Confusion of _(insert name here)_

Dear Unlikely Reader, 

None of us know what the future is. We all think about ideal scenarios (or I hope we all do…) in our heads of a perfect future. But, ever ask yourself if that is really just a daydream? I know I don’t. I’m a lonely optimist. Before today, I never once realized that my daydreams and bullshit imaginary scenarios that I comfort and indulge myself 98% of the time were not actually my future. 

You may be able to guess my age and my gender from this post, because it is probably about to get very similar to a stereotype of what I am. But, I will leave that to you. 

I get bored. And sad. Sometimes, I get bored of being sad and I get sad because I am bored. I never know what my emotions are and I never know that something needs fixing, especially when I don’t even realize there is a problem (much like the time my mom figured out the plumbing had a leak in it until the toilet was flushed and she was in the basement doing laundry and also apparently taking a shower). Anyway… the point is; I’m usually confused and I am usually sad unless I have too much coffee, and in the case that I am both sad, highly caffeinated, and staying up late after watching too much tv in my bedroom literally all day, I may just turn into Plato or Confucius. 

Let me explain to you how I am confused…

I am confused because I have absolutely no idea who I am, or even what I am. I used to be a big thinker after tragedy hit my family, and I would spend my after noons thinking about who I wanted to be and what my thoughts really told me about myself. Then I discovered the greatest thing of all- music. Rock n Roll and soul allowed me to stop thinking about my sad little middle school self and Jimi Hendrix drowned out the voices in my head leading me to self discovery. And I am sorry Jimi, I love you. But, I have to say I stopped learning who I was (or am, I’m not really quite sure) after…well…. I guess.. *long contemplation*… *this is here to show you that I am really perplexed bc I don’t know how to finish this sentence*… Hmm, I guess what I am trying to say is that whatever you think about is who you are. Your thoughts, and your imagination makes you who you are. You can’t have a positive life with a negative mind, and you can’t keep truckin through the tough world without a pep talk once in a while.. catch my drift??

(part ii) 

Well, with music and tv shows, I stopped thinking my own thoughts. Without those thoughts that shaped my whole entire day, week, year, and life- I got lost. I started to become whatever I had listened to or read or seen that day. One week, I am a mellow and deep Kurt Cobain (from About a Son), the next I’m hyper and IDGAF member of Odd Future (from the Tyler the Creator concert and binge watching Loiter Sqaud). Right now, it is late and I am in the Plato mood as described up above. I just finished binge watching sitcom The Mindy Project for the night and I am feeling, well, confused. Again. 

I have no idea who I am. I have become someone who wants to have the attitude of a skinny girl wearing leather but also someone who cares about the world. I want to be a rocker but a rapper. I want straight hair, but I love my natural big curls. I love peanut butter, but I hate the calories (but that’s a problem most of us have to deal with). 

When someone asks me who I am, I don’t want to name the last documentary I watched or what new band I’ve been listening to. I want to be able to tell them how I feel and what I like. I don’t even form my own opinions anymore. I feel like I just absorb everything. My insides were once paper with all my thoughts on them, like all my journal entries from when I was so self assured, and it’s like someone saw those as worthless. My emotions and my thoughts and my dreams were so worthless that they took those diaries that took years to acquire and recycled them and now I am just blank pieces of paper begging to be written on. I soak up every word that I can get out of someone or something. I just want to be something again. 



Ps i’m not editing this. too sad. too many tears. when you’re done reading this please go look up cool facts about science and look at cool pictures of animals and donate. thanks. 


i look down at my hands, spread across my keyboard. The nerve endings have died and the finger prints are boiled off. My knuckles are still and my skin is hardened with callosities. They cannot move. They cannot think. The structure that once had a brain that thought and a heart that beated, is now just as good as a generic skeletal structure diagram I labeled in class “metacarpals” a few months back.

