So I dislike the way society has moved from the personal intimate conversation to something so hollow and cold . What happened to the old fashioned face to face talk, the phone, the good old mail the conversation, the connection, the bonding. It's all being replaced. We're being programmed. And I don't approve.

Maybe how I approach a conversation now has something to do how I was raised, or how I've used technology in my life to communicate. When I see a person that I want to talk to I first have to assure myself to even utter a word, given if I even approach them entirely. I have to think ahead of time what I want to say and hope they lead with me somewhere. I'm not a conversation starter, I listen.
Even with groups of people I'd rather watch and see whats going on. Be impersonal and observe. A third party. I don't think I have it in me to be a part of a group, to be social, to be normal. In most cases it is a certain person or two being the most talkative that drives the group going. At least to my experience so far.
Maybe that is my weakness. That I haven't been out there long enough to see anything different. I'm not putting myself out there enough. Even so it's already hard enough to be accepted, to have courage, to be normal to others and I find it is too much for me.
I don't know what I really want, I've wasted three years already pissing away time and money. I can barely write a sound sentence and do this right now is making me use every part of my conscious being to get this moving along. I'm going with the flow. But I think I'm honestly losing it, whatever it may be. I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm a shell of what I was. And everyday I put myself through this hell as I chip away at my sanity, at my will to continue.
I could stop feeling sorry for myself but I'm afraid. Of the future, of the pain, of the anguish. I want to move on, but this fear is holding me in place. Rather then going with the flow I stand against the current, hoping thing will stay the same. Most of the people I once knew are already so far ahead of me, so far that I won't ever catch up. They are only a memory to me.
I want help but can anyone hear me? Am I even asking it? I don't want to do this alone, I can't do it alone. Yet this seems like a test, a challenge, an ordeal to overcome. And if I do it'll show wonders about my character.
I'm whining, I'm venting. Will someone care? Probably not the people who I want to matter.
I need to escape, to stop running, to stop avoiding, to stop wasting away my life. AND I need to stop dreaming about those dammed eyes, those vicious, unrestrained, scornful but strangely bewitching eyes.

Why can't I forget about her?