The lone wolf

This sucks

My creative writing teacher, as well as many authors, as well as my inner spirit have all told me the truth many times, yet I refuse to accept it.

I am alone in this world. There is nobody out there to hold my hand, there is nobody there to cry on their shoulder, and certainly nobody who will genuinly listen to me.

I feel good though, now at least I know I am different. I may be alone in the universe, but I am making it just fine. I hate being alone, nobody wants to be alone, and in all honesty, lonliness sucks.

Andi Cumbo who is this amazing teacher of mine told me a story about a defining moment in her life being just sitting in her closet with her cat, a carton of yogurt, and a can of cheese whiz.

My story is, I have nowhere to go except my job, I have no friends, yet I feel perfectly fine, albeit in a depressed, semi-suicidal kind of mood. Don't get me wrong, I will never stoop so low as to kill myself, but I think that perhaps people who do that feel this way. They reach a point where they feel nothing, and find pain as a way to feel something.

This is why I write. As some woman said, and this is paraphrased "I write because it's like I'm talking to someone." You guys who read my blog are someone to talk to."



In other news, I am alive, I have no friends, my sister is coming home, Benji the demon slaying Jesus man has left me alone, I met a wanderer, ran him out of the restaurant after 4 hours of his insistent conversation which was nice, but he kept falling asleep. I've been put-putting twice in the past two weeks, and I think I've completely given up on love.


This has been my daily rant, and thank you for reading.