Every single night the same arrangement
I go out and fight the fight

Still, I always feel this strange estrangement
Nothing here is real. Nothing here is right.

I’ve been making shows of trading blows
Just hoping no one knows

That I’ve been going through the motions
Walking through the part
Nothing seems to penetrate my heart.

I was always brave and kind of righteous
Now I find I’m wavering.

Crawling out your grave you find this fight just
Doesn’t mean a thing. (She ain’t got that swing.)

Thanks for noticing.

(She does pretty well with fiends from hell,
but lately we can tell

That she’s just going through the motions
Faking it somehow
She’s not even half the girl she… ow.)

Will I stay this way forever?
Sleepwalk through my life’s endeavor?
(How can I repay you –)
Whatever.

I don’t wanna be

Going through the motions
Losing all my drive.
I can’t even see if this is really me
and I just want to be

Alive.

Every compromise is capitulation.

I guess I’ll write more here soon, but I see things that I don’t like.

I don’t like Into the Woods as a movie, and I loathe The Last Five Years trailer. I don’t… want these things.

So, don’t go to them. Don’t support them. And I won’t. I have the feeling that I’m really alone in my particular tastes. When I express my opinion, people get quite upset. So, I don’t express it. Then, I resent them. I say, “You don’t know me. You don’t understand me,” and because that’s somehow an insult to them, to their intelligence or their sensibilities, they tell me I’m wrong about that, too. Maybe they don’t realize how that implies that I’m easy to figure out, but it does.

I don’t feel like I’m wrong, but if no one is on my side… at that time, I have to start assessing why my opinions anger people, why I don’t have a community who can see what I see, and who want to see it. I’m not a skeptic, or a cynic, simply because I don’t accept things at surface value. Or am I?

People don’t go to theatres. Sometimes you just want to turn off your brain. Everyone can enjoy what they enjoy the way they enjoy it.

Except when I try to do that, I get branded as a curmudgeon, or a pedant, or at least an overthinker.

I help people with little things in their life, even when they really don’t need any help. When I stop because they don’t appreciate it, or because I’m overwhelmed, I’m selfish. I tell people how busy I am and they think I’m bragging. I don’t even know what to talk about with people any more. I’m starting to want to stay in my basement and never see another human being again. This paragraph makes me sound whiny, and I hate myself for writing it.

I used to love people. I still do. But it’s an abusive relationship.

I have to write this here. If I write it on anything more social, I’m vaguebooking, or being dramatic. If I keep it in my journal, I’m feeding the feelings of alienation and isolation that brought this all about to begin with.

Yes, I see a therapist. I wanted to die, so what did I have to lose? Couples counseling, too. I talk to people when I can. Since I’m so busy all the time, this is the only stuff they hear, so I rapidly become a burden. They won’t say it, but they all feel it.

I never really understood these lyrics before, but now they are plain and perfect: “I feel the pain of everyone. Then, I feel nothing.”