I realized then why I have trouble communicating with people.
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'I got out of bed today,' isn't exactly a convorsastion starter. 'I ate all my meals with the correct proportions,' isn't something I tell the class when my english teacher asks about our weekends. I can't walk into a party and say, 'Hey guys, do you ever want to jump of a bridge? I relate right now.'
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Very few people are real. Everyone wants small talk and smiles for their images. They don't want to hear me rant about the sky at 2 in the morning. They want to hear how I did on my history test. They don't want to hear about my past, about how I haven't tore my skin open and let my veins scream in 3 months. They want to hear about how the newest movie I saw was.
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I don't need your petty drama about who wore what, and who did best on a goddamned test.
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I want midnight talks about whether or not we exist. I want to talk about your favorite books, favorite songs, why you love Wednesdays but not Thursdays. Tell me about your scars, mental and physical. Tell me your political views, about the first boy you thought you loved, about your best friend, about the friend who stabbed your back, about how your parents argue. Tell me about your sister and how she broke her arm when she was five and you still feel guilty because you couldn't catch her when she fell.
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I am not a surface level person. I want to drown in the beauty of other people's existance, because we are alive and what's the point of it if we don't embrace it?
