To be or not to be

This post isn't about Casey. It's about me.

I've always been wary about writing personal stuff online. And even now, I'm not entirely sure it's appropriate to bring reality into this blog. Because, as Casey Serin knows all too well, the Internet remembers. Well, Google remembers, but these days, they're practically the same thing. And because everything is remembered, some enterprising graduate from the Benoit™ School of Internet Sleuthing might be able to follow the bread crumbs back to their source. And if I ever became rich or famous or something, those bread crumbs would be a tremendous liability.

But I don't know where I can turn to, who I can talk to. And I need to let this out, I need to be heard. Maybe one day, someone, somehow, will understand.

I know that it must seem really strange that I have this need to be so open online, where everyone everywhere can see it, but I liken it to blending into a large crowd. There, you're just one of the masses. You're anonymous. No cares about who you are, what you are, why you are. You're surrounded by people, and yet, you are completely alone. I love that about as much as I hate it.

I can't stand being here. I'm going through the motions, and I knew that was all I would be doing, but damn it, I thought I could delude myself for a longer period of time! Maybe I just know myself too well now. Which sucks. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But that's not the point. The point is that waking up every morning is a disappointment. If there was a scale, and unhappiness was a 1, and misery was a 10, I think I'd be somewhere around 23.

I can't go on like this. I've only been able to maintain a few shreds of sanity by losing myself in stories, searching for hope elsewhere, but they sort of just make everything worse, because they're not real.

Anyway. This is a really stupid post. Things are either going to get better, or they're going to get worse, and I supposedly have some say in all of this. I should just do what I want. Except what I want is for it all just to end. I'm so tired. All I want is to let go.

Here's an old poem:

Star's End - 01/22/02

I wonder about being a star,
Blaze of splendor twinkling afar,
Glittering cool in the night air,
Radiant beauty oh so fair.

But stars have got their limits too,
Their fiery glare will burn right through,
Leaving voids, deep and dark,
Scattered emptiness, no more spark.

They'll smolder seethingly, far too hot,
And either shrivel into a spot
Or flare outwards, grow immense
And burst because they were too intense.

Bursting a bubble causes an explosion,
Not so different from a star's implosion.
Needless to say, it matters not much,
Stars live, stars die, all such and such.

But for awhile they'll glimmer true,
Tears against a backdrop of darkened hue.
Stars do mirror, so I reflect,
Mortality on Earth, I do expect.