There are few things that piss me off more than when someone tells me that [s]he is a realist. For clarification's sake, I don't care if you're a realist; I, too, consider myself a realist--and to be honest, I would assume that a vast majority of people do, as well.  The reason why it angers me, though, when someone tells me about being a realist is because the context is almost invariably based in disagreement with some aspect of my worldview.

Notably, I disagree with people whom I think generalize the holistic human population in terms of negative incidents of human nature.  Murderers, child molesters, people who are fans of Ke$ha or the Jersey Shore: for many people I have known, these examples are blazon symbols of how wrong the world is.  Correct me if I am wrong, but I just don't think that the Jersey Shore's existence is an example of how the world is doomed to eternal damnation at our own hands; nor do I think that teenage girls with lack of priorities mean that the youth are symbolic of the failures this world simply embodies.

Believe it or not, these things have been points of dissension in past arguments; furthermore, on quite a few occasions people tend to disregard my arguments to the contrary in a special way of... agreeing to disagree: "You may think there is a silver lining in this, but no matter which way you spin it, I just see myself as more of a REALIST."

The level of condescension is infuriating. 'Realism' has such an implication that the opposite would somehow not be based in reality--you can be naïve, ignorant, and perhaps blissful; but you wouldn't be a REALIST.  That's how I interpret the ends of those arguments. I'm played off as if I'm literally too stupid with regard to my worldview that I can't even be given the chance to be heard. Unless I think the world is a dark, hapless place that is only on a slippery slope, then I'm not a REALIST.  

Well, I am a realist; and realistically, the human race has done a pretty damn good job of staying alive, thriving. By no means is the world perfect, nor do I consider it to be in a situation where people should be comfortable. However, just because some people ARE comfortable does not signal, in my mind, reason to think the world is, realistically, doomed.

If you're not a virgin anymore, I'll still love you.

If you throw up your food, I'll still love you.

If you experiment with drugs, I'll still love you.

If you don't even love yourself anymore, I'll still love you.

You can't ever disappoint me. You can make me a wreck, and your actions can tear me apart; but I know you don't chose your afflictions, so you'll never disappoint me.  You can make me sad, but you'll never disappoint me.

I'll still love you. I do love you.

I don't know if I just lost my best friend or not... I feel like it's all over now.  I feel so alone. I don't know what to do. I can't tell if writing is going to help.  Writing offers little solace; it allows expression, but I'm expressing the fact that I'm alone--what could be more testament to the fact that I'm talking, writing to myself, for myself.

I don't even know what to write. I just feel like I lost the only thing that I could without a doubt call God's intervention in my life. Now I don't even think I can believe in God anymore, and I'm dealing with the hardest series of events in my life that I've ever dealt with.  I feel like I've lost everything. If it weren't for Marissa, I don't think this situation could possibly get any worse.

I'm literally trembling.  How am I supposed to go back to school like this? How am I supposed to go back to my other life, knowing what's just waiting for me back 'home'? How am I supposed to accept the fact that I think i just lost my best friend, the only person who I've ever relied on, trusted? I gave her everything for me. I went such great distances trying to hold on to her. And now that I feel like looking at the situation to see if it's even worth it, I just feel like she's completely alright with the prospect that we're not going to be a part of each other's life now.... Does she really care about me?

Yes, she does. I can think rationally enough to know that she doesn't hate me, or anything. But I don't know how she feels about this situation; as for me, it's killing me. My family is killing me. My academics are killing me. I have no idea where I'm going with my life, what I want to do; I don't even know if it's worth living--but I'm not daring enough to end it.  I'm stuck in hell. This is hell.

I'm in hell. I don't know if I'll ever get out... And I know that when I get up from this chair, away from this computer screen, that I'll be stuck here with no escape. I have nowhere to run, even if I wanted to; and I have no idea how to confront it, because I don't even know what I'm trying to confront... I'm afraid that when I stop typing, I'll go straight for my knife and cut the shit out of myself.  What's the point of even resisting anymore? Nobody cares... Well, yes they do; but it doesn't matter to me. I feel like I've lost so much again. I don't know why life has fallen this way, and I'm too tired of asking God for help.

I'm too tired of talking without any response. I'm trying to listen; maybe I'm too self-centered and blinded to hear anything... Maybe maybe maybe. What does it matter? I'm done.

But I still have a pointless life to live. I'm sick of asking questions.

Maybe I could just wreck my car. Maybe it'll kill me. Maybe then I'll get out of here. What's the point?

Do you even care?.... I'm listening, or at least trying to. I'm biased--I want to say that you don't. But please prove me wrong. Please, please show me that you do care, whoever I'm talking to.

I wish I were dead...