Desire

I complain alot and some times it even feels like I’m taking things to far. Like I’m constantly dragging this along and it even feels like I’m taking advantage of it. Like I’m behaving like this to stand out and get attention, to seem interesting, special. The fact is that I’m not interesting, nor special and I don’t deserve that attention. This is utterly honest and truly how consider myself and my behaviors.

I write alot and when I started writing it was just to do something. I’ve always been creative and wanting to actually do something. I’ve tried painting, singing and lots of other things but I haven’t really had any talent for any of them. I started writing early, about the time that I had dreams about becomming a singer since I wrote alot of poems and lyrics.
It brought me into writing and so I have been ever since. The only assignments given to me while I was in school that I actually had a good grade on was free-writing assignments. The only grade I’ve gotten that was higher than G was VG and I got it in English, much because my teacher recoginzed that fact in me.
When I first started this blog it was an extension of this hobby of mine, just writing at all let me enjoy it. I early on began to write about my story and how I grew up. I think this is where my abuse of this extension started. It was really the first thing that I wrote with a real angle and a real story and I got alot of respons on it.

So I found myself in starting to write more about personal stuff and saw more and more visits on my site and more mails in my mailbox.  Some told me to go fuck myself, other encouraged me in writing these. This kept on and on and my extension for a hobby became more for me. It became a way of being and a way that felt safe. It made me feel interesting, that someone would actually care to read this stuff. It even made me feel special.
I started writing in more abstract tones and more brutal, more sick really. I started doing this to awake more interest and to make me feel even more special. This became more about a performance than just writing as I first set out to do. Something that was brought along with it was that I developed it into a way of communication. I started feeling odd and out of place in real-life situations and conversations and this writing became more comfortable. It was safe, I was hiding behind behind this text, behind my keyboard and screen.

If you take this away, take away almost all things that I’ve written about. I’m really not interesting or special, I’ve had a troubled youth and that have made me sensetive. Some people deal with it and move on, I keep dragging it along beacause I want to feel special and interesting.
I’ve built a personality around being damaged and being a victim and now it’s basically all that I am. People that I’ve gotten to know resently know me by being this person making it even harder to try and change that. If this is to ever be removed, what will I be? A computer geek with nothing really. I don’t have a girlfriend, I don’t have my own place.  I don’t really have anything to show for myself besides my job, which is basically all that people at work see me for. But atleast people at my job understand what I do, people around me don’t. I can’t talk about what I do, well I can talk about it but no one will understand it.

I need this, I need my damaged-self. Without it I’m nothing and if I’m nothing I’ll be completely alone.