a beautiful tragedy

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 04:17:38 GMT

have you ever felt like you're with someone who is just waiting for the next best thing? have you ever felt like your whole relationship is just the other person waiting for someone better to come along? i feel that way sometimes. i feel like i'm just filling in until she can find someone who will make her happier. you have this person with whom, when you look in her eyes, you can see yourself spending the rest of your life. but at some point, when you look into her eyes, you can tell that her feelings are not the same. every time she meets someone new or finds anyone the least bit interesting, she engulfs herself in this new person, trying to find out everything possible. it is like she's trying to scout out her prospects. it hurts me. it hurts to know that we really won't be together forever, no matter how great and in depth our fantasy worlds. i almost wish she would figure it out already, just to save me from the pain. i know it is going to happen, and i think that makes it hurt worse in that it prolongs the pain of expectancy. at least i will know when it happens. she does not know this yet, but i do.

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 21:18:41 GMT

i don't know where i'm going or how i'm going to pay for it, but i can't stay here.

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 20:33:53 GMT

i just got into boston. now i can breathe.

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 04:09:44 GMT

i hate you so badly it hurts. that's a lie. i love you so badly it hurts. i sincerely wish you weren't such an asshole posing as a best friend. aren't best friends supposed to be around when the other half is in need? isn't that how it works? best friends don't postpone each other until next tuesday. by then i won't need you anymore. by then the conversation will be superficial. i need you now, not next week. you are one of many temporary people temporarily in my life pretending to care. you are one of the few people to whom i have grown attached. i hate you for that. it would be so much easier if i didn't care that you weren't around for me. i care too much about people who don't care enough. i hate it.

for the last time, no.

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 02:19:16 GMT

mother: are you being promiscuous?
me: [blank stare]
mother: you know i just worry about you, right? if you're being promiscuous i just need to know so you can be taken care of.
me: [blank stare]...mom. im friends with lots of guys, mom.
mother: i KNOW you're friends with lots of guys. i just want to be sure you're taking care of yourself.
me: mom. i am FRIENDS with guys because i don't like girls. girls are bitches. im not having sex with them.
mom: if you suddenly decide to become promiscuous, just tell me. it could be tragic, you know. like a play. you need to be taken care of. just tell me.
me: [blank stare] [begin laughter]
mom: don't laugh.
me: [more laughter]

p.s. i don't have to go to beauty school after all.

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 06:02:56 GMT

it's an excellent night for crying. i think i may partake in the festivities.

dear you,

Mon, 29 Jan 2007 04:34:30 GMT

there are so many things i wish i could say to you, but i know i cannot. i mean i could, but why would i want to jeopardize our friendship for my reckless emotions? it is hard enough for me to keep my feelings in check. what would i do if we could not even be friends? you are on of the few people who can make me happy. one of the few who can make me feel worth something. you can also make me feel worthless. you ignoring me is one of the most painful things i have ever felt. i wish it did not hurt this much. everything would be so much easier if it did not. i am not entirely sure what to think when you ignore me in public but pay so much attention to me otherwise. it is not public as a whole, i have found. it is just certain people around whom you refuse to acknowledge my existence. i could care less about her. we are still friends, and you still suck for acting like i am not even around. i know i am not everything she has always been to you, and i do not want to be. at all. i just want to know what you are thinking. what you were thinking. i want to know if i am completely crazy for thinking these things about you. for thinking you might think these things too. even if it is only a bit. i want to know even if you do not feel it. i want to get over you. at times, i wish i had never met you. i think things would be much easier. it is easier to let go when you never even had something. part of me wants to think i was better off watching you from afar, remaining in my sphere of existence and you in yours. but the bigger part of me knows that i have never met someone quite like you. well, i have, but you make up for what he lacked. it is unfortunate. i wish you did not. i wish i wish i wish. i have no fucking clue what i wish. i wish i did not have this knot in my throat or this pain in my chest. i wish my eyes were not throbbing. i wish you were mine. but would i be happy? do you mean all the things you say when we talk about the future and our secrets and the situations that we wish would be? would you really like to spend so much time alone with me? would really like to remember me forever? how the hell should i know? should i even believe you? you are a fucking charmer. you seek attention. but you also maintain a measure of sincerity. which parts are sincere? again, how the hell should i know? there are a million other girls who are prettier, smarter, funnier, happier than i am. they adore you and you would adore them. you have one who does already. so where does that leave me? i am still confused. i still wish you would choose me. it is almost like applying to college. you hope you have something that everyone else does not. something that sets you apart. pick me. pick me. you do not need to pick me. just make me smile one last time and disappear. i will be fine. just make me smile. i think you would be upset if you knew i cried over you. you do not like crying. you say you cannot handle crying. i think it makes you sad to see other people being sad. i do not want you to know that i am sad. i do not want you to have any idea about any of this. i just want it to be over. i just want it to go away. but i do not know if i could deal with you going away.

Thu, 04 Jan 2007 05:04:13 GMT

im scared.

it's kind of like a short story...

