Is it time to throw my own pity party now? Do I sit around and feel bad for myself. Feel bad that the life I want, I can’t seem to manifest. That I have strength but can’t progress? That my experiences reflect that I’m under stress? I feel happiest when I’m in this fantasy world. I’ve escaped from reality. Escape? Yes, reality is a prison. I have the sneaking suspicion that as I age, as I continue on, my heart will grow colder, I’ll look less attractive and that any redeeming quality I have will be rendered useless.

I don’t know how to do this. I know what I want, but I haven’t found it. And I’m resisting. I can’t accept the fact that I’ve lost. That the world in which I grew up made it near impossible for me to assimilate into this one. That I’ll be stuck in this indefinitely.

Inertia is hard to shake. I feel like a ghost – trapped in this body and floating around. No responsibilities, no care. I can barely look at myself in the mirror. The paradigms of this century leave me isolated. What about me is so off-putting?

The paradox of rejection. People sort themselves away from you when they can’t handle you. Why do I need to be handled? I’m not an animal. I come off desperate, and in some ways I am.

I get close to people just to lose them but I don’t know what it is that I’m doing that’s wrong. Seriously. What am I doing wrong?

I hate playing games, but maybe if I get my impulses under control I will be better equipped to play them. I think I should figure out how to live at MIT. I mean one university is cool, but how do I move to another? I was fucking in California, I should have stayed there.

What can I do to get myself back into the school system, and do I even want to be in there? Administration is castration of the highest order. I need order but not confinement. I don’t want to be imprisoned.

I want a best friend.

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