You probably won't read this, but I wrote it anyway.

Some days I just really don't know anything. Unlike my brain not moving fast enough to understand, though, it moves too fast and nothing has time to be analyzed. Thoughts don't occur in distinct periods one after the other, but rather in a continuous stream. It's like having my brain run a marathon the entire day. Everything takes on some grandiose sentimental meaning, and I feel attached to everything in my surroundings. Decisions become clouded due to this state of being, and everything is just hazy. Existence becomes a mystery, and my emotions become trivial.

I didn't write at all today. I don't know if I could have if I tried. What I'm writing right now can be seen as free writing, the lowest intellectual form of writing. I'm doing it because it is the only capacity my brain is capable of writing in at the moment. The world suddenly seems so big. My past suddenly appears and is biting at the heels of my present and future. I think it just took a bite out of the present. I honestly just don't know anything anymore. I hate when I ask myself questions because I'm tired of giving the answers. I want to answer someone else's questions. I want to fix someone else's problems, not my own. I'm tired of having only myself to rely on. Not because it isn't enough, but because I'm bored with myself.

I deal in absolutes for the most part. I don't half-ass an intellectual attempt to acquire knowledge. If you ask me what something is, I will tell you what I perceive it to be. I hate when my mind is like this because then I can't do anything. I'm reduced to the lowest form of living, which is simply existence. I didn't live today, I existed. I'd like to be one of those people who just makes decisions with no regrets or looking back. But I'm too enamored with what could have been. My curiosity is piqued by the consequences of peoples actions. Consequences are not limited to the present and future, but rather the past as well. That's the aspect of making decisions that interests me the most.

My normal philosophy each day is to live it like you were to die at any moment. With days like today though, I find myself wondering whether or not it is worth the struggle if I'm going to die anyway. Why fight to be happy, if in the end your fate is the same? I guess the same reason why ants build ant hills even though the rain and young kids will destroy them - to survive.

• Ultimately my will to live is determined by an outside factor that provides me the opportunity to prove the worth of my existence.

That can be said for every person. When they lose the chance or will to continue to explore something they give up. For the majority of people this outside factor is love or supporting offspring. For others it is supporting themselves. I don't support myself and I'm not in love or supporting children.

• I'm better off than the majority of people on the planet, yet perhaps not happier because of it.

I've been fooling myself for about a month now. I've been trying to fake that I've gotten better than what I was a few months ago, but ultimately the end result is the same. I still write crap like this which no one understands - not even me. In some ways I've come around full circle - lost just like I was in the beginning. It is shameful to admit how one simple person can change my way of life with even just a few days worth of contact.

• My reality exists primarily within my self, so when others come and reshape it, the overall shape and scope is vastly changed.

Maybe I'll learn how to coordinate both to exist in harmony. Maybe I won't. In a hundred years it wouldn't have mattered either way. Sometimes I really hate the way my life has turned out. That's because I'm here complaining about it when I shouldn't be. That's the thing I hate the most of all.