Steps

Steps forward, steps back. Steps around and around.
You know, I made a lot of them today. I made hundreds as I ran a good hard run with my Army workout. I made a few as I trudged slowly between classes. I made several both ways with old wounds. More forward than back I think.
I'd like to be proud of myself, but then I fear that I look conceited. I'd like to believe I'm pretty, but then I feel vain. I'd like to feel a lot of things, and sometimes I do, but if nobody ever reinforces it, it's hard to believe.
If I am as interesting or capable as I thought I was, then why is it so hard for people to include me in their lives? I am torn between my shyness that keeps me from stepping out of my comfort zone, and the logic that understands people. I am so terrified of people, because they are a variable. And maybe they're all just as terrified as I am that nobody likes them enough to care... when really everyone is just too afraid of looking needy or pathetic.
Well damnit I am needy and pathetic. When I hit so low a point in depression, even my better judgements are superceeded by my need for attention and affection.
I try to show others that I care for them. They don't get it. That's ok. Most people have to take care of themselves as a priority, and that's ok.
I guess I'm just lonely. I set my expectations through the roof, and occasionally the brilliant flash of the exquisite touches my life. But then I am simply empty, dying inside over that next level up, that even better ambrosia.
Oh well. This frustration does me little better for being expounded on an empty page which several read but few actually care enough to talk to me about. I suppose sleeping is a better idea.