By now I think that saying my thoughts are irrational is an understatement. The better I seem to think I am, the worse I feel. I keep writing in this blog which seems to be my only obvious friend and it actually makes me feel a bit better. It's as if I'm talking to someone who cares; Someone, regardless of their incapability to speak, who listens. I'm saying everything I want to say to everyone I want to say it to in this collection of words. Nothing else matters when I'm writing. Nothing but the hope and wishful thinking of having a real someone to talk to. I have friends. Great friends. But the dismal part of it all is that it doesn't seem real. I've lost a few friends here and there but losing the ones I actually love is the agonizing part. I can't act like a good friend when I can't even gather my mindless thoughts around the actual normality of a friendship. I've lost something so important that I'm declared useless to having anyone else come as close as it.
I'll, one day, be a best friend to someone who understands me. Until then, I'm packing up my despair and I'm taking it to my grave. There's no doubt about that.