So I had some thoughts today.

Is it possible to be forgotten in a world with so many people? There are 6 billion people that live on this earth, and aside from the 4 people that live in this house, I can count on one hand the people that seem to remember I even exist. Can we live in a world where the one people you talk to are the ones you work with and those that pass you in the halls of your own home? I mean, I remember a time when I didn’t have any friends. I remember when I almost forgot what that felt like. I thought my life was great, and then, one day things started falling apart again. And now I’m back at that point in life where I don’t have any friends again. Is it me? Did I forget what it’s like to have that connection with people? Or is it that I was never really capable of having that connection in the first place? I sometimes wonder if being around me is like how I sometime feel about Kellie. I can only handle so much of her for so long, than I have to distance myself for awhile. Is that how people see me? When was it that life became so mundane? Has it always been this way? I guess I’ve been tolerating life for so long, that I forgot what it was to have fun. I want to live a different life for awhile. I want to know different people. I want to forget what my life is currently like. I want to forget the friends I thought I had, because most of them don’t even care. I feel like my life has been running around in one big circle. I feel like I’m running away from things and at the same time, running back to all the stuff I thought was lost to me. I think I’ve become one of those pathetic people that obsess with having friends because they’ve never really had any. Maybe I’ve become to pessimistic. Maybe if I could fill my thoughts with words that flowed on a page, I wouldn’t seem so pathetic. People would be intrigued and fascinated with my life because I’d be a troubled artistic type that had to feel alone and abandoned because that’s what makes one’s art. How can I just be pathetic? I need to have some purpose for this depression. I want to be able to see me grow from it or to have some part of myself prosper from it. Whether it be through music, literacy, a hobby of some sort, or just to grow as a person. Either that, or I just want to curl up in a dark hole somewhere, and actually be forgotten. I hate walking around this world, being part of something, being involved in school, or involved in work, talking, laughing with people, and still, the next day people would forget, and I wouldn’t ever be considered significant. But I’m still there, still walking past those people, the people that will never care. Phone conversations seem to be meaningless. People don’t care, they just put up a front. People choose not to answer their cell phones. They look at the name and screen their calls. They willing choose not to answer when you call. Why do people write you out of existence? Why do people seem to loss interest? A life can’t be worth nothing, it can’t be meaningless. But maybe it can. Maybe people weren’t really meant to be happy. Or just some people. So people weren’t meant to be happy. They weren’t meant to enjoy life. They weren’t meant to grow old and have a family. They weren’t meant to find meaning in their tiny existence, just some people. Some people are supposed to find joy in the little things in life. They are able to see their passions and grow from them. They are able to make those connections with people in their lives. They are admired by those around them. Should I say I’m envious of those kind of people? They people that have people that want to be around them, the people that don’t know what it’s like to be left in the dark by those they thought cared? Maybe. Maybe I am supposed to green in envy.