My hands were once my universe, and without them, my life is a black whole and I’m just zipping through a vortex of time- not even thinking about what is happening, what i am doing, or where I am. I couldn’t tell you how many weeks or maybe even months I have been stuck here. And I’m just realizing it now. Like realizing that I am having a nightmare. You know what is weird about nightmares or dreams? You can never remember the beginning of them. I don’t know when this phase started but I want to pinch myself out of it. I have not written or drawn or played in so long that I lost track of time. I lost track of me and where I am and what I am doing on this world. 

I chose Spanish class over Music theory class. I almost laughed when I was asked about Berklee… where did my passion go 


where am i

i’m stuck floating through this vortex and i don’t have my hands to grip on to it and control it

It Would Be Spiritual Suicide

The Better Man Project ™

Not going after your dream is spiritual suicide.

It was fear that stopped me from taking my first steps. It was fear that prevented me from committing to a path that I knew was going to be incredibly lonely but worthwhile. What I couldn’t say for a long time is “I can do that.” However, now I say “It’s possible.” It’s possible to accomplish this dream. It’s possible to be what I know I can be. Will I have to change in order to accomplish this? Yes. I will have to do things I have never done in order to become the man I want to be.

You can become comfortable. You can become stagnant. You heart can beat with less passion. But when this happens, expect normality. Expect nothing short of mediocrity. If that’s where you want to live then fine…but for me, when I am looking into my…

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My whole life, I’ve always wanted to be someone else. Well, not necessarily someone else.. just special in my own way, I guess. I’ve always been urging to be different, unique- always acted like I was special in some sort of way.

When I was little, after finishing a movie or a tv show, I used to put myself as the main character or a new character in the story and think of what I would do and what would happen to me. I liked the comfort of being in a fantasy world that I controlled.

Now, I imagine someone seeing me for something beautiful. Anyone can agree that it’s comforting to think that someone out there sees everything you are, the good and the bad, and sees it all in a beautiful light. It’s selfish, I’ll admit, but I can’t help it. I want to be a person that has something about them that’s mysterious and that people pay attention to. Like a freak, but a freak that people wonder about. One day, I woke up and decided that I’ll be weird. I’ll be someone that no one in this town has experienced before. I guess that’s what I want to be, an experience. Not the naive, emotion-filled young girl that I am.

That probably explains my aspirations of being in a successful band. Fuck being interviewed by Barbra Walters or sing for the president, that’s not what I want. What I want is being a weirdo who can kick some ass. Someone who is influenced by the whole world and gives the same amount of influence back. I don’t want to be affected by the lazy devils the children of this generation have become, I don’t want to be grouped like that. Music doesn’t change by if you look out your window and see bombs or a private pool. Music doesn’t change according to gender, or emotion.

Music is solid and special, everything I want to be. I guess that’s why it appeals to me so much. I want to be music.


I’ve realized in the past few weeks, that people aren’t going to give a shit unless you make them give a shit. 

People are not going to remember me unless I give them something to remember. 

I may not have a bright quality that makes people recognize my face or remember my name,

I may just be that awkward girl that is always just there; the girl some people know but don’t really know by my personality. 

I’m just- average. 

Sinking into the seat of my desk, disappearing into the lockers, not leaving any footprint behind when I leave. 

But I’m letting go of that. 

I’ve spend too many mornings worrying about if I look okay, too much time wondering if the face I’m making or the way I am sitting makes me look optimal. 

I’m going to lock myself in my room and work my ass off writing, singing, playing guitar, and one day I’ll give them all something to remember. 

They may still not remember my name or the way I was sitting, but they will remember how I made them feel. 


It’s the pm and I’m sad again

It’s 10:40 pm and I’m ready to sleep with my noise maker on. 

But for once in my life, Dreamland is not calling me. 

I’m not tempted by the idea of flooding out my sad thoughts with the blackness behind my eyelids. 

I can already see that same kind of darkness with my eyes wide open. 

I know that in the morning I will feel the same, strange sense of sadness.

Nothing can refresh me besides confronting myself. 

Once again, this train’s tracks are broken. 

But it just needs a little repair. 

It feels like I’ve been trying to fix myself with duct tape when what I really need is some stitches. 

