Aware

I WROTE THIS A WHILE BACK. I MUST HAVE BEEN VERY UPSET.

How do I feel?
It's 2 in the morning and I am still in the "now"...
...still breathing, thinking, LIVING.
I have been here many times before.
I don't understand why I do not just build my life in this moment,
since I return to it often.
Moments of nothingness...
...hopelessness, yet...
...lack of despair...just...
on the verge of tears. On the verge of breaking everything in my room
without hesitation. The verge of something, and nothing all at the same time.
Moment of silence, isolation, darkness, not really evil, but not good.
Where is my head at?
I can never have what I desire. My Lord has saved me for nothing...aye, save for a few details here and there, amounting to JACK.
She gets the boy she wants, he gets the girl he wants, I don't get anything.
I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything. I don't get anything...
I welcome death. I pray for it everyday. I don't go looking for it, since it's not honorable to kill myself, but I plead daily to God to take me Home. I hate life. I hate practically everyone I come in contact with. I don't hate them like an enemy, but I hate them because they get to be REAL Christians. I wish I were a real Christian. The basic blessings God bestows on every individual...He must have decided I didn't need them...or maybe I am not really saved. Maybe I am fooling myself. That would explain why I cannot stop lusting, hating myself, starting drama, eating junk food, not having a devotional, not being normal...
I have always been this way. Maybe I am bipolar. Would explain. God provides out of pity, I suppose. It is always a bad day, but sometimes I have a good time because I make it happen. I usually do not have the will to make it happen often enough. Why does God love me? I am crap! You know it, and I know it. Unworthy.
I know I would struggle to live if death came. I pray God holds me down. It's not me that fights, but the auto reaction of my flesh. Good 'ol flesh. God gave it to us so we could condemn it...but in of itself is sinful, so God gave us sin? No, you would say no. They've taught us better in our Theology classes.
I have had crushes and loves in my life. All of the crushes and loves died, each taking a piece of my heart with them. I have no more heart to give. I love, but cannot share it?

"She looks at me sometimes. A quick, innocent glance, and then back to her nail biting. Maybe she knows my feelings towards her...yes, she knows, and she allows me to feed off her beauty and intellect until she can no longer take it and then...? She will shout across the classroom: 'Stop looking at me, freak'!
I will be crushed. Shocked. Embarrassed. Dead".

I am so pathetic. Pathetic man…piece of trash…worthless.
Funny, how much love I have, the crushes that stir in my vacant space of a heart. Let down here, refused there, denied all-around. I was alone, then, I am alone now. Nothing has changed, except I have aged and grown bitter. But look at me. I look fine. I say "Hi" as we walk past each other, like nothing is wrong and the world is at peace. "Good mornings" are "screw yous" and everything inbetween that is rubbish. Do you care? That's nice, but can you act on that care genuinely, or do you have to force yourself? Pity.
Maybe you'll pray for me...
yes, that always does good...
but that also means YOU never have to lift a finger, never have to really do anything substantial.
Let God handle it, right? Well, He is handling it. Full circle.
My penis must go away. I hate it. It is useless, and I want it gone.
Useless, utterly useless.
I am different, that's for sure. I need to be different, but I cannot take off my Halloween mask. It is stuck and I cannot find the zipper. I scare too easily, and my impressions are always hindered. If you care, talk to me! No? Oh boo-hoo.
Why do I continue?
Why do I keep walking to class, past all the smiles and laughter?
Why am I so alone?
This is how Columbine started. Worried? Don't be…it’s not me, and…
...I don't own any guns. :)
Later.