What kind of Asshole writes a blog?

I think the reason I can't sympathize with anyone anymore is because of fear. I used to always feel alone, which made me feel less than other people, and made it easier for me to understand when other people were upset. Having the perception that your worse than everyone also makes it easy to want to help other people, because you feel as though their problems are more important. However, I have gained some undeserved self-worth, and now value my personal desires over others, and find myself to generally be more important than others. This makes me a douche bag. The fact that I'm writing this, makes me a self-hating douche bag. I'm not truly sure which is worse. It is odd though that regardless whether I hold myself in high or low esteem, I feel unhappy. Maybe I'd be happy if I can find a perfect balance between the two. But I'm tired of having to find equilibrium all the time. So, I think I should go back to being alone, that way I face my greatest fear, don;t have to be a douche bag, an might just be able to help all those people who are better than me.

Fuck Tinder. ( Not about Tinder)

Today I felt lonely. Tomorrow, I'll probably feel the same way. That's been a general theme in my life. I should probably grow some balls, but its easier just to drink way too much Friday and Saturday nights. Listen to music to ease my pain. I went on a date the other day. I've only been on dates with four girls including this one in my life. Only one of them ever lead anywhere. Or maybe 1 1/2. This last one didn't seem to lead to much. Maybe I should text the girl again, try and see if it could work, but I didn't feel a connection. I kinda feel more comfortable being alone sometimes. It's a safety net. A place where I can feel like shit and not have anyone laugh at me. It's hard being me, but probably harder to be other people. Or maybe harder for other people to be them. Or maybe it's the same for all of us. We're not as different as we think, but we're not as similar as we appear. What I mean is, all meaning is bullshit. Subjective blah blah blah about how happiness is unique to you. Just figure your shit out. Or don't. I never have, and look at me. I'm posting my problems to the internet because I have no else to talk to. Or choose not to. I don't know maybe I'll ask a girl I meet in person soon. Maybe aliens will invade tomorrow. Maybe you'll read my blog. Life's full of surprises. Peace, I got to go listen to Fidlar.

God's Not Dead, But My Soul Is

My name is Jacob Cohen. I am 20 years old. I have had this blog for about a year and a half. I haven't written on here in a few months. I am not a happy person. But, who is? People are rarely as happy as they look. But "I'm happy that you're happier than me." Sorry it's an Andrew Jackson Jihad and sporcle kind of night for me. I have some good friends. I go to a decent university, in a country that's "free"; Or at least as free as one can be in the political world. I have had 2,330 views on this blog. Mostly Americans. But a lot from the UK and Russia. Others from all over, Germany, Finland, China, Mexico. I don't know these people, but maybe it helps them to see their is someone more sad then them. I guess I can't say I am more sad. But, that they can find solace in my melancholy moments. (that sounded pretentious). I hope these writings mean something to people. I don't know if they do, I don't know if anyone even truly cares about them. There are people in life worse off than I, but I often wonder if they are happier. That perhaps people can be happy without basic needs. I am thankful I have them. I am thankful for life. I am hopeful for the future. I am hopeful because I see people who seem happy. I do not know if they truly are happy. But when I am in bed on my laptop late at night blogging, I can only find that I need to believe there are happy people. Nobody can be happy all the time. But some people can be happy with their lives. One day I hope I can be like these people. If they do exist. I suppose it's kind of like religion to some people. To those who do no know if there is a god, but choose to believe there is one because it helps them. When I tell people I don't believe in god, I get mixed results. To others who do not believe, they don't mind my opinion. To people who are not sure they can understand why I would feel that way. To people who believe in god, I sometimes find my opinion not welcomed but accepted, or perhaps tolerated. But to some, I am looked upon as though I am evil. Like my disbelief is the cause of all the problems of life itself. I am not a great person, but I am not the cause of all life's problems. Yet, when I think about it, what if someone were to tell me they don't believe anyone is happy. That there is no one who fully enjoys life. Would I look at these people with the scornful gaze I know all too well? Would I get angered over someone Else's opinion? I honestly don't know. I may never know. Perhaps I am not all of life's problems but, just part of them. Or perhaps one day people can accept their differences on principle beliefs. Perhaps.

