It’s so odd how many thoughts are running around in my head right now. How many thoughts are floating there; unprocessed, uncategorized.  My head is never on straight; is never normal. But what is normal? The question is so incredibly cliqued, even I, the writer, can barely stand it. I never think in the way I think most people think. But if I think differently then what I think is really of no consequence at all is it? It seems my human nature is to self-destruct. To mutilate, starve; waste away. Dying is an art and everyday I seem to be getting better at it. Living “normally” simply does not satisfy me. I cannot not have issues or problems in my life. These issues define me. I am my issues. I’ve been that way for so long, I don’t know how to live without them; or more accurately simply don’t want to live without them. To live without that which defines me would be taking away my identity and it is simply too much work and effort for me to put in to create a new one. Because, of course, my life is that of which I make it. I make up my identity; put on a facade. I start over when that act becomes tiresome. Boredom is a weakness of mine and becoming someone else amuses me. I’ve done this for so long, that I no longer know my true identity. I know my classifications of illnesses; I know the person I let people see. But the being inside of me is as lost as a country girl in the city. She does not know who she is, what she is; anything about her.  But all of that is irrelevant. Because if she discovers herself, that would change what she knows. Change is not a welcoming part of my life.  I’ve grown accustomed to the things I have and to take them away would be throwing a wretch into my plans. Not that I have any plans. I have wishful thinking and desires and paths, however solid plans are not made. Things change too much. I spend many a day contemplating the sincerity of my actions, my words, my thoughts. I try to figure out who I am and who knows the real me. And how they, if they even exist, know the real me. And what I’m like. And how to find out who I really am. This throws the whole meaning of my existence into question. Why am I here? Do I have a purpose? Am I living according to that eternal plan set out for me? Is there a plan set out for me? The controversy and argument of fate versus choices intrigues me to no end. Curiously, the unknown intrigues me to no end, as it does many people. I want to know. I crave the knowledge. It’s odd simply because I’m too lazy and bored with the subject minutes after wanting it so badly to come to terms with some sort of solution. I no longer desire the end result. I live in the moment and at the same time, live in the future. More internally, I live in my own world. As so many people claim to do, however it’s true. The only problem is that I have not yet defined my own world. The only way to describe this foreign world is to describe it in terms of being “high” on a drug. Opiates specifically. It’s a happy world, but not altogether out of the current reality. The world itself is certainly relative, I’ve taken that fact to heart. It’s a fact because I made it so. This is an example of my own world. My own rules; my own laws. If I say it, then it’s true. This sounds extremely egotistical, but believe me, I’m anything but. The point is, the world, in itself, is relative to the being living in it at that particular time; in that particular place. That being defines what the world is. It’s not a physical matter, it’s a psychological one. And being unable to define this is perhaps one of the most frightening experiences you can have. And that is the point of where I am right now. Contemplating, questioning, living if not reluctantly. Not being sure if where you are is real; if you’re really real. And that’s where the self-destructive nature comes in. To feel the taunt flesh being cut open at it’s seams and splitting apart; the feel the hunger pangs ripping at your stomach. To feel that pain; that is what it means to be alive to me. Floating on a weightless cloud with your mind in the air is not living. It’s existing. That’s what I’m doing right now. Mind floating; body numb. I can no longer think straight. It’s the oddest feeling; I’m not sure whether I welcome this numbness.

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