Maybe I don’t need anyone to do that operation, 

maybe I need to finally learn to do it on my own. 

“Wipe a child’s tears and they’ll be okay for a day, but teach a child to wipe their own tears, and they’ll still cry, but they’ll know how to wipe up again”-me just now


It’s now 10:47 pm. Seven minutes has passed, and rambled on lines have not done the trick. 

Maybe it’s the fact that after 5 days, I have school again. 

I had a taste of time, but now that taste has turned sour and I can’t hold it in my mouth any longer.

I just have to swallow the medicine and hope that it works.

(That didn’t make any sense but I was hoping it would).

I want to dance

I want to sing

I want to laugh

I want to make people happy

I want to be happy

I was to hug

and I want to kiss

But I don’t know how

I know I can, but I don’t know how

I don’t know what I’m saying, either and it’s now 10:50 pm and now I am confused. 

Do I want to sleep? No.

Do I want to eat to distract myself? NOOOO. 

Do I want to cry? I would, but I’m just bored of that lifestyle. 

Do I want to create art? Well, of course. That’s an easy answer. 

I don’t want to go to school and I don’t want to fake sick. 

I want to see the world, and create another one. 

I want to live my daydreams, instead of thinking about them at night. 

Okay, maybe I’ll go to sleep now, (It’s 10:52 pm) And formulate my success. (May or may not include college)


ps I’m trying to be more grateful and happy (Thanksgiving) but it’s hard when I’m mad at the outside world bc I’m also pretty irritated with the inside world within me

Tell me how to be but it’s only a text

I know it’s a useless reply,
Something that you didn’t even think about
But I think so much about those silly texts,
Hoping that when I see your name come up notifying me that you replied
Would be so much more than just that.
I hope that it says something I can’t tell myself
A message that kisses me and touches me the way I can’t to myself.

I know I’m not supposed to love you, and I’m not sure I do.
But I know that you could say everything I need to love in myself, but i don’t think I can love you too.

Alone isn’t lonely

Sometimes, I just need a bad day. 

I need to disappear for a day, into my room. I need to be alone. I need to let music flood my mind soak up my sadness. I need to have a bad day so I find a way to love myself again. Once I break down, I need to try to find a new way to pick myself back up. It’s not the first bad day of many more to follow, it’s only one to a new beginning. And I need to be alone to remember that. 

The only person I want to spend time with when I’m sad is myself. Not because I don’t want anyone to look at me and not because I’m angry with the world. It’s just that I need to consult myself. I am the only person who can truly let myself know that everything will be okay.

The Inbetweeners

Last night I felt so alive. But little did I know, I wasn’t. I wasn’t living- I was existing. Lately, that’s all I do. I haven’t made a positive impact since I started being emotionless again. I guess that’s just what numbness does to you. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad. I’d like to say I’m more happy than sad, but when I say that it doesn’t seem right. Because not knowing what I am makes me disappointed.

The reason why I’m writing is to figure out the answers to questions I don’t know how to ask myself.

When I was happy, a few months ago, I felt like I could conquer the world. I was talking about creating world peace and eternal happiness for all and being grateful for each breath of air we are able to take. But now, that all seems like fiction. I want to believe everything that I used to base my existence off of, but I can’t.

I think it all started when I realized that music is not an art form that can be created through pure happiness. I’m not sure how to go back, because I love creating music more than I love caring about my happiness.

When I was sad, I felt like a tornado was swooping me up and pulling me I’m and making my insides fly in different directions. My heart in the west and my mind in the east and my stomach far south.

Now, I feel like I’m in the eye of the tornado. I don’t know how ill get out, but I guess I don’t really care. But the problem is, is that I’m becoming in charge of the tornado and hurting other people instead of helping. I don’t mind if I’m stuck in the air forever, as long as I can fly away on my own. No one can touch me up here. I’m not putting my heads in the clouds, and I’m not looking down to the harshness of reality. I’m just inbetween.

But do I really want to live my whole life as inbetween? Do I take a risk and jump to the ground?

Someone just hold me tight and tell me that everything will be great.