Don't mind me. I spent two hours writing up a long, eloquent post. One wrong click on this awful computer and it is gone. Hell, I honestly doubt I'd have gotten more than one or two replies. Just like me, it's existence is not noticed or missed in absence. I haven't seen a single friend of mine in weeks. None notice. None care. I don't post here. None notice. None care. I isolate myself to control the demon I have inside of me. It just makes it stronger. So, why am I even bothering with writing, at the moment? If I don't, I'm likely to punch something. When I punch things, they break. When things break, my life gets a little more difficult than it already is. Which is far more than it should be. So, ignore this, give a damn, I don't care.

Right now, I'm angry. Hell, I'm always angry. I miss my eloquent response. Okay, give me a moment to sift through this massive well of emotion that's suggesting I bash my monitor into the wall and slam my fist into the desk, until it splinters. Anger is something I've always felt. Lately, especially, it's been lacking a discernable target. For nineteen years, I've been angry. Nothing makes the anger go away. I can't seem to just get over things. I can't seem to just let go of things. I can't seem to find a way to just leave my anger behind. This unrelenting, self-destructive, irrational anger that I feel. I can feel the blood vessels in my eye. I can hear the cells pulse through them. There are twitches in nerves all over me. I've almost passed out a half dozen times, just today, because I am so exhausted, emotionally, that my physical body is starting to degrade on me, again. How do I know that? Because, I was bed-ridden for six months. Possessed by excruciating physical pain and overwhelming exhaustion; sleeping for days on end and unable to move. My immune system left and I nearly died from a blood infection. So, I know just how badly out of control emotions can destroy a person. On a physical level and on an emotional level. Things like love, guilt, anger, hate, and despair. When aimed with obsession, anything, but especially these, can do to anyone what they did to me. I lost my emotional stability, my mental clarity, my physical strength, my friends, my family, my sense of morality, my integrity, my reputation, and any approval, affection, or acknowledgement of my existence from the person I drove myself into insanity for. Ultimately, I'm kind of a mess. I've got no social life, no real prospects, and I'm just getting bitter. Hell, I was talking to someone I used to think was a friend. She said my problems were "nothing" and just left. They all leave. That's why the word "brother" makes my skin crawl. Called them all brothers, sisters; family. Familial substitutes. They said they were my family. And then they left. Which just makes me angrier. Can I blame them? Yes. Should I? No. Not really. I can't let go of all these feelings. I know, in my mind, that letting go, living now, and moving on is the only way to happiness. But, I don't know how. I can sit here and write a thousand flowery words and it won't change the fact I'm a broken man, enslaved by his emotions. Smiling, pretending not to be dead inside, and acting like I'm composed, together, confident, and socially acceptable is exhausting to the point I'm amazed I have the strength to look at myself in the mirror. God, I'm disgusting. All the moral compromises I've made. All of the mistakes. To be honest, I hate myself more and more and more each day. These split images of myself. All the splits. Either I'm a monster, whose moral degredation earned him the misery he has come into. Crazy, victim, or whatever aside, I've done terrible things and don't deserve the forgiveness of the vastly better people I'm playing like my personal marionettes. If my eyes were to turn Gold and I die in an explosion of blue fire and purple lightning, I'd find it hilariously apt. Then, there's the more sympathetic view. I'm just incredibly Byronic. Well-intentioned, but ultimately unfit for the noble beliefs I've forsaken in my greiving. Dark, vicious, hurting, and emotional, but not evil. No, just a product of circumstance and ultimately, in spite of myself, a good person - deep down, inside. Self-hatred and pain. A whole lot of it. What else is there? Well, I don't know. I can't remember. I'm going to sleep.