My idealism is like a cancer.

And cynicism is my cure.

Of course, I am not so naive to call myself a cynic.  I’ve learned any label you give yourself is invariably wrong.  Best let others do the labeling, then you can laugh on the sidelines, your own private joke.

Stand proud and take your bow.

I know I reveal too much of myself here.  Privacy is a safety blanket, it keeps me from lying to them.  Anyone who reads this knows me more than most of my friends.  But the people who read this don’t give a fuck about me.  They don’t expect shit from me, which is drastically different than "real" people.

I’ve said before, being myself simply is not an option.  Being myself would hurt them, and logically, it’s best to only have one person hurt.  I will let them be happy.  Mostly, they’re too selfish to care about anyone but themselves anyway.  I needn’t make half the efforts I do, they don’t see what’s right in front of them.  That is their nature and I don’t grudge them.

Today I read some of my entries from 2001.  It was late 2001, so not quite 5 years ago.  I’ve had this since the end of 8th grade, in early 2001, though, so there you are.  Five years.  It never ceases to amaze me.  This will be my 531st entry and in all of those, I’ve only written 7 private ones.  The things I considered then to merit a private entry…I’ve loosened up a great deal, if that’s what you wish to call it.  But there’s still one thing that I will not discuss here.  Because I am not like that.  I am not like them.

Five years have changed a lot.  I no longer put things in astericks, for one.  Like, *smirks* or *giggles*.  But I was serious then, still.  Too serious.  Too serious to be 14.

Frankly and colloquially, it’s just not fair.  It’s not fucking fair.  And I know life isn’t fair and I hate myself for feeling this way, but I’m so goddamn bitter about everything and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let it go.  Why me?  Why did I have to be like this? 

Yeah, my childhood wasn’t terrible.  I wasn’t beaten or neglected or abused in any way for most of it.   My peers tormented me, though, but I can’t blame it on them.  They were children.  I wasn’t.

I can usually laugh it off when I say that I was never a child.  But I’m dead serious.  In the second grade, I knew I was different.  They told me as much.  By the fourth grade, I knew two things.  First, I knew I was mortal and that I would die.  Second, I knew that no one would ever love and accept me for what I am.

In some ways, I guess I’m the standard "tortured genius."  I’ve always been intelligent.  I’ve always been gifted.  With great knowledge comes great pain.  Knowledge is power.  With great power comes great responsibility.  I knew I would have to guard them, guide them, watch them, never be like them.  I have to avoid the mistakes they make.  I have to avoid my downfall.  

Maybe I just have delusions of grandeur and megalomania. 

My environment did not shape me and I don’t know what did.  And that scares me more than anything else.