friends cut.

nice knowing you. :)

So I can safely assume that things have most definitely changed in my life. As it saddens me to say this, I guess I have to own up to it. My friendships are changing, my life, and even my own mindset. I want out. I am so tired of fighting the currents of life, only to find the harder I push, the more I get swept away.

I remember I set out long ago to change something in myself. Writing was my way of releasing a darker side to me. I remember I wrote a lot of my thoughts down in a blank book. Now that I look back on the things written, all I can so is stare at what is past the pages. I see a different me.

I was naive, almost childish. I sat in my dark room, etching these words down during a christmas break not too long ago. I was desperate for something to take me away. Something, just anything. I can't believe the things I tried to stop the voices in my head. I must sound like a loonie, but to be honest, I know you hear the voices too. It is your conscious telling you things. "You're ugly" or "no one wants you."

I am not going to sit here and say I victimized myself, because I most definitely did not do that. I made myself look different, because in reality, I thought everyone wished I was different in someway or another. There were all kinds of people around me being praised for one of their powerful characteristics, however, there I sat in my dark room wondering what was being thought of me. In reality, I was forgotten a lot of times.

Now that I look back on all my closest friendships, the words I spoke were so pointless to them. However, when they finally put things together, they came back to me to say what an impact I had on their lives. I want to understand people, and in turn, I dish out more of my hatred in malice in creating this false apparitions I see before me.

My writings were dark, and I prayed every day to my God, that he save me and release me from my torment. Yet, he never answered my prayers. He does work in the most mysterious ways, because I found out all the pieces were before me, just waiting to be assembled. I cant's sit here and say that I am a genius and I do not claim to understand that in which I was placed through in life.

But my words now are clear, even as I write this. I can think a little faster, and my words are almost like a breath of air to my lungs.

I want to share my world with everyone who happens to stumble upon this. But, I know that is impossible.

I am nothing more than a little boy who watched the world go past him.

That is my life. My life is almost parallel to that of the narrator in The Perks of Being a Wall Flower. I stand, watching the world play out before me. I want to be in the traffic. I want to put my life out there, but it is almost as if my reach is fleeting.

My heart broke, I was betrayed, I was insulted, I was devestated. I listened to the voice for so long and I agreed. The sky moved so quick these past few years as I battled in my mind. I am not a martyr, nor a victim, but I write now to explain to myself that I indeed have finally grown comfortable with myself.

Even some of my closest friends that read this will have had no idea I was going through so much. Most of them, I have only shown a glimpse of this too. I remember some one who is very close to me and the thing she said to me one day. My eyes are filled with emotion. I got this spectacular gift from my mother. When you learn to read my eyes, you hold the key to my mind.

I remember with one look I could display my despair and my loss to a few people, only to relapse and smile when they look at me confused.

I wish I had another release back in those days, but disappointment makes things happen as such. I wanted to grab onto the last little bit of hope I could clutch my narrow fingers on. I wanted to squeeze all the love out of my heart because I was so tired of it. I wanted out. I didn't want to love ever again, because all I would ever receive in return is that little ackowledgement as a good boy, or a good soul who stands in the corner. All alone. All quiet. I am tired of being an enigma.

I remember I was speaking to a woman in London, when I happened to find myself at a small cafe on the corner off a main shopping street. I ordered my food and drink, and she could just sit there staring off into space. I remember her words so clear in my head even to this day. "Young man, you are truly blessed with a voice. A voice that is soft and soothing and filled with care and sadness at the same time." Her words tore through me, and I soon came to hate my own voice.

I would hate to be called ma'am on the phones at work, but in reality, my voice is so quiet that is how it sounds. I do not sound feminine at all, yet at the same time, emotion is so clear in me. I remember this fueled my early desires to be a writer, to be able to share my thoughts and experiences without that soft little voice holding me back.

I could speak clearly, with such power. For, to be honest, I always found myself imitating voices of what I believed the narrator's own voice to sound as such. I remember reading The Life of Pi and all my reading was done in an indian accent, only because my own voice was drowned out. Even my own thoughts were someone elses voice.

However, when I read my own writing, I saw myself as confident. I was powerful, and for once, people saw what was behind those eyes. If you have even read this far than I congratulate you, because you must have been wondering the meaning of this post?

It is not a collection of my changings over the years. I knew those all along. However, this post has a much deeper meaning to me. The first of this month was me and Michael's six months. God has blessed me in so many ways through him. I almost all together stopped writing my dark thoughts. Now that pours from me are laments. The sky is so blue to me now, and the ocean in my eyes has finally calmed down.

I'm not a martyr, nor a saint. I just had a hard time growing up with my insecure self, and now, I am growing to love who I have turned out.

The world is at my doorstep and I am powerful with my convictions...