I wrote this in January of this year.

.I.am.a.man...I.am.a.monster.

What is honesty?
I can't seem to find myself.
What do I tell them?
Sometimes I feel they want to know me, and I have nothing to say.
Being alone will turn you inside out, and outside in... and inside in.
I just contradicted myself entirely, but such is life and I did so to prove a point. Although I want out, I am stuck in here without a wire to the world. My secrets hang loose, but they are still secret. My personality is gone, from what I can tell.
I like to hear stories, from books and films, I don't have to think of what to do next. Just turn the page, just focus on the screen, just forget who I am and fall into something more interesting. In the words of Stanley Kubric, "Real is good, interesting is better." When he said this he referred to the stories he would tell, and how to tell them... When I say it, I refer to the life I live, and the ways I escape, somehow they are both the same to me.
I think about suicide sometimes, mostly to pass the time. I will read about it, and fantasize about what it would be like, but I never get as far as to plan it. There have been times where I thought, I will just pick a method so if the time ever comes etc... but I have not yet done so. I get so sick of life. In those moments I don't want it to turn around, I don't want to be happy, because that would mean that I had forgotten how serious it all is, how terrible it all is. My life is not hell. My life is quite blessed, as they say. How can I feel important when importance just happened upon me? Would it be easier for an African slave to understand that they were not blessed, and that they should be where they are, than for me to understand why I am here in the United states? I don't suppose a lot of the lucky ones have tried to come to terms with their fortune. There are many folks who like to single out heirs and millionaires as being the lucky ones... How lucky do we need to be? Look at me, rambling, I am confused and I don't know how to feel. Guilt plagues me like an infestation in my brain. I should feel sad because I'm not in love? There are better things to cry about... or worse, depending how you look at it. Is it fair that my focus drifts to my struggles with my weight or trying not to smoke cigarettes? I am only a man, but I feel like a monster.