It is the mark of adulthood, I have seen to become accustomed to a regulatory feeling of emotional abandonment. Having less friends, unsure about work or college, having less and less in common with the current generation of degenerates.
Don't get me wrong, we're all degenerates. We have become a race of caustic destroyers of all things good.
We **** each other for fun, we watch others' suffering for entertainment. We ignore the world's crumbling state, and yet turn our faces against it. Yet, things are worsening, and I feel the younger folk are becoming more accustomed to the horrors that are becoming the New World Order.
   The world around me seems to have become pointless, hustles and bustles only for a bottom line. Fake, fabricated happiness, plastic smiles on everyone's face. Solitude is my enemy, and yet it has formed a cloak of comfortability all around me.
I suppose I have nothing left to say. I'll try to remain positive, for today is supposedly a good day.

How do you know if you're bipolar?
How do you know it's not in your head?
Is there a way to determine if you have a medical condition, when you're not sure if you actually lack something chemically in your head?
What if the power of suggestion were all that were real?
Would that still merit a prescription to heal?
How the hell do I know if I'm well or not?
Can you pop open my head and perform a chemical analysis?
I'm a control freak, but I play along well.
I hide my feelings until there's an uproar, a deafening swell.
It all stays locked up inside, to make everyone else okay.
Inside of me there's a diva, and it's an everyday battle to keep her at bay.
So, what is the answer to this question that I have? Why can't they tell me yes or no, so at least I'll know if I'm making it all up or have the real deal.
Who can tell me? Can anyone? Because I truly have no real reason to be upset, or at least that's what they say. There's simply an unhappiness that rests deep within me, and it makes it hard for me to live a normal life.
I would love to go to work and get on with it with the rest of the world.
But there's is, nonetheless, a part of me that almost seems as if it wants me to be unhappy, because life isn't supposed to be happy, don't you see?
It's supposed to be difficult, to be a tumultuous uphill fight. Isn't that right? Perhaps I'm not getting my money's worth if I don't have an ongoing, real-world plight.
If not, then why is it so hard for me to Be happy? Why is it to difficult for me to be at ease? Perhaps I simply want the medication, to stand upright and shout, "see!? There IS something wrong with me!"

How does one fight starch negativity? Abrasion so callous it digs in deeply, without even intending to be so cruel? How does one make do with feeling uncomfortable in their own shoes? Afraid to stand still and afraid to move? How does one interpret indifference when effort has been put forth to gain love and respect? Sometimes, one deals by succumbing to it. It doesn't happen easily, it takes a good amount of time, usually. It starts when hopelessness begins to make its home in the gut, with a never-ending clip of cold-shouldered numbness every time one comes home. The darkness is much easier to live in than the light. The anger, the brooding sense of needing approval, once light and sweet now become sour and incomplete, because a complete anger is not possible in some. It's abnormal behavior, and it takes much pain and suffering to be won. It's trying to fight for your sanity and dear life on a daily basis, trying to not make others feel unwelcome, yet wanting it to be known that dissatisfaction has come to call your soul home. One can go on and on and on and on. The same words trying to convey the same sense of hellish hopelessness, a soul and ego resorting to the painful notch of anti-tranquility that creeps into the head, right into the stress and joy centers. Can I have the man and not the mother? Soon, she will move and once again I'll be able to be another, the original, non-convoluted, full of kindness and warmth once again. Soon, the mother will move out and I will marry the man.

Before we were friends
Got along just fine
then before we knew it, **** got out of line
**** got real there for a minute, **** got real there for a minute
I was deep in love with the man you raised
So I thought what the hell, this'll be fine for now
**** got real there for a minute, **** got real there for a minute
Before we knew it, three years had passed
You still lived with us, and I was losing my mind
**** got real there for a minute, **** got real there for a minute
It was like my whole world was upside down
I didn't feel at home in my own home
**** got real there for a minute, **** got real there for a minute
Sometimes I don't know what to do here, should I say to get the hell out, or should I sit and bear it?
**** got real there fora  minute, **** got real there for a minute
Three years went by and you still lived with us, three people, two beds and one bath; three big personalities, two from the same family
**** got real there for a minute, **** got real there for a minute
You finally got a job, we're getting married and saving for a house
I don't know how happy I'll be once you finally move out!
**** got real there for a minute, **** got real there for a minute
I just hope that once this is all over, we'll all go back to being calm, cool and I'll be more rationale
**** will hopefully be more real then, a reality I can live with.
'Cause **** sure has been real for a good minute.

