the t r u t h

itsjeremiah:

Do you ever worry that when your children ask your 30 year old self what your teenage/college years were like, you’ll draw a huge blank because a majority of it was spent sitting in front of this damn screen? It terrifies me. But what am I supposed to do? Go play in a field? Build synthetic relationships with people who simply have the same interests as I do? I haven’t had a true friendship in years. I guess high school was cool because it forced you within the same tight quarters as a bunch of other blooming adolescents. But I’m a nomad who’s paying the consequences of going to eight different high schools. I realize that a bunch of you look up to me on here, but that doesn’t change the fact that I feel pretty damn lonely. And when I’m surrounded by people it usually makes it worse. Because I’m cynical as well. I think what’s ruined me are the massive expectations I have for myself and my experience in this short life. I always thought my 19 year old self would be in very different shoes. It’s tiring to always just expect the next corner you turn to bring that long-expected wave of relief. I understand that I can always look down at what other people don’t have that I do and be content in the fact that I’m more fortunate. But doing that is squandering the potential that I do have. It’s like looking at a tombstone and then back at your own two feet and thinking “I may not have accomplished that much, but at least I’m alive.” Fuck that. Feeling pity for others is an effective way to rise out of temporary depression, but I have so much potential in my two hands that I’m ashamed of what I haven’t accomplished. I may be forever discontent, but as long as I’m constantly quenching that thirst I’ll at least be more satisfied than I am now. The arrogance of my self-proclaiming potential isn’t a bad thing. Because it’s useless to brag about something you potentiallycan do if you haven’t done it. Reminding myself of my own potential only gives me more drive but it’s also coupled with self-loathing. I’m constantly falling back on the excuse that I just haven’t been presented with the opportunity to showcase my potential. But I keep forgetting that that opportunity is the very life that’s in my body for the next 50 years. The ability to even exist is astounding. I fucking hate it when they put pickles on my double cheeseburger when I’ve clearly states “No pickles on my motherfucking double cheeseburger.” I need a really, really good friend. Because it’s in the comfort of relatablity that we find the willingness to let go of purpose in our lives. Like the two people who clasped hands as they fell from the twin towers for the last 11 seconds of their lives. They had nothing. Their lives were knowingly over. But they still found that obviously apparent strength that comes with shared doom. Same reason ffffuuuu comics are an amazingly successful social medium. With almost every single one we discovered that we “weren’t the only ones” to feel poseidon splash the inside of your asshole with poop water. The raw funniness of it is just doubled by the comfort you feel that you weren’t the only one. I think true pain is pain that isn’t shared. It almost makes hell sound a little more bearable. That’d be cool to have someone who is literally just as satisfied with playing legos and reading comics at a college-age and yet retains that same drive/ambition to exel in other areas in their life. I usually pride myself with my level of independence. But I’m fucking sick of normal fucking people. I want someone to be weird with.

lordoftheinternet:

let’s take a minute to address the fact that we are currently involved in multiple military conflicts, there are violent drug cartels just south of our borders, the middle class is quickly disappearing due to rampant wealth inequality, and our political system is becoming increasingly susceptible to corporate greed and corruption, all in the midst of global economic uncertainty, but the most controversial thing in america right now is a fucking GAY COOKIE