Expired

The wasted character I struggled to rid of, to forget about, creeps back against my will. I can only wish against its need to make an appearance. The cravings are nearly unbearable and completely undescribable, bordering on the feeling of insanity. It is all rushing back, what I thought I had killed away for all of eternity. It's making my identity a question rather than a statement of truth, and I am unsure of how to handle it. A change of perception for the worst, which was previously a positive feeling of awareness. I am under the impression that the ever-evolving identity crisis will last forever, far extended beyond these teen years of mine. These thoughts have always been present, as I narrate my life story in my mind every day, and now I take the time to transcribe them in a physical manner? Perhaps I should have done this years ago to rid of these useless reflections of mine.

To understand and appreciate the expired character I once was, this long afterward somewhat depresses me. The depression, the bliss, lack of care, the simplicity, never curious as to what will happen next. The inadequate amount of sincere care made me truly happy. Nothing disturbing, love of everything and everyone. Completely free of judgment. What happened? I suppose this is growing up. Being sensitive, curious as to the holdings of the future, knowing what is right and what isn't. Actually obeying the morals engraved by society and elders. I am one of few to what I sometimes call "break free." But, I question, am I really just that? The more intensely I reflect upon this matter, the more I conclude that my opinions have been lacking sense. It feels as though I have brainwashed myself into believing such fables, to comfort myself, my existence and all I am. As much I hope this to be false, I begin to see the truth.

I have grown and lived too much for myself to handle, or most likely, anyone of my age. I had a relatively short duration of fun, and that is all. I may have damaged my physical self, but the memories will last longer than the physical injuries. As much as I tried to escape, thinking my life was filled with evils, nearly 3 years later I am saddened by this. This, as with nearly everything else, I am sure is just another phase that will soon pass. I wonder if I am the only person whom is [probably] over-analytical, picking apart every aspect of their being for absolutely no particular reason. Fact is, I should think on the grand spectrum; This day, the length of time it takes me to write all of this, this very moment, won't matter when I am matured, the memory may not even exist. No physical evidence of this current thinking process will be in existence. Yet, a single moment could affect a persons entire future. A single moment, a minute, an hour, there are so many in ones lifetime, if only we had the ability to remember them all. The regrets, the feelings of euphoria, the sincere depression. All such wonderful experiences to remember, whether they were good or bad at the moment they occurred.

The plateau of life, almost like a mid-life crisis at 17, the force of acceptance, hatred and fear. The normalcy; makes me feel sick. A slave to my own persuasion, without realization until it's too late. Differing parts, wanting different outcomes, some craving change, some craving the plateau that is becoming more apparent every day. To combine all the needs and wants seems like an impossibility. To create a self, my own self, molding the details to perfection, so they last a lifetime, working out all defects to not only my liking, but that of everyone else. To be truly happy with the outcome, and for the happiness to linger for ever, I only wish.