Hyde
I find myself sitting here on the barrage staring at the city, questioning my significance.
I see spotlights shining into the sky from where revelers are drinking and dancing the night away. I wonder how many of them do that to fill a void.
I stare into the dark waters with that question. Why is there a void?
I wish I could yell out my frustrations but with people around, I can’t seem to be myself.
Do I even know the meaning of that anymore? “Myself”?
I find myself in the strange predicament of being a different person to different people. I can be the nice easy going person to some people but I have recently confided to someone about some of my baser urges and frustrations.
And it felt good. Was I repressed for so long?
Why can’t I confide some of these feelings to people I supposedly trust more? To people who are suppose to be close to me?
Is it easier to tell someone you don’t know about the dark side of your life? Is it wrong to suppress that dark side or is it wrong to embrace it?
I have a feeling that the answer lies somewhere in between.
In between the man and the monster that lies within.
Stupid
I thought I felt better yesterday.
It was fleeting. I was wondering why ML was still concerned about my well-being even though I felt like it was a turning point.
Turns out it was just a swing.
I now know that there are things I need to settle to really bust out of this funk. Otherwise it would be like the doctor that treats symptoms but not address the root issue.
I’ve been feeling purposeless and that bugs me. I used to know what I wanted to do to but I see nothing now. Just going through the motions in everything.
Some call this a quarter-life crisis. I distinctively remember going through this just seven years ago. But that was nowhere close to how I feel now.
I can not count the number of times this past week that I want to just get up and disappear. Cut myself off from everything and everyone.
It is sad really.
Not being able to talk to anyone about everything I feel. The closest is ML and I find that disturbing.
I resort to this place because I can see my thoughts appear on my screen and think about them.
I was able to cry for a bit earlier. I don’t know whether it’s the “male” in me suppressing it or if i physically am not able to tear easily. I wish could turn it on like a faucet. Having an outlet other than typing. Shouting in this little space half hoping someone would hear my cries; half hoping that it goes away into the darkness. All the while knowing that people who read this will judge me or that this would cause many of my valued relationships to breakdown.
It’s all just so stupid.