September 26th, 2011by not here

I’m beginning to feel as though the only people I can (or want) to relate to or get to know better, are people who are broken in some way. I guess you could argue that everyone is broken, and maybe that’s true eventually, but at 18 it sure doesn’t feel that way. There are times when it just amazes me how happy some people are. I can’t stand it. I mean, that’s awesome for them and I really am glad they’re happy, but I just can’t connect to them.
I saw this girl I knew in high school the other day. I had always thought she was extremely attractive, but just talking to her, realizing how different we are, it just made me not care. I don’t want to hook up with some hot girl I have no feelings toward, it disgusts me. I just want someone to be close to. I need that broken heart to help heal mine. It’s not perfect, but maybe two broken ones can make one whole one and that would be better than nothing.
I can’t stop thinking about my friend, Mac. I killed him. It eats away at me inside every second of every day. Maybe I didn’t tie the noose, but I didn’t pick up the phone and call. I didn’t invite him over to hang out. I can’t even remember the last thing I said to him. Can’t even remember the last fucking time I fucking saw him. No, because I was just too motherfucking preoccupied with my own little perfect fucking world with my perfect fucking problems. Well now I understand real problems. I do. Fuck I’m sorry.
I don’t know why, but whenever I feel alone, like I can’t connect to anyone, my thoughts go straight back to him. And I think it’s because I know this is my punishment for killing him. I’ll never have someone to make me feel better about it, to help shoulder the load. I suppose as a positive though, it’s really helped me to look inside at people more. To see the inner beauty inside everyone. I’ve got the most amazing group of friends, the most beautiful people there are. I love them all so much. I hate that it took this to make me understand that. It took this to bring us even closer together into this brotherhood. But I wonder if I’ll lose them. My parents don’t see their old friends often (if ever). I want to see these guys every week. But I know they’ll get married and have families. I feel like I’m destined to be the guy their kids call uncle Braden. I’ll come for dinner or a weekend once a year or so, and that’ll be it. I’ll act happy and funny but I’ll go home to an empty house. I’ll go home to my demons and sleep in my own bed. I don’t want that life. I don’t know what life I do want though and I guess that’s the problem.
Sorry to anyone who wasted their time reading my pathetic ramblings with no point. Just wanted to get it out of my head, if only a little.

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