I'm titling this, 'Breeze through Meadows washed afar on stormy beaches, Part II: The Nervous Awakening'

Sometimes it feels like I'm not the same person everyday, you know? I look at old things I've written and go, Is that how I really felt? Did I really think like that? To be honest, it's embarrassing because I feel so much older and wiser than myself even three months ago. I'm never comfortable with myself. That's not true: I'm comfortable with myself when I don't give a fuck what people think of me. (Should I cuss so much? Sometimes I feel like I need to emphasize things and I guess I'm too lazy to find the words.) When I stop caring about the opinions of others, when I stop filling my brain with their thoughts and their opinions and what I imagine them to think and perceive: this is release. I get trapped in imagining the opinions and thoughts of other people that I don't act like myself around them. I act like them. Or at least how I imagine they act.

Will I ever understand other people? I don't understand people with different viewpoints than me. It sounds closed-minded and perhaps lazy, but sometimes I'm like, How do you think that's a good idea? Or, Why are you so stupid as to believe that? I feel insecure about myself, which is why I'm so quiet around new people, and which is also why I try to withhold judgement: I don't have any moral high-ground with which to pick-off people's faults.

Today, possibly for the first time in my life, I imagined having a family: a wife, a home, and kids. It felt so good. It felt impossibly good, like I was fulfilled for the first time. I realize I'm not a kid anymore; I'm nearly twenty-one, and while that may seem young, no one's gonna cry for me if I fail in life, if you know what I mean. No one's gonna hesitate to throw me in jail or see me as less than a threat like they would a child. I guess all of us twenty-year-olds are somewhere in between adulthood and childhood. Older people expect you to be responsible like an adult, but still see you as less than a person. Like how people treat teenagers and children: less than human. But I'm not a kid, and I'm not an adult: I'm a twenty-year-old nobody living at home. What am I doing here?

That feels like all.

P.S. I wrote this today in my journal: "Let me tell you something about being twenty: at twenty-years-old, everyone is an idiot; but the ones who stay idiots forever are the ones who think they know it all, or the ones who don't risk it or ask questions."