I don't know why I even type here anymore. No one ever reads these. But for anyone who might have passing curiosity:
I'm done. I have to put away my pencils and throw away the old sketches. It's time I faced reality. I have no talent, I have no imagination, and I have yet to find my purpose in life. Who knows? I might not have one.
I can't say that I'm happy (Who would be? I had to crush my damn dream), but I'm not looking for sympathy or even for anyone to read this. I've been told I'm a selfish person- so I did this for myself mostly. I did it for closure. So I could tell myself this is the end. But again, who knows? Maybe in the future- heck- maybe tomorrow, I'll reboot my denial and keep the dream alive. But it doesn't matter. Even if I keep drawing, writing, or shouting creative words at passerby, I'll keep in mind that I'm no one special- and I won't keep my hopes up.
Everything in my life is managing to fall apart. I losing everything and everyone that truly matters due to pure chance and my own damn stupidity. I will never be able to forgive myself for a few more recent incidents... But those people in my life deserve better than what I am. The best-and hardest- thing for me to do now is to find the strength to walk away and let myself fade from memory.
But I gotta make things better somehow. In any way I can. If what I'm doing is the wrong way to fix things, then at least I can say I tried. That I did so because I care about them. At least I have one good thing I can say about myself.
I don't know what happens next. I have one last poem I'm writing- more closure- and I will probably post it if I don't riddle it with cuss words to call myself. I need it so I can do what I'm doing with this entry, read it over and learn in case I'm ever trusted by anyone again. So I don't mess it all up. So I can stop being lonely.
I don't know where I'm going, but I can't help but look forward to whoever I meet along the way.
Listening to: The Only Exception by Paramore