This didn't have to be written

It's understandable. All of it. Why people cut themselves. Why people want to die. Why people find the previous ridiculous beyond all reason. If you can explain it then I'm willing to see things in a different light and talk to you. On the other hand, if you approach me and say, "You're going to hell for such and such reasons because my beliefs are superior to yours." I can only nod and let you go on your way. I find a lot of people my age just accept things as they are handed to them. "Well, my parents said..." People who don't question anything are the scum of the earth, more so than the serial killers and the racists, and whoever else society has deemed unfit. To accept blindly is to be content in ignorant bliss, and it upsets me. My sisters are like this. Simple choices made by "Mom said..." or "Dad said...". Look at the situation, gather all your experience, and even though A and B fit, C is missing, D just popped out of nowhere, we're going to act like this is some textbook equation that be solved if we ram our ideals down its little throat. Then again, who am I to judge? I think things should be questioned, beliefs examined, problems faced at head on with the intent to fix them or at least see them for what they are. But I am not the mass majority of people. I decide nothing. I merely watch. I have to. There's little I can do. For now.

I have my emo moments, the kind people turn their nose up at. But those are so far and fleeting compared to those who pour out cliche after cliche. Yes I'm melodramatic and perhaps nothing more than a show, but it had to have come from somewhere. It had to have been festering somewhere inside of me (festering.) and this is just when and how I choose to express it. There is truth in fiction. There has to be, for without some familiar basis of thought it would not be understood.

At the mention of age (or gender at times) I feel like if the attention is called to it there must be some thing wrong with it. I don't necessarily try, but I forget my age. I act as I see fit, usually. Unlike everything else, this is the one thing I must face. I must live with this fact and no amount of make-up or kind words is going to make it disappear. Maybe that's why I don't see myself living past thirty, I don't want to get old. I don't want to face my parents' responsibilties even if they are completely independent of each other. I don't want it, I can't find a use for it, so I'm willing to throw it away. Just like love, just like everything. Kind of like a condom, use it for what minimal pleasure you can and discard it. I'm torn between so many things, it's like there's some mirror inside, the relfection is me and I am the reflection, yet we are opposite of each other. Break the mirror, break yourself, that's not the problem. The problem is trying to find a reason to just be, something solid that can't be torn down by a flick of wrist, the rejection in another's eyes. This is where the problem lies. I have no idea how to fix this.

I don't want a lover. I want a friend, I guess, a mentor. The complications stretch on.