On the fringes.

Mornings just don't do it for me anymore. I am very much a morning person. I love nights and I'm nocturnal and I stay up to my heart's desires, but I have a far more complicated relationship with night time. My affinity for morning is pure and simple. It just makes me feel good. When I'm unhappy, I go to sleep. I wake up - after a bout of terrible dreams, which is how I'm starting to feel like my unconscious is pouring out - and everything feels fine again.

Last night I dreamed there was someone robbing people at gunpoint, and I was among them. I remember not having any money to give, and being afraid I'd die then and there. It's a lot more depressing when written out. I don't know why I have such morbid dreams.

I've been deprived of my mornings. The one thing that I have left... (I will say this for many things to come.)

Many people are proud of me for what I do, what I say and what I write. And I get that gratification from people. It comes from professors, friends, acquaintances and strangers (I still get commending e-mails from people. I am, of course, a jerk and reply none of them). I had a professor tell me I contribute a lot to the class whenever I raise my hand to speak, and I just know he doesn't say that to everyone. I have a professor who e-mailed me to tell me she loved the essay I submitted for a contest, and  - when I did not receive even a consolation prize - e-mailed me to tell me that I should have.

I am not a bad person. I am not a mediocre person either. People are really moved by my statements. I am a memorable person. I have so many people in college that I don't even know of, reading my blog. And they usually have good things to say about it. Man I fucking tweet and I'm retweeted by people I don't even know. And I'm not a celebrity. Not even a semi-celebrity. I'm just a person who goes to college and blogs and has a Twitter account.

And that's okay. I am okay with who I am. No one should make me feel bad about anything I say -- only I get to do that. I say this because recently I've surrounded myself with people who are less than encouraging about what I do. Sometimes it's in the form of outright judgment, sometimes in the form of being indifferent to me, sometimes I see gratification given to others, who are less deserving of it, but not me. And it really got me down sometimes. I don't think I've ever seen my self-esteem plunge this low.

I am not politically correct. Heck I'm not even politically acceptable. I am very open about things. I don't take bullshit from people. If I like you, I like you. If I don't, I don't give you my time. You are free to do the same to me. I may not come across as the nicest person up front, but if you can see beyond the exterior then you are my friend. The things I say and the things I like are fringe topics in our oh so very repressed society. Namely, sexuality and emotions. Try to get anyone to talk about this, or even listen to you talk about it - and it will make them squirm to their core. These things belong in the private! They yell. We shouldn't publicize them! If they're so private, then why do we all feel the same things? Why do we fall in love? Why do we fall out of love? Why do we enjoy sex of all kinds? Why do we all feel jealousy? For instance, I don't pass judgment on people who are into bestiality. Not even a little. I don't care what people do in their private time or what sexual desires they have, as long as it doesn't harm others. There are people who will rage over how bestiality is wrong because it harms the animals ... yet we kill and eat animals? Interesting to think about, isn't it?

So I wake up, and my head pretty much just explodes. It explodes with all the things that had plagued me the night before. It explodes with anxieties, insecurities and fear. A lingering fear that hums a low tune at the back of my head. And so what do I do? I blog. I blog because I know people out there are listening, and they sympathize. I blog because I'm speaking not just for me but for people, in general. And if you tell me you've never woken up bursting with anxieties and fear, then you're just a fucking liar.

I like who I am. I concede, I make mistakes. Sometimes I do say really stupid things, and it's not like I don't regret the things I say. I'm still learning, still developing my views, still very torn on where I stand on things. Do I choose sensitivity over telling the truth? Do I subdue myself because I don't want to make people around me uncomfortable? But I like who I am. The problem is, I've grown to like other people, and to put them in my life, and I'm not sure they like me entirely for who I am. I'm not even sure they like me enough to put aside what they don't like about me. More importantly, I'm not sure if I'm okay with them not liking me entirely for who I am.

I'm just not with the people I'm supposed to be with. But maybe that's a good thing.