Second Person Direct Thought Overload (Spoiler Alert)

Despite your best efforts to appear interesting to the outside world(to say the world outside your mind) you remain a lonely, socially awkward, constantly depressive human being who pretends to be eight different people each day. You’ve only read the books other people tell you to, or those which you think will give you an insight to the minds of other people and somehow teach you how to correctly interact with them, but often you end up depressed over the fact that these authors are so much better than you that not even if you try to imitate them will you be able to get close to what you aim to be. Every romantic endeavor you set yourself to ends with disastrous consequences, leaving you with less self-esteem each time you try, and making you even more separated from society to the extent that you no longer wish to try to show to someone how much you matter, how different you are, how similar you are to them, how much you would love them if they would love you back. Everyone you’ve ever tried to make contact with and failed ignores you or behaves really awkwardly around you and you no longer know if it’s because they’re immature or if you’re just so unbearable to be with once they have found out that you have feelings for them that they can’t stand to look you in the eye. The girl you like likes someone else, and that someone likes someone else, in an infinite romantic polygon which never closes because of the fact that you’re so sure that nobody likes you. Every time you feel like you are doing something right, you get tired of the enormous amount of effort it takes to realize anything you’ve ever set yourself to achieve. Your parents don’t think you actually have a future doing what you like to do so they try to send you through a different path which only enhances your self-hatred and ridiculously long-lasting depression to the point that you(in the purest of cliches) no longer know if there is actually something worth living for. Besides, you spend so much time doing stuff you don’t actually want to do that you begin to wonder if there exists something that you want to do. You are so shamelessly self-involved that every morning you wonder which t-shirt would most accurately reflect the attitude your character that day has towards life. You only change pants every three days, no more, no less, and you really don’t know how you came upon that rule. You try to wear accessories that reflect your tastes in music, art and entertainment, to the point that you spend a really long time wondering which one you will wear today. You cook, you write, you play and write music, you know stuff, you have read hundreds of books, you like to make romantic movies, you have watched hundreds of movies in the hopes that the knowledge of others will somehow adhere to your brain cells and make you smarter and more likable, you think, you reason, you like dialogue, you solve problems by looking at different points of view and shifting yours accordingly, you fight to make yourself so interesting that no one else in your social universe could even come close to you in interestingness, you make up words, you improvise songs, plays, and characters with pain-staking precision and surprising speed, you keep telling yourself to move on from failed attempts at being accepted by society or others but always find yourself coming back to the same hopes and aspirations you though you were over with and cling to that ray of hope that the girl you’re in love with will see you for what you are and accept you completely which is really what you’ve always wanted and then you’ll be infinitely happy and kiss in the rain and watch old movies together and walk with no real direction just savoring the inherent romance in the moment and fight and make up and get used to the quirks of each other and laugh at lame jokes and have long staring contests and get tired of each other and remember what you liked about each other and go out to dinner and celebrate anniversaries and drink and smoke and stop drinking and stop smoking and grow up and mature and disagree about politics and sacrifice your point of view over the stability of the relationship and find out you can actually come to a join decision and kiss some more and get married and buy a house somewhere far away and come home each day from work and just sit in the kitchen eating something, enjoying the uncomfortable silence that forms when you eat and your significant other just sits there across from you watching and knows that you’re the only they’ll ever love and they wouldn’t have it any other way and maybe you’ll have kids and they will grow up and you’ll see so much of you in them and wonder if they’re not exactly the same person you were at that age and you’ll look at your life partner and know that if it be necessary you would walk barefoot through hell for them and someday one of the two of you will get sick, or start getting older and you will start considering the possibility of death and try to make every moment last an eternity as you walk slowly down the path of life that we all must follow and one day one of you will die and you’ll have the funeral you always wanted when you were alive and you’ll visit the grave of your loved one and write in chalk significant words like “I miss you” or “I will love you always” or “The day you decided to be with me was easily the happiest day of my life” and the rain will wash away the chalk and you’ll know that your words somehow made a difference inside you and help you continue the lonely way you have to follow before leaving this plane and discovering if what’s out there is good or bad, but enjoy the enigma anyway because you know that while you lived you pretty much lived the way you wanted to and have no regrets because living with regrets is the worst kind of life. Also, you occasionally have long thoughts about your future.

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