Bunch of bullshet

I find myself back here again. It had been a while, and I had been happy for the first time since childhood. But now, here I am again, and the loneliness, and the feelings of the inability to connect with people that I’ve spent so much wonderful time with, the social anxiety as I fumble and stumble over my own words and just sigh in exasperation in my self involvement. I hate my narcissism. Talking about myself disgusts me, and I find it very saddening. I had gone on a date tonight. She and I had had wonderful dates before, but tonight, I felt the weight of emptiness upon me, and as it bowed my shoulders, I sank closer and closer to my beer, ignoring her smile, the light caress of her feet upon my leg, the indirect way she asked me to come with her. It was the shortest date we had. I don’t know if I want to have another. I feel like I’m repeating myself when I talk to her, I ask stupid and asinine questions, go over the same stories. I enjoy her company, and I think that she’s beautiful, but I also know that she and I aren’t looking for some townie romance. And now I find myself toying with the idea of blowing my brains out. I know I could do it, and not be found, write a letter saying that I ran off into the mountains, which wouldn’t be a whole lie, and would make sure that my mother, brothers, friends, and other family members wouldn’t feel the sadness nor guilt nor anger at me. But in all honesty, I’ve had these feelings before, and I know that what I need most is to see her again, and what I need most is to talk to her, and to make her smile, and to go ice skating, and to get some sleep, and to eat something. Tomorrow is election day, should be interesting, I want to see who wins at the very least.