I was listening to my ipod today and came across the song "The Lonely" by Christina Perri. It got me reflecting on my life and I came across the somewhat obvious discovery that I don't view the girl in my childhood to be me. The girl in all the photos who I'm told is me, I don't see her as mine. Heck, my parents could have showed me a picture of my grandmother as a child and told me that she was me and I would have believed it.
I've had many identities over the course of my short years. I don't know where the definite line is drawn between them all, but they are as similar as a dark and light. To me, they're just friends...friends that I was unable to save. I don't know why I think of them as such (don't judge) but that's how I view it. I look back at them, and see their fears and troubles, realizing that there could have been so much done to save them. Those days that they cried internally, unable to let anyone know what was wrong, and I feel as if I should have wrapped my arms around them and told them everything was going to be ok. I didn't, though. I just stood by and watched as they collapsed and a new one took their place.
Just as I cannot see myself as one of those girls, I can't even look at myself in the mirror and see me as this person nor can I attach my name to myself. I swear, I feel faceless and nameless. This is where it gets into that whole grey area. I used to read some people's quotes about where illusion ends and reality begins and I thought they were nut jobs. I believe that the physical world I live in is reality, but my internal thoughts and emotions are up for discussion. How do I know that my thoughts are mine? How do I know that what I'm feeling is what I feel? Am I who I've been told I am, or am I mislead? The things I value are they important? The words I write, whether it be on this blog or in my novels, are they mine? Do I live in a fantasy that is as easily manipulated as one of my stories?
My mind feels separate from everything thing else. From the words typed on this page, the fingers that tapped on the keyboard and the eyes that witnessed it all. Nothing feels concrete, nothing feels like I can truly believe in it. I've never trusted the words of someone to the full 100%, especially when it comes to their view of me, but now everything they say feels like a lie as if they wish to mould me into what they want.
I want so badly to isolate myself. I don't ever want to go back to school, I want to spend every moment thinking and writing. Yet, it is obvious by what I've just written that insanity could easily result from being separated from the rest of the world. For crying out loud, I sound like I'm already on the verge of become a conspiracy theorist. Separating myself from everyone would mean less reality checks. I want silence, I want to be able to do as I want without the need to please someone.
Now for a break from reflection and on to ranting: You know where that last thought comes from? This afternoon I told my mom I was going on a drive to try and clear my mind. I drove around for about half-an-hour before I get a phone call: "Do you have any money on you?", "Nope.", "You want to come here and get my card?", "why?", "I need Tide to do laundry.", "Don't you have the other car there?", "Yeah, but I'm still in my pajamas and don't want to go out."
Lovely conversation. So I drove for 15 minutes to get back home because she was too lazy to change into clothes and get her own laundry detergent. When I say I need to go out to clear my head, that means I don't want to be bothered. That means that I don't want to worry about anything, I just want to think. I don't want to obey any rules, save for the traffic laws. I want a break from my life so I can calm down and think. Being asked to do menial chores that could easily be done by the person who needs it, ticks me off on even on the best of days. When I'm stressed, give me some room and get your own frickin' Tide! Please and Thank-you.
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