Why did I look at the Watchmen category on The Pit.
Why
WHY
DID YOU EVEN READ THE FUCKING GN, RORSCACH/OC WRITERS?
No, really. 
brb gouging eyes out

I’ve been doing a lot of musing these past few days about myself and my relationships with people in general, not just Ringo (which is nonexistent anyway). I mean, I’m not used to having real friends. You know, the kinds you go out with and call. In public school, that concept was extremely foreign to me. But still, I’m happy, of course! This feels unbelievably great, to be cared about. I grew up making friends solely on the internet. No offense to the people I’m close to, but IRL friends are fuckin’ awesome. It’s…tangibility, you know?
 

My relationships with my friends are rather simple compared to the mental dilemma I’ve indulged in. No, really, I’ve never fallen this hard for someone since sixth grade, and let’s just say that when I chose to confess my feelings, it didn’t end particularly well. Well, I’m a lot more mature at fourteen than I was at the tender age of eleven. I wasn’t ready to be so infatuated with someone. (That’s not to say that I am right now—I’m just more prepared for the consequences and inevitable downfall)
 

I mean, it’s kind of sad when you start daydreaming about them a lot more than you should. And it’s certainly not good when you start making blushed statements about who you supposedly like. For example, I was sitting at lunch today with a group of girls. Now, these are the kinds of girls I never in a million years would imagine hanging out with in middle school. They were ‘above’ me—or so I thought.
 

The conversation did turn to boys. After a few minutes of giggling and frivolous things like that (hey, we’re allowed to be frivolous—we’re teenage girls, for Christ’s sake), I timidly offered that I liked someone. They were all over me, much more so than the other girls. I was confused. I didn’t think that they’d be interested in my own emotional affairs, but I also didn’t think that I had already established a reputation as someone who distanced themselves from normal teenage things like that.
 

It got me thinking. I usually don’t divulge my personal feelings about someone, especially if I harbor affections for them. And then I realized that maybe I was having a little too much hope for myself. Of course, I manage to talk myself out of those fantasies most of the time. I know that I misinterpret a lot of things people say and do. I’m just setting myself up for failure.
 

The kind of inner conflict that creates is cataclysmic. Do you understand what kind of things happen to your psyche when one half is arguing that there’s a chance, while the other, rational side of it is arguing that there’s no chance at all and that I’m condemned to torturing myself?

Ah, fuck it. I’m screwed either way.