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I've realised what's wrong with me. - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/ — LiveJournal
I've realised what's wrong with me.
It's lack of motivation, that's it. I never get anything done, I never achieve anything. I do shit, I fail Latin exams. I hardly ever go out, I have no true friends. It's not all the Jews' fault Abu, it's mine. Simply put, I have fuck-all motivation. Like us all, I want to get out there and do something with my life. I want to change people - preferably for the better. I want to have some sort of influence and make my life slightly worthwhile. I don't want it all to be wasted. I want to be an influence and to accomplish. But I have no motivation.

I always thought I was someone different - special. Someone with something to offer. Sure I may be different but that's not hard, I may have something to offer but is it worthwhile? I'm scared that maybe, just maybe I do have something somewhere and I'm wasting it. Common sense and my dammed cynicism tells me no. I'm not different. I wanted to be remembered when I'm gone. I like the idea of being around after my death. But who will remember me a month, a year, a decade, a century, a millennium, a billion years down the line? I'm truly am nothing - the quintessence of insignificance. I'm just a kid with a dream. A dream that'll never come true.

Back to what I was intending to say... Motivation always lets me down. I hardly ever go out. I don't meet people. Perhaps it's my lack of confidence around all things new? I think the main reason I like school is because people are forced to be around me and it's a lazy way for me to be around people. Once I leave university I don't know what I'll be doing. I can't see myself being invited to nights out. I can't see myself seeing people doing things. I'm scared to death of staying at home living my pitiful existence doing nothing. I don't want to fritter all my time away.

I've already all but given up on finding the special person. I doubt I'll even be able to find someone who will make me happy and whom I can please. But now, lack of motivation keeps me back. The last two holidays I've made massive lists of things I need to do. Every time I come back to it and see half of it not done. Revision. Homework. Talking. Hobbies. Jobs. Socialising. Thinking. Weasley.exe. mp3 cataloguing. Writing. Reading. I never do them. At least I even got round to noting all this down. Every day I get home and go down, watch TV for a while staring at the flickering screen but not seeing anything. Then I go and play a game for a while. Probably something like Counterstrike. I don't get any pleasure out of doing it, I just do it to occupy myself. I don't need to concentrate and just play the same levels over and over again. I eat, sleep and listen to some music without hearing the notes. I don't get anything done. Before I know it, it's eleven thirty and I have to get ready for bed. I have to clean my teeth, exercise, wash, shut down PC, close curtains, read a chapter of a book, close my eyes, all that. And each day I ask myself, "what have I done?" The reply's already there. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

There's so much stuff I need to do. I wanted to write about Banks. Let him know I don't mean the shit I say to him. There was so much I wanted to say - he's so fucking complex. I guess I'll have to do it sometime. Before I leave I want to write a letter to everyone. Each person I have to tell how much I appreciate them. Let them know that I loved them. Because I know that I'll lose touch. They won't make the effort to see me, I'll do the same. Even if two years isn't enough, after university and stuff, all these fabulous people I know will be merely vague memories of real people I once knew. They'll never be real again. I'm so scared but I know it will happen. I know because it's happened before. I wanted to write about Lois. Let her know how she made me feel ask her whether she cares about what went through me. But I can never say it with feeling because I know I've done exactly the same and will do it again and again. I want to try and explain Weasley, Daws, TD. Even though it won't change her and it was my fault, I want to write to Rosanna about why she acted the way she did. Sam I really owe an apology to. Suda...god. I never learn. I never, ever learn. I want people to understand that I am a person too.

I feel there's so much within me yearning to be shared. There must be some good about me somewhere just I can't dig it up to show people. I want them to understand it's there. I know I can be something more than I am now, I just don't know how to be. I will never "get" myself. Can't understand what I am. I just want someone else to be able to.

All around me I see death, destruction, injustice, torture, pain, spite and all sorts of shit. I can't understand it properly. I don't have the emotion. I've been so sheltered I don't have the feeling to express it all. There's just not enough inside me. I want to understand the meaning of it all but I can’t. I want to be able to feel what it's like for myself. So I can seethe picture clearly. I want to breathe in the smoke and exhale oxygen. I want to make it all end. Most of all, I wish I could do something. I feel so helpless because I am. I wish I had some control over my life but no matter how motivated I become I have a infinitesimal sphere of influence. And I don't even have the power to make myself motivated. I'm so delicate but I no-one can see that. I don't want to be naïve anymore. I want to distance myself from humanity so I can look down from a different perspective.

