I'm scared because I am sitting here, in front of a computer, while a live band is playing not forty feet away.
I'm scared because last night I talked to a flashing light. And I imagined that it talked back to me.
I'm scared because I am actually working towards my dream by being in college, yet I feel lost.
It is as though I'd won the lottery, and yet I still was not happy.
I don't like where I am. I don't like what I'm doing. I don't like my life.
And yet... what is it that I do want?
Perhaps... Perhaps that is what I truly want, though I wouldn't think myself to be the one saying that.
I'm ashamed, I think. I'm scared that others will know me by what I've been, and not what I am.
And I don't like what I've been.
Still, it's been what, three years now? How much of a debt has to repaid, exactly? Why do I feel as bad now as I did three years ago?
Isn't the pain supposed to dull with time?
What is it that I want? What do I expect to happen?
"The world owes you nothing, Eric."
"But aren't I special?"
"No, you're not. In fact, you are less important than most others."
"Then what do I do?"
"What is it that you want, Eric?"
"I'd like to be happy, I guess."
"Then be happy."
"But how? How can I be happy?"
"Do what makes you happy."
"But what makes me happy?"
"How should I know? It's your happiness."
... So what do I do?
Do I do nothing? But if you do what you always did, then you'll get what you always got.
Then what do I do?
Should I... No. Never mind; I won't even type it.
"What, Eric? What is it that you considered?"
No, it's stupid. I'm not considering it.
"But what was it? What is it that makes you discount whatever it is so very quickly?"
I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. Go away.
"You're starting to get angry... Have I upset you?"
Go away! Get out of my head... I don't want to have a conversation with myself right now...
"Then why are you still typing? Why are you even letting me type this? If you really didn't want this, then why --"
GO AWAY!! I'm tired of listening to you. I'm tired of sitting and thinking and contemplating and writing and living. I'm tired of talking to myself because no one else will listen to me.
Look at me! I'm typing in my diary rather than join a party that's going on in the next room! What is wrong with me? Why can't I just stop this, get up, and talk to people at this party? Why can't I just do it? What is so hard about just doing it?
Why can't I just be content?
Why must I cry in public like this?
It's been three years... Isn't that enough?
And yet look at me... Here I am, still depressed, still hurt, still sorry...
This is not working. I can't sit here any longer. But I can't talk to drunken dancing people either.
I'm going to go for a walk in the woods.