This isn't going to make any sense, nothing more than a sampling of scattered neurons flashing through my skull. Forgive me, this is one of those lists that probably shouldn't be made, but I'm sitting here alone and the demons are out and I am somehow feeling irrelevant yet ostentatious and cavernous yet bursting all at once.
  1. "Love is too confusing. It's too tiring, it takes too much energy, and it wears you out all over."
    Lauren Booher, my co-worker
  2. "Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it?
    "It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...
  3. You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.
    Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love." {Dream, The Sandman}
  4. My face in the mirror and the wasted mind beneath it and the overwhelming sense that I will never be as beautiful-minded (or just plain beautiful, real talk) as so many others whom I wish—but feel unworthy—to emulate.
    "Comparison is the thief of joy" may be true, but it's also kind of crap because everything in life is relative (Einstein wasn't just talking about objects whizzing through the void), and the lives of others are constantly illustrating to me the absences I have created in my life. Boohoo, melodramatic, I know. But how deeply I feel like a colossal waste of hideous cells at the moment.
  5. A man I saw at the hospital the other day who was being pushed in a wheelchair whose forbearance to existence had worn thin.
    And I am filled with shame. Because I felt pity for him, which I know he would despise, and a paralyzing fear that I was looking at my future. And when—no, IF. IF. There are no guarantees of where the brain bugs will nest—that happens to me, I fear I will be far less agreeable than that man whose determination had been entirely spent.
  6. ...
    And I am deathly afraid that I will have pushed all those who love me away, because that's what I do—unconsciously—to protect my withered heart (I could say it was for them, but I don't give myself that much credit). I can see future me in exactly the same position that I am in right now. Alone, feeling like a wastebin, staring at my phone and pretending I'm talking to someone who loves me instead of to a little dingy purple-swathed device. Waiting.