Last night, I dreamt I went where people go when they die. I saw Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and asked if Jesus ever came. It was amazing, all the people that were there. There were many faces I couldn't see, a plethora of souls Earth has ever seen.
The scene was like a cruise ship, or so it seemed. There were many different rooms, all full to the brim with these beings. I wanted to talk with each of them, I wanted to know their stories. But, unfortunately I had to  be up for a class at 7:30.
That unconscious internal clock that keeps me on schedule, it alerted me that my time was nearly up in this vessel. I pled meagerly with myself, "please, let's just miss class this one day! I really think this is magical, spiritual. I don't want to go away!" But, alas the other world was calling me, to return to the "other" me. I had no choice but to succumb to adult responsibility, to will myself to wake up and face the music on the other side of the dream.

It bothers me that I think. I think always, about everything. When others walk about, chatting happily away, I sit in the corner, thinking of something "good" I could say. Instead of going on cheerily, I am forced to think. And this bothers me.
It worries me that I think. Thinking, for me tends to lead into worry. I think about the world around me. I try not to imagine all the pain and suffering. The children beaten for no reason, animals slaughtered for a spot on the dollar menu.  All these things sink deeply Into me, but instead of giving in I fight to keep sanity. And somehow, even in this I find an "appropriate" degree in which to worry.
    I think I have begun to judge too much. When I see people behaving stupidly, it annoys me more than it should, so it seems. I used to be much more relaxed and carefree. It didn't much matter to me when I'd observe this, our culture of idiocy. But now, as I have begun to reflect on it more, I have come to see people as much of a bore. And this has shut me down socially. I have become too judgmental, both internally and externally.
    As I read my books, I feel more at ease. Though I miss companionship, I somehow manage to do without. I think I may be depressed, at least bogged down with anxiety. But that's just who I am, who I will likely always be.
    The unrelenting worry-wart, I am my own lawyer, I take my case to court. And there I will stand trial against the id and ego in me, the two sides that make up each and every cognizant human being. I will review the evidence, hear testimony and be judged by a panel of my peers. They will dissect all past and present intellectual transgressions, and see where I go too far. They will objectify and analyze what I do and how I perceive. Then, the gavel will sound off and I will hear rite verdict of my plea. Although I don't know what the end will be, I know I will never allow myself to think to any lesser a degree.

Trepidation, it seems to be my mission to be incapable of making a decision. I wish that I could get up and go instead of sitting around, be productive and envision. Envisioning one’s future is not enough. I wish I could get rid of this fear, the fear of actualization. It seems I am terrified of being able to provide for myself, to commit to anything. I have a fear of self-commitment, it seems to me that to a degree I live in fear of accomplishing my dreams.
    It’s hard to figure myself out, why I live inside myself, beside myself while muting the thoughts that try to escape through a gaping hole, not whole within myself. All day, I think of these great things I could say, and yet I sit and debate if anyone around can relate, or if they’d care or stare blankly and think to themselves that I’m crazy. This crazy lady who sits, alone silently in class. Like a timid deer, leering through bushes in a forest. Desperately seeking human interaction, but too afraid of being turned down to reach out and try. I live in constant fear of never being happy. I fear that I will never find my calling in life, that I will hop from job to job, career to career without being near to self-satisfaction, a feeling of inner peace, completion. I wish I could live peacefully within the regulated regime of a god, a god dictated by a group of people who claim to have the answers to all life’s unanswerable questions. '
   I think I may be incapable of living godlessly, a spiritual person who can’t live with the *******. I see it every day all around me, the theory of Christian exclusion, is there therefore an excuse to be a completely unreasonable person and treat others as lesser beings? Can I buy into the cause simply for the membership card? Give my intellect a breather, pretend that I’m not thinking. I can be a useful member of society, as a whole, not individually. It’s much easier this way, allowing independent thinking a little chance to decay, just enough to dismiss the bits of dismay that creep in when I find the world around me lacking in substance. When I catch myself being too self-critical, or critical of others as it sometimes turns out to be.
    I have a million endless, ceasing thoughts inside of me that I struggle to put into an assembly line, to assess the individual pieces and construct a completed, productive product that is my ability to function, happily in society. Should I consume the soma? Or should I let the unbearable sensations of the modern worldEe overwhelm me? Can I disregard the rest of the baseless rhetoric, the pathetic excuse for being a better person? “Because god told me so” I believe was the church nursery rhyme, repeated systematically like a cultish chant, a bedtime prayer said before hypnopaedic sleep. Can I find a brave new world if I simply give into the system? Give into the never-ending spiritual conquest of the intellectually-tormented mind? It all, you see builds up inside of me, all these restless thoughts and feelings of inadequacy. ‘I don’t take myself seriously. Or maybe I take myself too seriously. I don’t know. It’s time for sleep.