I don't even have the courage to speak my mind. I am a phoney. I want to be able to see meaning in just one thing. My dream is to write a book/make a piece of art/say one thing/accomplish one feat that I will agree with in a million years for now. I want it to all be correct. I want to make something that is right. I want it to stop, to stop, to stop, to stop, to stop... I don’t want to die alone and ignorant. I want to rest easy. I wish that I could be happy and mean it.

There are thousands of topics I've noted down to do journal entries on. Not one of them has been completed. I could go back and spell check/punctuate these ramblings but I can't be bothered. I can't be bothered to have a life, to do something after school, to get up over the holidays, to earn some money, to make real friends, to make something of my life. The worst thing of all is I can't be bothered to change. I don't even have the concentration to gather my thoughts properly. To understand which is the right side of an argument. To realise moral dilemmas. I don't know what I believe. I'm not even sure if I mean any of this. I'll say it again: I long to be sure about one single thing at least. Work out what I actually think.

I just don't have the motivation to become motivated.

    mood: qwertyuiopdolorouspoiuytrewq
    choon: Carina Round - On Leaving
From:turkeyphant [.]
Posted: Saturday 21st December, 2002 at 13:44.05
 Going round in circles like a 12" single.
Of course you're right. Whatever I put on this journal is, even only subconsciously, carefully measured to elicit some empathy and portray a version of myself I aspire to. I guess I try to warp facts a little to present myself as the person I would be if I weren't so afflicted by the human disease.

However, I do maintain that I update this journal no for anyone else, but only for myself. I started it because I thought it would be cool (hey, µ did it) and I'd never had the self-discipline to regularly keep a diary before. Then it morphed into a blog of sorts and I liked reading back, because it allowed me to remember all the things I usually forget. This alone made it special to me (I have something about forgetting things) and I made a special effort to keep a note of everything humorous that happened to me on a daily basis.

Now, ever since the summer holidays and before, things have dropped off and I sporadically and rarely update. More recently, I've only made gargantuan entries that I have, to some extent, laboured over and thought about quite a lot. I'm trying to make sure that, no matter what entry is currently at the top of the page, it will give an accurate and positive representation of what is I. Of what to expect from reading about me. Now I certainly don't update everyday and, rather, bung lots of stuff into lengthy entries. I suppose it is becoming more of a farce, a façade if you will.

But still, the point I'm (badly) trying to make is that I certainly don't do this all with ulterior motives. Hell, my readership is so pitiable, it's not worth it. This is what I really think to myself, these are my true emotions. This is me, and I won't change that for anyone else. I will say what I believe to be true, because this is for me to look back on. I want a record of my life for myself, and I would only be cheating myself by altering the realities. These are real emotions and, even if they are public (my journal's been protected for most of its duration), it doesn't mean that I present them any differently. The main reasons I chose to publish it on the internet are: a) to hear others' opinions so I can take them into consideration; b) to give me an incentive to continue to update and to join a community where I can learn a lot, c) to make sure it doesn't get destroyed in some freak hard disk explosion.

Sure, I occasionally exaggerate somewhat, but who doesn't? I only do it as much as occurs naturally in my head in such an emotional state. We are all biased toward ourselves and, whether telling someone else about it or thinking to ourselves, usually present our point of view in a favourable light. Again, this is what I was thinking at the time, so it's only right to record it thus.

I realise I'm not in the most miserable, hopeless position in the world, but many of the things I say are founded. I don't have a "supposed" lack of self motivation. Actually, thinking about it, perhaps that's the wrong word to use. I do have many motives and incentives, also absurdly high ambitions. I'm just plain lazy. I like waking up late, not getting around to organising things and doing fuck all every day even though it makes me hate myself. I don't know about other people, but yes, nobody can deny I fritter time away. I really don't achieve anything, at least anything I recognise as being worthwhile. But is there really anything that is worthwhile? Yes of course there is, but from where I'm sitting, it seems so impossible as to be unworthy of trying after. Even if I'm in no way different by feeling this way about my life, it doesn't take anything away from the fact I do lack the amount of motivation I desire for myself.
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