I am drowning in a sea of pretentiousness, attached to an anchor of insecurity.
It’s very pretentious that I had to start off this post with that. And it’s very sad that I have to acknowledge the fact that this is the result of a curious mixture of boredom and procrastination, which as we know, oftentimes produces very weird results. This is supposed to be a form of catharsis for me, but now it kind of is and isn’t that. It’s also very annoying that I’ve adopted this tone that makes me seem as if I’m self-aware when in fact I’m not.
I am Jack’s blank page. I am Jack’s teenage insecurity-slash-need-for-attention. And no, the Fight Club references are not there for the purpose of being there. No, they’re there because I want them to be there. Those words didn’t go there on their own; I was the one who put them there, in a pathetic attempt to seem happy, cool, even intelligent.
The embodiment of the different things that I’m thinking right now would probably be a blank page. I am empty, exhausted, tired. I am also a canvas waiting to be filled with magnificent works of art. Yet as pleasant as that sounds, the former seems more accurate for now. I am something that is nothing. I try too hard to be deep, to feel like I’m being better than what I really am and in the process, seem like a better individual to others, when I’m really not. This may or may not even be fishing for encouraging words from people who I know are amazing friends. Yes, I’ve been blessed with good friends, people who are supportive, loving, caring, et cetera, and that alone makes me a good person. But no, it doesn’t.
Or maybe this is just a typical tirade by a typical teenager who is confused, lonely and just plain scared. That seems to me like a perfect fit.