June 22, 2013: 10:07 pm
I've always been an observer. The world doesn't include me; I'm just the camera, unimportant, typical, boring. I've never quite seen myself as an individual entity, rather, another watcher. I focus on those around me, not myself. The feelings I experience-the tears and laughter and pain-feel artificial.
It scares me.
I don't want to be the girl who doesn't exist, who lives on the outside, her life's focus on those surrounding her, rather than herself. How am I supposed to love myself if I don't feel real?
Nothing around me feels real either. That's what scares me. I'll look at my friends, and my surroundings, at my family and feel the inexplicable need to reach out and touch them, to solidify their existence in my mind.
Or maybe I'm wrong, and everything is truly real. What if I'm just crazy? How can I tell? Will these questions ever be answered, or will I live the rest of my questionable existence in a lie?
The sounds around me are far too loud and echo in the small universe inside my mind, the potentially artificial life I've created.
The world is far too bright and glares at me and I wander through.
Rough is the universe, textured with hard material and soft scratches on my hands.
~Unanswered Questions
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