wherever i am theres always someone who wants to be with me wherever i'm not? sometimes i hate my unquenchable thirst, insatiable hunger, greedy habit of always wanting more experience, more surprise, more life. there's an innate irritation in life as a contradiction. extraverted recluse. when left to myself i do little but regulate self improvement with exercise for the body and mind while self doubt does damage only i can see. i exhaust myself. i'm self destructive. i get so disappointed. can there really be endless ways to feel misunderstood? words don't do justice. language is a masculine concept. there are too few words that capture feelings that i experience every day. the sorrow of knowing a moment was wasted. the rejection of silence when any word would suffice. the frustration of gender constructs that limit your life. the sadness of not being able to meet your own expectations.

the futility of self improvement in the face of constantly critical eyes. the inadequacy of any articulation to ears that are deaf to true meaning. the longing for old friendships that haven't failed but just faded with no explanation greater than time. the scorn felt when those that you've been there for many times before fail to call. the bottomless depth of disatisfaction morphed into passive acceptance by a gradual understanding that for better or worse this is your life. is it weak to speak simply from a heart tired from feeling everything and say that i'd much appreciate a little sympathy? or just some company? another daily experience that words diservice. the inadequacy of getting what you want only after you ask for it. the slightly mocking nature of premeditated pity. the self appointed stigma associated with being regarded as a charity. so don't bother with condolenses. neither their absence nor presence will appease me. i guess at some level i just must be content with the daily monotony of drowning in my own impossibility.