Out of Ideas

It's hard to know what I'm still doing here, I guess the very fact I'm writing this means I'm feeling a certain way. Being human is so easy it's hard. If you don't think about things too much, you'll always know what to do. When you add on more and more stress builds up inside you. I believe in god. Not an eternal deity, not some overwhelming being, but hope. God did not make people, people made god. He is in all of us, somewhere, waiting. He is what gives us strength, desire, compassion. I'm not religious, I'm just drunk. God is an idea, a real idea. Something to believe in. I believe in people. Even in these times, when I have no reason left to believe. I believe because people are all I know. I have nothing else.

Back For Another Year

So begins another year, another chapter. Opening my calculus book for the first time since last Spring reminds of my academic failures, while Snapchat reminds me of my past social failures. I listen to piano while I try to remember basic derivatives. I switch to Wavves to remember how to not care about my emotions. I'm twenty years old. Time passes by the second. Sometimes I think I'm where I want to be, sometimes not. I begin to believe in altruism, but also apathy. I helped a friend last night without any desire for helping myself, but I also don't know if I did it for her. It's just innate. Not a habit, but an instinct. Help those in need, but not myself. It's quite weird. Some people are more concerned with others that they forget to think about themselves. Some people believe in helping one's self first. Me, I would gladly help someone else before me, but only because I've already thought about me. I am less important. I always take time to think about myself, but I depress myself, so I feel other people are more important than me. If I don't appreciate me, nobody else should. I supposes it's not completely true. There are things I like about myself, things that help me push on. But, now, I look into the future and see the past. A pendulum of time, back and forth. Happiness and sadness. Sometimes somewhere in between. But it can change in an instant. This year I will try again to get better, be happy, make others happy. But who knows. None of you will ever understand me, but most of you already do.

The Feels, Or Lack Thereof

It's not there anymore. There is nothing coming to bring me to the light, nothing that will take charge for me. There is no desire in me to fend for myself, to be a, "man." No need to succumb to the immaculate realizations I have at my darkest moments. Blasting Andrew Jackson Jihad, Wavves, and Defiance, Ohio. I find myself with watered eyes, but unable to cry. I may not find happiness, not ever, but now I do not know if I can even be sad. I do not know what I feel. Sudden sparks of laughter, anxiety, discomfort, sometimes pleasure. I am most definitely human, but lack the ability to be a person. Nobody cares about whether they matter, people just want to feel whatever feels right in the moment. But, nothing feels right anymore. I still desire, but do not hope, nor act, for there is nothing for me. Just a mind waiting to fall to the everlasting clock that is true divinity. My best friends are pity and depression, weighing down my motivation to achieve my believed potential.

The Chains of Freedom

            The world is so ambiguous. People live in different ways and find different meaning through different life experiences. I study psychology, which seems to attempt to identify people through generalizations. The tendencies of people given circumstances based on likeness in the subject at hand towards a similar subject from a past experiment. Yet, psychology, (nor anthropology) can necessarily predict what actions or thoughts may occur from an individual. They only cite tendencies and of humanity and similar character traits in that person to people deemed to be like them.

             Predictions are just guesses, we can make educated guesses, but cannot know what will happen. I've said that the unknown can be threatening. People fear what they do not know. But, people are also wary that they must move forward in their lives, as that is all they can do. the idea of freedom, being able to do as one pleases, almost seems like a fallacy. One does not have the freedom to change what has passed, nor look into how to change the future. Decisions are all made in a moment, in a time. They may come with detailed thought and caution, but it is something that happens within a given moment.

               People long to be free. Freedom is power, power to do as one pleases. Some people would use this freedom for greed, some for others, some for no reason at all. Whether selfishness, or selflessness or anything else, people long to be free. Some people think god has a plan, some believe that we are trapped by destiny, some believe we shape our own future. If there is a path set by god, we are all just characters of play, "all the world's a stage." If it is solely destiny, we are slaves to time, and what will become of us is impossible to change. If the last is true, that we can shape ourselves, perhaps there is some freedom, to live life in the manner we "choose."

              But do we choose our emotions, the actions of others that draw us into our own feelings, beliefs, and actions? Is there truly freedom? Is there truly power in a person to be in control of their own life? Perhaps the only freedom is to choose what one believes to be true.