This world appears to be a place that is ever-changing. Always re-shaping itself into something new. This is all the more sped up by modern day devices of communication. Most people do not appear to have a problem with this. Those whose body and mind works on at least an average level tend to be able to be able to adjust and have a generally easier time finding their own place within the world as it continues to evolve. Or so it appears. I will not claim to know everyone within the world or how they work. But this is simply how it appears to me.

My issue with this particular event of re-shaping is that I cannot keep up with it. It takes much of my energy to simply remain alive in this world today, and I find that finding a place to belong in it as well, is, well. Draining. Try as one might, they can't ignore the world. Reality is realer than anything anyone can fabricate. There's only so long one can hide before the world finds them, and whether they want to come along or not, it no longer is their choice. Once their found, the shackles of reality are re-cast, and those that once had their own form of comfort are dragged up along with the world.

I hid for a long time. It was always so much easier to be quiet and withdrawn. To take myself out of the world, and to focus everything on anything that could tune out the world. Escapism, is an addictive little thing. And though I can now recognize it, I still attempt it. These attempts no longer have the longetivity that they use to however. Whereas months use to be able to pass and barely catch notice, I can barely escape for a simple and small weekend. The days that are relievers for me are few and far between. All the other days. They're simply painful, and it's been this way for the longest time. This feeling in my chest, it'll flare. It's like a hollowness, only much more real, much more gripping. When it flares, the blood pumps faster. I try to breathe more. I try to fill it up. I feel my head, my thoughts, speed up. Everything that I am needs to go at a speed far greater then I'm capable of acheiving, and it pushes my body. Some part of me, it craves to hurt. It likes to hurt. And I've found myself many times flying through my own house, or even my classroom, in a near run, in a frantic hurry, digging about for something, anything that could cause me the hurt that is craved. If I can find it, my body, it thanks me with this little swelling and burst of red. If I can't, then my body, it just gets pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until it can't be pushed anymore. Then I go into a state of exhaustion. I physically shut down, and my mind still tries to race, but that's hard to accomplish in a body that's unwilling to do anything. Soon, my mind is on the brink of a shutdown as well.

I don't know how it got like this. I don't know how I became like this. I don't know where I went wrong. I had to have done something. I had to have let someone in that I shouldn't have, or done something. There has to be something, right? These things, these strange occurrances. They don't just happen, do they? And if they are, then how is it that I haven't ever managed to find more then just one, just one person who understand it?

There's only been one person in all that I've met and talked to that has understood everything and anything that I've throw at them. There's only been one person out of all of them that I'd trust with anything. And I love them for that. For being able to simply talk, much like this, random ramblings, and not once do I hear why, or detect the slightest bit of confusion.

With these ramblings, I've fallen into another subject with which I appear to have issues. Love. Love, as anyone could tell you, is a tricky thing. This much, I know. I've confused what I've felt before as love. I've confused my need for a person with love, and it wasn't until by chance one day that I heard the question, "Do you love me and therefore need me, or is it that you need me, and therefore, love me?" I've confused a past relationship with a need versus love. And as much as I always claimed that I hated those who did it, I used the word 'love' in vain and immaturely. Because I couldn't find the words to describe what I felt, I simply labeled it as love and followed it blindly. Now at the time, I was an angry person, all the time, and I had taken a great disliking to those who went about, using the word love as commonly as if it were the word 'the'. But there I was, gladly, and stupidly, becoming one of the people that I hated. Love for me, is difficult. I love too much, and I hate too much. "Too much of anything is a bad thing". I tend to avoid relationships now. "Love is an excuse to get hurt/and to hurt", to quote a bright eyes song. It may not be entirely true, but this is how it feels for me.

Another thing that I touched base on. Becoming one of the ones that I hate. I can't avoid it, much as I try. I hate too many things to not become at least one of them. But all at once one day, I talked to someone who I hadn't for several months. They knew me during a period of which I was creative, peaceful. Angry, but peace embracing nonetheless. They were surprised at what I had started to become. I'd always expressed my hatred for those who simply blew off their emotions as if they didn't exist. I'd always shown my hatred for those who tried to kill away everything with drugs or other addictive little habits. I'd always shown how little I cared for the people who didn't care about anything at all.

And there I sat, talking with them, while they attempted to reach out like they used to.
"So have you made any art recently?" "No."
"How come? I always liked it." "I just stopped. I dont care about it anymore. It's all crap anyways."
"Well, what about writing. Have you done that recently?" "No."
"Really? You always used to write." "Key word: used to. It all feels so fake. It's just as bad as the art."
"Have you changed your mind about doing those drugs you used to talk about?"
"Not in the least bit. I quite enjoy them actually."


"What happened to you? What has this world done to you?"
Who said it's only the world? I hurt myself just as much as the rest of the world does. Try as I might to fix myself, and to hold back all of the dark that I've got in me, at the end of the day, it always comes down to that. In some way, I always hurt myself more then I help. Be it by blade, nail, pill or anti-social behaviors, breakdowns and flashbacks. I'll always do more damage to myself then I could ever credit.

Once more, I'd like to thank you reader. Particularly if you managed to read all of the above. I'm finding this to be a great reliever, when I finally am willing to write. So once more. Thank you.


- Dominic "Israel"