It’s the same thing, every fucking day. You go out there with this veneer of humour and sarcasm, refined by years of practice. One fine day, you decide to ask ‘Why? Where the fuck did everything go so wrong?’ and you get to thinking what you meant by that. It’s not as though anyone actually gives a fuck about you, because they basically don’t. At least, that’s what I’ve learned so far. Maybe it’s just me. Well, this is about me I guess…me as in my actual fucked up self which I don’t let anyone see. Sometimes though, you just feel as though you have to. Let someone see I mean. You can’t pin down the reason but it’s just a fucking yearning deep inside you that you can’t get rid of no matter what.
Maybe I actually want someone to be there with me, someone with whom I can be myself. Yea, right! As if that’s ever fucking going to happen! Well, it’s me so I don’t think I have to say anything more. It’s not like it hasn’t ever happened though. It has, but look where the fuck it got me to…and no matter how much you let someone in, they manage to fucking hurt you in the end. Then you start wondering why the fuck you started letting people in and you go back to the same old fucking yearning and wonder why the fuck it’s inherently there. Again, maybe it’s just me…and I think it is. It happened once, no biggie, you think its just some fucking anomaly somewhere that made it happen. Things get all hunky dory again and viola! There comes the sequel! Wow, a fucking sequel to something you wish had never fucking happened!
Eventually, you let it all go and decide ‘no fucking way I’m going through all of that again! Its in the past, I’m over it. Now to get on with my fucking life before I fucking forget I fucking had one.’ But no, it follows you around like a stray puppy desperate for attention. Lets get to the bottom line…I hate it when people decide upon something I’m fucking involved in without me around. That has happened next to never, but still a couple of more times than I’d have ever wanted it to. The news is relayed in the manner of a discussion about the fucking weather. Then it’s as though things had never been any different, and that fucking gets to me. Well duh! I don’t fucking know what the fuck is wrong so how the fuck am I supposed to react? It hurts when you’re there for someone and they’re there for you, and this fucking happens in the middle of all that; it hurts a lot. I’m not fucking exaggerating here. The funny thing is I keep hearing that if you keep everything bottled up inside you long enough, it threatens to come out. That has kinda never happened with me. Anything I want to keep bottled up inside me, I can. But the things I don’t, which are still fucking meant not to get around, do get around, which is, putting it mildly, irksome. Hm, I guess no matter how you are with someone, even if you’re the same with a lot of other people, it somehow fucking matters what others think you are and/or say about you. There’s nothing you can do about it either. Least of all when you have no fucking clue about what was fucking said. But there again, nobody gives enough of a fuck to let you know, ever.
I really appreciate the people who find stuff out about me by bloody asking me. I’ll say it out if it doesn’t involve other people. I don’t have a problem with that at all. Hell, I’ve had people ask me openly if I watch porno, among other things. There are few enough of them out there, and fewer still who’d actually believe you when you are honest about it.
Everything that has happened has actually given me my sense of humour and sarcasm (sarchasm, whatever the fuck fits in here). Now I’m cynical, to the point of nihilism, and I can fucking get along by myself, so I guess I should be fucking grateful if anything. But somehow, I’m not. This is me…and I wouldn’t change me for the world. Who the fuck was I saying this to anyway?