Around 1 month and 2 days to go. Before i’ll be back. At this point, i thought i’ll be ecstatic to be back. I am, kind of, looking forward to go back. But i know i will miss this place. With the nice weather (even though it’s kind of like unbearable cold now…), the scenery, the lack of extreme amounts of things to do. I feel kind of free? But lonely.
I still have problems making friends… It’s hard. Especially when you feel like an outsider and you’re trying so hard not to feel awkward, and your mind goes blank, and you wonder what in the world can you possibly talk about to another human being. It’s just going to happen over and over again until i find a way to cope with this. I know. I’m just tired, i suppose. I keep saying: Keep going. Just keep moving. But i wonder, what’s the point of moving? I’m moving, yes. But for what?
It doesn’t help that i’ve been thinking a lot on certain issues lately. And not exactly doing productive things, i suppose. Yeah that definitely doesn’t help. But the weather makes it so hard to just spontaneously go out and walk. The wind blows, and i kind of just want to stay at home. Add to that, that i have somewhat of a leg injury, and it makes me even less willing to go out.
Sigh. I shall stop here. I’ve been replaying that song. And “Love!” by Hebe too. Oh well. What can express my emotions? Writing? I suppose. If i could.
I don’t know anymore. Det ved jeg ikke.
-shz
Venter på døden.
Desperation.
It feels like a tiny little gear.
Spinning. Very quickly.
You can feel your heart beat quickening.
It feels like something might happen. Or it may not.
Probably nothing. But you wish there were something.
You wish you could be that someone there, in the middle of those conversations.
Making friends, companions, meeting people.
But you’re stuck with your shell. A shell that has words carved into it.
A shell that appears to protect you, even as you’re hurting.
Words that make you doubt yourself.
So as you distance yourself, you feel safe. Yet lonely.
Surrounded by people, yet not. People laughing, people joking.
You try to find someone, someone who might be like you.
But you don’t. Even when you do, they look comfortable.
Being alone. They look like they have no care of the world.
And so you try to pretend, to be like them. Alone, and without any worries.
And yet… you know you’re only lying to yourself.
Perhaps you have to let go. Let go of the shell. The shell that gives you a false protection.
The shell that also induces doubt in you. Reminds you of your flaws.
and erased from you, the things you could learn to love about yourself.
But the shell. The shell is ever so welcoming. So… familiar.
hyperactivekidshz 