I'm trying, I'm trying, I'm trying, I can't.

The words won't come anymore, when I want to write something I have to force it, and then I always hate it. It never says what I want to say. All I do is repeat the same things over and over and try to look impressive.

I wonder, if we stripped everyone of the things they use to represent themselves, the things that make them cool, would we even be able to stand one another? The purest people are the undiscovered ones who have no idea they are cool, but do they get credit for it? People who try hard to be something for some reason get the credit for trying, no matter how miserably they fail. I've always wanted to be the sort of person who was admired for trying, but it doesn't work out ever.

Self-pity is a dangerous poisin, as though I'm the only one who ever feels this way. As though it's just too much to ask that I go through each day and put up with my family and do the things I have to do. But I keep thinking back to the way things were last year, when everything was just starting to look up. I remember hanging out at the D's and drinking the hot chocolate Isacc made and laughing with Laura till our abs hurt, then crowding into the back of Devon's little red car and speeding back to church two to a seat with the music blarring. And loitering in the lobby at co-op with Caleb and Ryan debating things I would never debate now with a passion that I can never find now, and standing at the center of a crowd in the gym and knowing what it means to be part of real... thing. I can see why Christmas would depress some people, now, because it somehow reminds you of the good times you're not having anymore.

But we all feel this, don't we? No, I don't want your pity, I want to comiserate. And yet no one seems to be in quite the same place, I can't relate to your pain and you can't feel mine. I know what it's like to be understood and I wish I didn't because it makes the emptyness so much more frusterating.

Thoughts swirl around in my head, important things, big things that I want to understand, but they all turn into nothing and it's maddening. If I just knew what I wanted then that would be something, but instead I'm just floating in empty, cold space. I don't know what to think about anything anymore, everyone has their own stuff to think about, everyone is worshiping a different God, everyone thinks they are just like me because I'm so nothing I've become playdough for everyone else's mold.

Why do I write like this? As if it's helping anything. Somehow, I have to.