Real

For one week in my pointless irrelevant existence I was willing to believe that maybe, just maybe, I was a real person. But I know it’s better not to lie to myself and just accept the truth.

And the truth is I am not a real person. I’m merely an illness given the ability to speak and the sense not to.

-Vyperchild

all these things

I have all these things. All these words and images and stories and feelings. But I can’t articulate the words I want to speak. I can’t portray the images I see in my mind’s eye. I can’t spin the tales to entertain or inspire.

And I can’t share my emotions.

Friends

I don’t make friends very easily. I’m weird and off-putting and most people don’t bother, or at best, they’ll tolerate occasionally seeing me. But when I do make friends they are very important to me, and even if I don’t show it, I am incredibly loyal.

Life

Right now my life is a waste of everything. Unless I’m working or it’s a thursday, I’m generally sleeping. All my pay gets spent on stupid things I don’t need but are good enough distractions. I eat less well than I used to, which quite frankly should’ve made me sick before, if I eat at all. I don’t go out much. Outside work and radio/comics, I might leave my house once a week. I usually don’t. I’m not at uni anymore, which is basically not a change anyway. I don’t use my free time on anything. I don’t care.

‘Drowning myself, over and over
Desolate, trying it’s over

Why so cynical in life
You think you’re living to die
All in wait’

-Vyperchild

Reality

My friendship to them didn’t mean as much as theirs did to me. I was easily replaceable, and there’s always someone better.

It brings me back to a term a friend once used, in an effort to cheer me up. She said I wasn’t an ‘optional friend’. To her, maybe I’m not.

To others, it seems maybe I was. And the option is no longer worth it.

I was just filler, I guess.

-Vyperchild

** and it’s still my fault **

Re: Withdraw

I miss the detachment and the safety and I just don’t want to care anymore. So I’m going to work back to being what I was before with all the personal walls and defences and maybe then I can pretend to be happy again.

x_x

-Vyperchild

Identity Crisis

It’s a problem I’ve been avoiding for a long time now. I’ve always had somewhere to hide or something to fall back on and pretend about. But as I face the idea of not having anything in my life but work, I’m finding I can’t put the confrontation with myself off any longer.

Why should I bother?

I’m never going to be good enough.

For parents or friends or anyone.

So maybe I should just stop trying.

-Vyperchild

Effort

I was trying to get better, especially at talking with people, but all that did was show just how terrible I am. They don’t want to listen to me, or talk to me at all. I don’t know what to do.

I did try. I tried really hard.

-Vyperchild

Aggressive Restructuring

I built a house
A house just for me
I spent my whole life building it
It kept me safe

I needed to get out
But I hadn’t built any doors
Or windows
My house was a cage

So I tore down the walls
Ripped off the roof
Carved up the floor
Until my house was gone

But the cage remained

I was trapped
In my imaginary house
My cage of the mind
Solitary confinement

So I made a key
To let others in
But I kept it
Hid it in my cage

And now I’m here
With a broken house
And a useless key
Just broken and useless

But I have an idea

I’ll build a new house
A house just for me
I might spend my whole life building it
But it won’t be a cage

I won’t need a key
To let others in
They’ll want to join me
In this new house

The house just for me
Will have rooms for them
Places for friends
And even for me

My new house won’t be a cage

It won’t be a prison
It won’t be a trap
It will be better
It will be a house

Some days the sun will shine on it
And some days the sky will pour down
But on all days it will be my house
And you’re welcome to come inside

-Vyperchild, who can’t help but be vague. For now. Sorry.

** Hello friendly note thingys, how I’ve missed you. We’ll see each other again soon, I’m sure.

To my friends, I’m sorry. You’ve given me so much and asked for so little. You owe me nothing and I owe you everything. I know I’m a pain, and a nuisance, and I whinge a lot. And I’m sorry for that. I haven’t been well. And I might not get better. But I’ll give it a try, because even if I can’t give you everything I wish I could, I can at least try to give you me. Thanks for sticking with me. It means more than I can say. **