Introspection

Part of a project I did after reading the novel "Tuesdays With Morrie" in my junior year of high school. I like to think the novel changed my outlook on a lot of things.

    Lately life has had many twists and turns, the bumps in the road have been quite steep.  I have broken down and built back up and fallen again and finally jumped to my feet.  Tuesdays with Morrie definitely affected my life, if only for a little while: I can stand now to be alone with my thoughts. Depression, my parasite, has lost its power over me, and I have begun to find happiness in significant places and insignificant moments, and in insignificant places and significant moments.  My life has become something akin to a Lewis Carrol novel: up is down and down is insignificant.  I wonder if one of his characters would ever have stated such a thing.
                One thing I’ve discovered of myself is my love of writing my thoughts of the exact moment during, before, and after my pencil is on the page.
    I discover also many faults within myself: I become too attached to people, especially women I am attracted to, so I try to work through that, I try to abolish it.  I wish to be a good friend and a good boyfriend if ever the opportunity again resurfaces, I do not want to push people away anymore.
    Love is the thing I so desire; I seek it often to no avail, and still in love my faith does not waver.  I find love a rose; beautiful, rare, but cloaked in thorns to make it seem to many unappealing.
    My faults are what make me these days.  “Smart. Influential.” These are my most received praises.  But these are curses, shielding me from love and perpetuating my misery.  This is how life is right now.  It’s optimism and pessimism, it’s tragedy and wonder, love and hate, and down is still insignificant.  The cacophony of voices in my classroom reminds me of the disorder of my life; the memories scatter in my brain like puzzle pieces.
    Listening to a band named Muse, I try to clear my mind and write from my soul.  The voices have melded now, to form that garbled sound one hears in any small, crowded room after the right amount of time.  I can make sense of few words in the united garble: it is almost peaceful.  One of my peers leaves the room with the goal of checking the weather. He returns shortly -- still sunny.  The teacher returns in the midst of the waves of garble, which fluctuate like the wind, building up then dying down.  A few among my peers are unhappy to see her, the rest are indifferent; we’re just waiting for the last day.  In many ways I’ve enjoyed her class, in spite of my difficulty with it; Mrs. Varner has introduced me to many beautiful novels and helped me to open my eyes and ears, she has taught me how to write.
    My stepfather and I are not on the best terms; he seems convinced I do not love, or even like him remotely.  He does not know me.  His councilor is a girl of my own year, and she knows this that I have said, she knows what he thinks.  She thinks as a teenager though, in stereotype.  She sees no wrong in his deeds and worships him as a god.  I despise her.  But I do not despise him.  I have hope for him, hope that he will change and eventually understand that I care for him.  
    It hurts me to know that is what he thinks, and I can barely believe it is true.  I am truly glad he is here, and thankful Mom found him, she was so lonely.  Now I begin to feel alone, sitting in this room where all talk but none to me.  This is how life progresses, and in my fourth block class things get really crazy, but I will not write in that room: too much distraction.
    This afternoon I will take a nap.

Author's Note

This is not really a story, but nor is it any of the other types offered.. I didn't really know what else I could list it as. Also, I wrote this in class on my laptop (just a random note).