By the time I finished this post, I felt a million times better. (Updated)

I had a whole post ready to be typed listing the kooky things I've figured out about myself over the last eighteen years. But as I sat down to type it, I felt a tiredness and misery begin to overwhelm me. The sad part is, I wasn't even surprised. The exhaustion has been eating at me for days, along with a terrible, nagging feeling because I can't figure out where it stems from, let alone how to get rid of it.
It wasn't until a few minutes ago that I realized what it was.
I just wanted to scream. Really scream. This is a sensation I've had for most of my adolesence. It gets buried sometimes, but I can remember laying on my bedroom floor back home, just wishing that I could go somewhere to scream as loud as I wanted, until my voice choked and I felt empty. But there really is no place like that. I think its that realization that may hurt the most. Its like the realization that I'm never going to be free from the stuff that plagues me every day, this tiny, cinderblock prison I've managed to build for myself. The killer part is that while I was building it I was painting the walls with poetry and pretty pictures, inviting everyone I knew to look in and admire my craftsmanship. "See how free the bird looks, on this cement wall. Look how high it wishes it could fly!"
Its enough to make me sick.
Maybe when it comes down to it, this is just a bad day, strung onto a week of bad days, which threatens to turn into a month of bad days if I don't become proactive. I think what I need most is contact, people. Up here, I have a good amount of friends, but they're all disconnected. Its not a solid group, they don't even all know each other. I just want to see someone who I have more in common with than two months of living like a well-behaved prisoner who earned extra yard time.
Luckily someone's coming up the day after tomorrow. I am amazingly excited to see her, and I promised myself that I would not burst into tears upon her arrival, with the mere greatfulness of feeling like those friends I talk to online actually exist somewhere out there, and they actually care enough to travel two hours to see me.
You can look forward to a much more peaceful, and happy post when that time comes.

P.S. I apologize for the overall despondent misery of this particular entry. Don't be worried about me though, all will be well.

I'm going to end with a quote from a book I just read by Kurt Vonnegut, entitled "Slaughterhouse-Five"...

"And So It Goes."

P.P.S. I've edited this post from when I published it last night, because while I don't generally feel the need to edit myself, I didn't want what I said to be taken the wrong way. I was speaking from frustration and the need to vent some core issues I've been having. I don't regret the original post, but I also don't feel it was accurately portrayed in my frustration.