Generally, I am the first person in the world to admit to my flaws, which are many. However, one thing that truly pains me to admit is that I am very fucking naive. I experience occasional moments, however fleeting, in which I feel that what I say matters to someone other than me. These delusions of grandeur, the idea that when I speak, people are listening, absorbing, caring, usually vanish as quickly as they appear. But, every once in a while, they linger. I wonder if, by sharing my thoughts and experiences, I can help someone else, lighten their load, make them feel less alone, but really, that is me at my most naive. I don't think anyone really cares what I have to say, not for long, anyway. Who am I to counsel anyone, being the completely fucked up mess that I am? Who can blame anyone for disregarding my trivial thoughts? I certainly can't. I'm just mad at myself for ever thinking otherwise.
My brother has been dead one month today. What was once my family of four now consists only of my mother and me. I contribute nothing to the world, merely existing, biding my time until it's my turn to go.
I might feel completely different tomorrow, might re-read what I've written here and think, "No, Kari. People do care. You're not worthless, not useless," but right now, that doesn't make one damn bit of difference. Right now, I am a naive fool, talking to myself, for absolutely no reason at all.