Philophobia (Anger is Bliss)

chapter 1

It was the way their eyes met across the room that sparked a flame that neither of them could ignore.

Well. What a horrible way to start a book. I close it and put it back on the pile of books I will never read because they were gifted to me by default.

Also because they're horribly written, and the first sentence is very often the only decent one. The guy is always horrible, and she somehow always ends up with him still. Every. Single. Time.

Come on.

I take my philosophy book I left on my bed yesterday and put it on my night table.

I find it absurd, how some philosopher said it was impossible to desire or crave something you have never experienced. I think he is absolutely wrong. I think when you're missing something everyone else has, you can't not want it for yourself as well.

Some other philosopher said desires were sometimes natural. He is right. It is possible to be hungry while never having eaten any food, just like it's possible to need love when you have never experienced it. Love and hunger are similar anyway. They are both essential, and I've always lacked them.

I'm listening to music. Though, maybe I shouldn't be. I should get ready. I should mentally prepare myself. Because tomorrow—Wednesday the 4th of August—is the first day of Senior year.

Just thinking about it tires me. How am I going to survive another year of this? Alone? Well, if I'm being honest, being alone never bothered me, but high school is said to be the best time of one's life. And it seems to be true for everyone around me. When I'm sitting at a table pretending to read, or pretending to listen to music.

When I'm simply looking at them, living their lives right next to me. How happy they seem. How much fun they seem to have.

What am I doing wrong? I am unlikeable, I'm aware, but I can't remember a single time in my life when I did not try my best to be liked. Yet, even then, I guess it can't be enough. People do not seem to like me at all.

What can I do to try and be liked tomorrow? I could plan a certain behavior to seem more approachable and fun and kind. But it never works.

I don't like useless details. I can't bring myself to care enough about them. I don't think they are important enough to be told or remembered. Then, there are details that actually matter. The ones that make sense why they should be remembered. The ones that help you understand and add reality to it all. I only care about those.

Then, there are details I keep to myself. Because I would rather keep them to myself than share them. Because I'm selfish, even though I hate to be.

Maybe that's why I don't have friends. Maybe I should care if someone tells me they don't like horror movies or if they don't like being the center of attention. Maybe I should make it clear that I remember these details instead of trying to make them comfortable without even thinking about it.

Maybe I should remind them of how good I am to remember it all instead of doing it unconsciously.

Maybe I should try not to be disliked instead.

I open my eyes.

I push my headphones off one ear and listen. It's pouring outside. What am I supposed to wear tomorrow if the rain doesn't stop?

I have to sleep early, but it's already past midnight. Is it really worth it to fall asleep now? Should I wait a bit more? I'll regret it later, that's for sure. I will be so angry with myself for not going to sleep earlier.

The door opens. Something is thrown at me. "If I ever find your trash in my car again, you better believe I will kick you out of the car and make you walk home."