I haven't logged in to this user in over a year. The last time I uploaded something here, or wrote a journal entry here, would have been when I was in year 8 at high school. I created this account to write here the thoughts that I didn't want anyone close to me, to ever read. My other account, which I will not reveal, is the happier side to me, the side which is not afraid of hurting anyone, and is happy to reveal the talent it creates. This account was meant for a secret identity, one which would never be discovered. Here I could write anything about my deepest thoughts and feelings, which would most likely scare the ones I loved most into thinking I was depressed, which I very well could have been, in some way which isn't clinical. But then this account lost its purpose.

Reading back on what I wrote here two years ago, I was still mature, more so then those around me, but so oblivious. I'd never been in love, I'd never experienced the same happiness I had no idea I would in the near future, and even so, I was fine. I did dwell in my misery a little and I did think that I was an island at some stages, but the misery almost made me stronger. I found I could write to a deeper extent when I was experiencing pain myself, like it was a part of me. The more I hurt, the more talented I felt, the more I saw into people, the more I analyzed. So did I lose that for a while? Yes, I did. I fell in love, I became happy, happier then I'd ever been, the pain disappeared, and I felt perfect.

But perfection seemed to much to handle. The lack of pain, the lack of tears, left me empty. I was happy when I was with him, but when I wasn't I had nothing to occupy my mind. I was so used to comparing my insignificant problems to those around me, and then trying to help them with words which I was counseling to myself also. Now how could I do that? When I felt on top of the world, I wasn't strong enough to stay there. I could only push people there from below, not pull them from my place at the top. It was impossible. Awkward, almost. Yet he was amazing, still is, and there was no question that I needed him more than anything. So, with this battle within myself, the invisible pain I was so used to - screaming out inside of me, and the unfamiliar happiness - overwhelming me, I doubted everything.

Doubt. Its not a comfortable emotion, certainly not uplifting. I doubted he loved me, and I doubted it was real, and then when I got over myself, and was happy again, I went numb. I hated the world around me, and the way people acted too. I hated the way shallow clones followed eachother to become accepted in their screwed up society. I hated how people exaggerated their problems to an extent where they were lying to both themselves and everyone around them. I hated unnecessary conflict, and the finger of blame pointed in unfair directions. Mostly, I hated myself, for being unable to stop it. I wasn't in the middle of it anymore, I wasn't experiencing it first hand, therefore I served no purpose. I was numb. So I thought, maybe if I didn't have to be a part of this, it would just get better, they would sort it out without me, then I would be there when they were content. But turns out, I doubled the intensity of the damage, and not only was hurting myself, but everyone around me too.

I was blamed, harshly. I did not deserve all of the blame, as I hardly played a part. I ignored no one, I simply let them push me away, I lied to myself, I clouded myself over with delusion, on a high from this overwhelming happiness developing from love. So I apologized, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever. I don't remember much of that period, since I felt nothing. People hated me, too, I'm sure. But now everyone seems to be on good terms. I share my love equally, I distribute the happiness evenly, and I know how to manage it. My art is rapidly improving, and my writing growing increasingly creative.

However, I still wonder, am I able to analyze people the same way I could before? I am no longer intact with such dark emotions, so it is more difficult for me to detect them. I used to long for a little pain, to even out the high, but now I realize that I inflicted this upon myself with devastating effect.

Don't take things for granted children.

- from the mind of an over thinker.