Once again.

You know when that stupid thing comes to haunt you? You know what I mean. I'm talking about the past. Well, it's up to it again. Haunting me. Making me look back on choices I've made and making me think twice. About absolutely everything. I look at myself now and then compare to who I was three or even five years ago. Not much has changed. I don't understand why. I've tried to change; for the better. And, for the most part, I have. The biggest step has been maintaining my physical health. As much as I wanted to I haven't drank. I haven't smoked. Two things I promised to myself I would stop and I've lived up to that. Even when I thought I wouldn't be able to.

But-- that's not enough. Is it because I am trying to change my nature? Is that why I am stuck at a dead end? It's driving me up the wall. I am fighting with myself constantly. Trying not to revert to bad customs and habits I have always had. My anger. Well, I've come to terms that will flare from time to time because I know what will happen if I bottle it up. Nothing good ever comes of that, but does it have to come with everything else? I find myself not caring. Slipping back into a state of nothing. Callousness. That word describes my reaction to everything. Simply callous; cold, uncaring. In a way, it sets me free, but I can see the hurt it causes others. But if I say otherwise I would be breaking a promise I've made: to be completely honest. So saying I do care in itself is a lie. Don't get me wrong I care about most things my friends have to say, but sometimes I just don't. And when I feel like that I feel like the most horrible person in the world.

I am the one they vent to, seek for advice, but as time passes I find myself growing more and more detached. Cold. Emotionless. Like I've always felt all of my life. Ever since I was young I've always learned to block things out. It's a part of me. I know I'm rambling now. This makes no sense, but I am solely writing for my sake in an attempt to keep a grasp on a shred of something that resembles sanity.

I don't care not because I want to be a prick. I don't care because that's how I am and how I've dealt with things. By not caring, I find myself being able to give the best objective advice. As if I were looking through someone's problems through a window and with that clarity I can give them better advice, but they see otherwise.

They want something else. They want that person that constantly sympathizes with them and their problems. I've come to realize, very slowly, that people don't always share their problems in search for solutions because sometimes there aren't any. But what am I supposed to do when they expect comforting words that I cannot give? Because they aren't something I can genuinely give. I can listen forever and I can hold their hand, but what if they want more? Something I cannot give? That warm smile. That gentle squeeze of my hand. The reassuring words when I don't even believe in them myself.

When I don't give what they expect, they spurn me. When they look into my eyes and they see the emptiness they shrink away and when they ask the dreaded questions... And the answers I give. I ultimately lose them. Entirely. Lose everyone one by one. They see me for what I am. A shell trying to fill myself with things I don't believe in.

They don't seem to understand any of this. And when they see how much of a mess I am, they turn into the counselor. Something I completely and utterly despise at times. If I don't ask for help. I do not want it. At all. Please don't keep offering it. It only makes me retreat into my shell further. I help people and in effect am helping myself little by little.

Just understand the callousness doesn't mean I don't care, it's just-- I can't give that normal reaction you seek. I can't offer anything but my ear. And if that isn't enough, well, find someone else to vent to. I can only take so much because, honestly, I'm probably more f*cked up than you and getting advice from me is like asking a murderer how to behave normally in a social situation.