I used to feel like I had a lot to say. I used to think my words were valuable and beneficial to others. that I was a grand writer with wonderful skill sets. that my writings would change the life of at least one person (ideally in a positive way).
alas. I don’t think those things anymore. I’m not special anymore. I’ve let myself become normal and boring. I have a home with a boyfriend, a droning office job, a car that runs, etc. sure, these are great things for me to have. but they make for a boring a typical life.
what happened to my life of living in a barn? or when I was a security guard? or when I wasn’t medicated? what about when I used to go on adventure runs all the time? when I had two jobs and was in school for 21 hours in a single semester? or when I was changing my hair colour to everything under the sun? or when I worse safety pens all over my body?
what happened to that creative, exciting lass? where did she go? where did the Prince to all the ladies go? where did the Greatest run away to? the Shinigami? the Dark Poet? where is that crazy, hyperactive, over-achieving, all-power tomboy?
I miss the persons that used to live inside my head. there were several of them. and they would take charge and be Me for a while. but now it’s just one voice I hear — my own depressing lull.
nothing matters to me anymore. I don’t care about anything. I don’t feel for much of anything. my life is so Muted. I’m Dead inside.