All’s fair in love and war. Well, maybe just war.

 So, yeah. Over two years, and my subconscious still won’t let me be. I fall asleep and my dreams are a mix of lamenting pasts and West Side Story. Families were brought together and torn apart. There was singing, and costumes, and regret, and wishes all muddled together in an instant of bright colors and grey skies. People surrounding me, and yet, waking up I still feel lonelier than ever. At least this time she talked to me. At one point she even held me. Or let me hold her. Doesn’t stop the fact that I dreamt of her with someone else. I failed. At nothing exactly, it just feels that way. If all were fair, I’d still be happy. I don’t want to be alone, but I’m sick and goddamned tired of feeling like no matter what choices I make from now on I’m going to have to settle for it. These are the days that I want nothing more than to be alone. Completely shut off. Gone and away. One of these days I’m going to close my door and just not open it ever again. And overnight, 10,000 years will pass in that same instant of color and grey and when people finally come a knockin’ they’ll find me like Jack’s Lament. "Only dust. And a plaque. That reads here lies poor, old Jack." Ha. If only. Realistically, I’d love to be catatonic. Or in a coma. But, I’m not going to lie, I’m scared about dreaming in a coma. I’d rather have a frontal lobotomy, than a bottle in front of me. I’m so sick and tired of having reality take away the things that mkae me truly happy, and it’s sad when the most joy I get out of life comes from material possessions, and memories of things I lost and probably aren’t ever coming back. Hell, even before she was everything I wanted, she was still everything I wanted. She was my best friend. I loved her, I’ve hated her, and now I’m just filled with the homesickness and regret that comes wrapped up neatly with every thought of her. I’m trying to be happy. I’m putting in all the effort I can. And it’s not working. I’ve such an overinflated view of myself that I preen over people missing and caring about me, and the worst part is, I know I’m not that special. Plus, the people that filled the happiest moments of my life no longer want anything to do with me for reasons no one’s ever actually explained. It’s like dying, I expect. Only no one comes to your funeral. Better yet, it’s like being killed by the people you want to see at your funeral. Then again, I can’t really blame them, can I? I taught them. I was the one who showed them how to leave people behind when you had no need of them. I should have taught them the better part of loyalty. Friendship really shouldn’t feel like an entry level job, but when most of the things you receive are the minimum wage remnants of emotional currency, why try harder? I’m ok with being separated from the face value, single serving, not so clever people. Which, for the record, is pretty much everyone I know at this point. I hate that I can’t actually be in love with anyone. At least I’m not in love with anyone. I surround myself with my friends thinking that the more of them I have, the easier it is to deal with the fact that I still constantly don’t feel connected anymore. Normally, I’d be okay with that. But, nowadays, I just want the one. The one person you can get everything from. Emotionally, of course. I want to try harder for that person, be better for that person, because she brings out the best in me. Sometimes you have to reward someone just for being there, and I’m selfish enough that I’ll pick and choose who deserves more. I know that I’m asked for love from certain friends, and I’m giving all I have left. Because they deserve it. But everything I have left is nothing compared to what I gave. They are just people now. Puzzle pieces on a renaissance mask of happiness that I’ll wear everyday if I have to, but for God’s sake, I hate lying. I hate not being who I want to be. I hate not moving forward. I hate settling. I’m not competitive by nature, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want my gold fucking medal. And all is not fair. Especially not in love. Not only for me, but for those people that want, and probably deserve, mine. Who am I to dictate? I’ve been hurt, therefore I’m allowed to hurt others? Guess so. At the end of the day, I will most likely be hated. At a certain point, I’ve grown used to that. I accept being the bad guy. And as part of that character, I revel in it. Because at least I’ll be remembered. No one ever is truly themselves around others. Everyone plays a character, or wears a mask. And the only person that knows how well, or poorly, some should be treated, is themselves. Do you treat yourself? Do you help yourself? Can you look in the mirror and smile because life has showered you with some secret of happiness that makes even the most miserable of days seem like a godsend? Or do you look at everything as a penance? A punishment? Are you constantly dragging yourself down and degrading yourself because you don’t feel like you deserve better? Whichever way you act, when the cameras aren’t rolling, that’s what you deserve, and if you pretend otherwise, than you’re a liar. But all is still not fair, and you can’t be different from what everyone else expects of you. Everyone loses, everyone always get’s hurt, and everyone lies, to everyone else, and themselves. We can’t expect anyone to ever agree with us. Or believe in us. Or believe in what we believe in, and while those arguments are fun, it’s always going to cause conflict. 

Most of this probably has nothing to do with you. Because you aren’t that special.

I’m done. I give up. I don’t want to do this anymore.

G’night.