Collectively I feel broken, but I know I am just a little bent out of shape. Feeling more, mirroring less, and yet caring so little. You are as nice as you can be, but you feel like you want to break everything around you. You fear only the pain and consequences of these actions, so you loosely think about it knowing you are stoic. I resume writing this only to make sure my feelings are clear. I love few things in this world, and fewer people. I don't hate anyone, but I hate things. I can't really be amused unless I let myself be open, and I can't really be open without being with people I consider above a certain level. I am selective, I am rude, and I am overall a bad person. I want to help people, but I am too lazy to ask if anyone needs aide. I can't even correct the fact that I am lazy. I can't correct my life without love, but I can't even admit it to myself. I can't convince myself that love is logical enough to be important. I hate the concept of my heart being right over my brain and it is crushing my concept of reality knowing what my heart has to say. I feel butterflies in my stomach, but I am not thinking about anyone. My heart is letting me feel the rush that it wants. To bring me back down it is crushing me with depression and guilt. I can't even keep things to myself, subtly I leave clues about what is going on, and I can't ever keep it to myself for long given my company. I am arrogant in the sense that I feel I can't be outwitted. My heart is cruel, my head is egotistical, and my body can't take it anymore. Love is the only equalizer, but love is unattainable when you can only sit at home. I don't know what I am doing here, listening to my heart is giving me a headache. As I feel neglected, my emotions feel like I am neglecting them. Whatever course of action I take is the wrong one, and I am convinced of that. My heart can't fit on this screen, yet my life could fit in a book. I sit around and play league as my social status decays under the fact that no one even tries to talk with me that I care about. The people I don't even have interest in seem to be the most interest in me. The people I just barely don't hate want to make my life hell, and the people who care don't seem to see past the fake smile I put on every day. I can't expect the world out of people around me, but I also can't expect results from no actions. What I want in my life outside of love isn't much. Laying in bed at night, the only solitude I have is hugging a blanket to make up for all of the contact that I don't have. I can't write anymore of this, later maybe. Good luck, me, try and get yourself out of a self-inflicted hell.