being the best.  It’s lost it’s appeal.  Really, what has being the best gotten me?  I’m still poor as fuck.  I still have no friends.  I’m still fucking miserable.  My parents still hate each other, my house is still falling apart, my dad is still a drunk, and I still hate myself.  So why have I been forcing myself into these high standards?

I told myself it was for my future.  That is would all pay off, in the end.  All the work.  That someday I would be something.  That’s bullshit.  People do nothing and get everything.  Hard work doesnt gurantee wealth or fame or fortune, or even success.  I don’t think it’s ever going to pay off.

If I just gave up now, would they be disappointed?  Yes.  They expect so much of me.  They’re so proud.  Of what.  Of me?  Of what I’ve done?  I’ve done nothing.  They are foolish.  I wish people wouldn’t put faith in me.  I wish I didn’t have these bloody obligations.  I don’t want to make them proud.  I wan to go to sleep for a long, long time.