Hemorrhage of Black Fire

I have an overwhelming urge to try to sort things out in a public forum right now.

Emotionally, things have been difficult. I've been doing my junk food medication thing that I do when I'm depressed, and I'm not sure it actually helps. I just end up realizing that I've blown a shitload of money on food that offers neither nourishment nor satisfaction. I haven't slept well at all the past few weeks. Most of the social gatherings I've gone to have left me feeling even more alienated than when I went in. I haven't gotten laid in six months and I'm sure feeling it this spring, yet I want only to be acquaintances with the prospective women I meet, friends at best, and not even "with benefits."

These new theme party trends everyone's jumping on have also left me cold. I don't want to indulge in the trappings of childhood or play dress-up at 26; supposedly, the sequential art and animation interests do that enough for me. I don't want to cut off my balls and drink the special Kool-Aid to be a part of these damned cliques of cuteness. I feel like this city's in costume all the damned time, hiding behind social networking sites, "grown up" get-together activities, snarky blogs (of which I currently accept guilt) and whatever it can to stay impervious to feeling something genuine, from the deep down scary places where the scars and cavities that have ripped hearts to pieces lie, where that implacable terror of life eventually gives way to exhilaration. Unfortunately, the imperfections fall under the pixelated veils of Photoshop and airbrushing in the heart as much as in image. Personally, I'm getting really tired of my costume and what I'm doing to stay in it.

I wish I cared enough to create something that expressed what I feel. I wish I could open up to someone instead of dancing around with vapid small talk. I'm tired of misery and contempt; I want to feel joy.