hi, I’m Sebastian

hey, it’s me again. I guess it’s time to do another one of these things, so you know things are going not so great. I don’t know if i’m writing this for any particular reason. I mean, i don’t know if it’s just a funk, or if there’s something deeper, but here i am, writing to you, stranger, again.

I guess, I just feel stuck. I feel confined by the open world, but most of all, I guess I just feel lonely. I’m always happy to be alone, but the loneliness, it kills me. It eats away at a lot of things, and I just wish I had someone to talk to, not someone to say “hi” to, but someone to actually talk to, in person, close to me, in a quiet place someone, not a lot of people, just one. I’ve been thinking a lot, again, and that’s hardly ever a good thing, and my memory decided high school would be a good time period to bring back.

One thing I keep thinking about, was my first high school crush. She was in my English class, she was “different,” that’s for sure. I never said anything to her, but just paid attention to her, when the things in front of me started to become boring. But the first time I talked to her, something stuck with me. We had a paper to write, and sure enough, in the computer lab, she was one set down from me. I was busy though, writing, finishing the assignment as quick as I could. She dropped a pencil behind the kid in-between us. I heard it, looked at it, and reached down to pick it up for her. As I reached down, she did the same thing, but I, unfortunately, got there first. We looked at each other, and she said, “how about you? how far are you on this stupid essay?” I sort of stammered, I might’ve cleared my throat first, but I managed to tell her, “Oh, I finished already.” Her eyebrows raised, and she looked at me with an almost disgusted face, and said, “wow. you’re a NERD.” And the thing is, I used to actually like being called a nerd, I took it as a compliment, but this was different. nobody had actually ever used it as an insult, but her it was, smacking me in the face like a limp dick, and of course, the only reaction to that kind of comment was to turn back to the computer, and feel nothing except my own dick go limp.

I don’t know why i keep thinking about that moment. I think it’s because I realized that the 15 year old me, who let his cheek get smacked with a limp dick, never really left. As I sit down, and I feel like i’m drowning in my own lake of loneliness, I feel like I’m just missing something. Something does not make sense to me, and because of that I’m a cast out, a shadow behind the fence, or a freak. I don’t look for people’s approval, I don’t give a shit what other people think, I know who i am, and i’m trying to learn to love myself, and at times, i do. but a part of me thinks that when you don’t conform to what other people want out of a stranger, you’re setting yourself up to be a cast out, and sometimes that takes accepting, but there will always be these times of intense, suffocating, and exhausting loneliness. but i blame myself for other people not wanting me, i internalize the neglect, and take it as something is wrong with me. something about me forces me to be the scarecrow i see in the mirror. sometimes i love my old soul, and other times i feel like it might be my hamartia. i just don’t know, because nobody will tell me, because nobody will talk to me.

i’m stubborn, but i try to listen. i let a lot of things go, but when something gets to me, i bottle it up. i try not to do that, but sometimes i have nowhere else to put those feelings. I hate it, but sometimes i let those emotions out on other people, even though it’s not their fault. i try to be better, but sometimes i just don’t know how.

I feel a lot of things. i have strong feelings. and because of that, i am capable of loving somebody immensely, but at the same time, i’m capable of  being hurt beyond what i can bear. I feel. and that’s the thing. I just feel too much, but not enough at the same time. I don’t know how to explain how happy i can be, or how painful this loneliness is, and i know some psychoanalysis motherfucker will try to put a label on something like that, which, by the way, fuck that. I know i’m not fucked up, well, just a little, but i just don’t know what to do to get what i want. I don’t know what i want. i just don’t know.

 

my name is Sebastian Brewster, and I’m trying to be better than I was yesterday.


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