Repentance and Defiance

It's a journal, I guess. I'm recording these feelings now, so that they will never be forgotten. This is another silly work of mine.

I'd like to say that my core feeling right now, having removed pain and a stinging sorrow, is repentance. I have not sinned. I am an atheist. But nevertheless, I do believe I have reached the lowest moment of this week. I feel spent, battered, bruised and breathless. I can breathe normally, but each breath is shallow. Like I would be breathing in the yogic manner. Anxiety takes over me from time to time.

I've angered friends and argued with those who used to like me. I've lost friends, perhaps, with my cynical rambling and negativity. I've appeared psychotic, said things that perhaps feel odd to others. Pointless and invading. Probably irritating to them. But to me, when I wrote those things, I felt like I was emptying my mind, easing my own burden. I thought I could trust them to bear with me. Was I too hard? Was I far too arrogant in my decision? I think so. They have been angered, and I feel like they cannot see my point of view. Why would they? They don't feel like I feel. They don't need to, and they don't want to. I don't mean enough to them to become depressed for my sake, and I suppose it truly isn't the same for me.

I don't regret the thoughts I've had of some of them. I think some are looking for attention, some are avoiding it - but now, now I realize that the only true attention-seeker has been me. Perhaps you will say that even this writing is a way to seek attention, or maybe you'll only have thought about it. It doesn't matter: I understand why. If that is so, then know: I want to empty my mind. I want to finally let it go and relax, a thing I haven't been able to do during the past weeks.

What to write? I don't know. I will tell what I am going to do, I think. I will pull myself up from the pile of steaming feces I have been lying on, flat-arsed, unable to do a thing. I have only hurt others around me in my self-pity and depression. I will make it end, but I cannot make the shallow feeling in my stomach just fade away. I will have to deal with it myself, without telling others.

Have I misunderstood something, or is that what friends expect from each other?

Author's Note

It's an ironic piece of text. Again. I felt what I was writing back them, but now it stands as a living example of insolence.