I honestly think I went off on the wrong foot with the previous update. Writer's block is a funny thing, it is. It tricks you into thinking you don't know how to write anymore, and makes you wonder if you've ever had the ability to after all. But that isn't the case. I have things to say, and keeping them bottled up  in a tiny grenade between my lungs doesn't do myself justice, nor does it do justice to those around me, seeing how I only end up blowing up on them. 

The thing is, I have things to say. And, I'm not sure if I have anyone to say these things to. And, I'm not sure if I actually have the ability say these things—can word them right. And it is so very cliché, saying that writing provides as some sort of escapism, when it really doesn't. Not for me. But it sounds like it does. And maybe that's why I stopped writing for so long, because I don't know what I'm writing for. Who. Although at this point, I don't think it matters anymore.

Once upon a time writing was so important to me because I wanted readers, I wanted to be heard, and—honestly, really, this was all it was—I wanted people to care about what I thought. Realizing this now I sort of feel stupid, because my current self wouldn't let anyone get away with shoving their opinions down my esophagus. But having myself on the other end, manipulating people into thinking that my opinion mattered a tad bit more than everyone else's; I wonder what kind of effect I had. What have I done to you, and what do you remember of me—this girl with tiny eyes and broad shoulders and big calves? Did I have no effect at all and just came off as a jerk with superiority complex, or did I, for one second, engrave a thought into your mind that lies with your sub-conscience, even now? 

As much as I'd like to think that my past thoughts have changed the people around me, I know for a fact that they've changed me even more. The people around me don't know this, but I fend for myself against my consuming depression by saying that, “this, too, shall pass.” I believe that everything is a passing thing. People, too. Looking back at all the people I've become in my past, all these past phases of me and how they've passed, I believe they passed because the people who've influenced me into becoming that certain person—2012 me, 2013 me, November 2014 me—they've passed too. At one point they came into my life and molded me into the person I needed to be at that time, and once that phase passed, so did they, as did I.

And here is an abrupt ending, just because I want one.

Also you might not have noticed but I changed my blog link to an even lamer one. Yes I'm also praying that one day I will wake up and just be chill. No I do not think I will be waking up to that day soon. But until then I'll have fun living the loser life.