(no subject)

Lately it seems like I'm doing my best not to make any choices. I think about the person I am now and all the people I've left behind-- think of who I was then and all the people who've left me behind, and I find myself at a loss.

Maybe I'm afraid that I've lost something in recent years. I like to think that I am a better person now than I was just a few years ago, but there are times when I wonder if that's true.

I want to change-- to somehow merge the pieces of myself that are better now with the pieces that were better then, but I haven't the slightest clue how to begin. I always seem to be fighting against mediocrity, and I feel as though I'm always failing. Inertia is my worst enemy.

Introspection is a tool to help you reach toward self-realization. But now, whenever I look into myself, everything is distant. It all belongs to someone else, and I'm stuck somewhere in the middle.

This quiet inside, is it happiness? If so, it's a wretched contentment. I despise this silence that isn't peace, that isn't stillness, but something more than quiet. A stagnation, a dull numbness to the strength of my previous ability to feel.

Now, I do not miss people, but then-- surely there was something! Surely there was a time when I missed people so dreadfully that I couldn't wait to see them again. Surely there was more to me than talking myself in circles about whether I'm over past hurts, whether I'm just going to stumble into the same traps in the future. I shouldn't have to press on the remainder of my bruises just to reassure myself that I feel something.

I used to be more than someone who revisits her old mistakes and is too tired to make new ones. I've become someone who doesn't talk anymore, because talking has never gotten me anywhere. I've become someone who doesn't move anymore because she's afraid of what's around the corner.

How do I get answers when I've lost all of the questions?

Am I a better person now? I don't know.

And all the pretending in the world won't change the truth.