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 06:28:51 GMT

I sit here in the warm, dim gray between the toilet and the shower. Saline tears burn the deep cracks in my lips. What of my being so offends you? Why do my human errs lead to your rage? How do I fix myself to make you happy? What do I do?
I should not have said I wanted the brownie. Mistake number one—my selfishness. I should not have put the box back on the counter. Mistake number two—my thoughtlessness. I should have told him. Mistake number three—my loss of words. I should have just eaten the brownie. No. I should have just let him eat it in the first place. It was just a brownie.
Of these occurrences, this one in particular wounds me most deeply. A sharp pain of misunderstanding and childlike innocence matches that of the deep line in my skin. I often feign my lack of comprehension, mentally retracing a series of minor mishaps and events leading up to the grand finale. But the cause of this truly eludes me.
My mind steps back slowly one, two, twenty steps. It gropes blindly in the shadows of memory, hoping for a single hand to lead it out of this confusing tangle of gray matter. The search ends in vain, my mind caught within its own treacherous confines. I resign myself to this warm, dim gray once again.
I feel my puffy eyes beneath the sticky taughtness of my dried tears. Staring ahead, seeing nothing but the shiny tunnel of yellow through my imperfect vision, i hear your voices drift to me down the hall. You have moved on. Words of work and the hectic professional life carry the conversation. Not your work. Mom’s work. What you do with your time, I know not, yet i still read inadequacy when i read the words written in your eyes. My inadequacy. My imperfection. I wonder if Jews and cripples felt the same when they saw Hitler?
A pain shoots through my wrist, so I pause. Leaning my head against my tucked knees, I inhale the distinct smell of graphite and paper. I decipher the scent of an old perfume I once wore, mingled with a faint odor of burning wood and cigarette smoke. These pages have borne witness to me at my best and at my worst. Unfortunately, they have seen more of my worst. This has been one intense ride. And so it continues to be.
I rise from my space on the floor, feeling suddenly vulnerable and unsteady on my feet. I make a crude mental note as i notice the distinctive print my butt has left on the small rug. I stare at my reflection in the bluish light that has morphed the dim gray. Examining my body, I take in the baby fat around my tummy and thighs that I cannot seem to lose. The widening of my hips. The transition from a lean, muscular upper body to a soft, round waist. I look intently upon my face, seeing the dark circles and deep lines etched around my eyes. I notice an aged quality in their depths, weariness, perhaps, which i wonder whether others perceive. They are my father’s eyes.
Exhausted by my own image, I silently slip across the hall.

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 06:00:32 GMT

in short: i care far too much about people who don't care half as much.

Sat, 02 Dec 2006 01:25:11 GMT

you don't know this--actually, you will most likely never know this--but i care about you more than any guy i know. i think about you more than anyone else. i worry about you more than anyone else. that's part of the reason that this is so hard for me. it goes beyond the fact that this dredges up all the thoughts i've worked so carefully to forget. i hate knowing that you're hurting, but i also know that you'd never admit it. i hate knowing that you have to feel the way that i once felt. it's a feeling that can't be taken away, no matter how much you drink or how many pills you take. it's not something you forget. it's prolonged and recurring. just when you think it's gone, it shows up once again. i hate that i can't talk to you when i want nothing more than to hold you. maybe the part about me wanting to hold you isn't out of the ordinary, but like i said, you wouldn't know. i couldn't ever tell you this. it would ruin too much of too many good things. you have so much going for you, and i like her so much. i would never hurt that. i've been between a rock and a hard place since i've known you. this instant friendship took me by surprise, and i assure you i do not take that fact lightly. i don't work well with others, and i don't let people in. you're the exception,and i'm not quite sure how you've done it, especially so unwittingly. we're mirror images; maybe that's it. it's not that i admire myself. it's that i can see everything i'm not in you. i don't say that in the sense that i feel lacking but in the sense that you provide what i lack. i hesitate to say completion because we both have so much of the same things. we have an abundance of some things and just enough of the others. i don't know if you feel the same way i feel, but at the moment, it doesn't even matter. there's nothing we can do. he asked if i could see myself with you. sometimes i can't. sometimes i see you as my brother, my twin, my partner in crime. we argue, we poke fun at eachother, but we also care more than anything. sometimes i can see it. sometimes i feel as i just want to take you in my arms and never let you go. i could see us working, and that's part of what makes this so difficult. reality. knowing that it could be. but reality also makes it impossible. timing is everything. time is not on my side. nor yours perhaps? you may never know this, and it will most likely be for the better. what i do want you to know is that i care about you so much that it hurts sometimes, and i will always be here for you, no matter how much you hurt. i'll never forget you, and i'll never let you go.

Thu, 09 Nov 2006 03:53:02 GMT

i need a fucking cigarette.

what else is new...

Wed, 08 Nov 2006 04:03:18 GMT

so i've got an uber crush. i really love how i get myself into this shit. really i do. i think that he's out of my league physically, but he seems interested so far. possibly i can overcome my feelings of him being too good looking for me? oooh the drama.

Sun, 05 Nov 2006 17:42:07 GMT

my life is not in my hands.

Sun, 22 Oct 2006 03:43:20 GMT

i don't understand why i feel so wrong for doing the right thing. i've never realized how many things there are that i dislike about myself. i suppose i've never seen them before. for the first time in my life, i honestly feel as if i need to change. it's difficult for me to stick to my guns, but for the first time in my life, i did. unfortunately, it has made me realize that i am so unhappy with myself. i don't like that i smoke. i don't like drinking. i don't know why i do so many things that i do. i disgust myself just thinking about it. i felt like a complete tool for asking to go home, but i really felt uncomfortable for the first time. i just don't like that i'm selling myself out for such a cheap price. i know i'm better than the way i've been treating myself. i actually feel physically sick just thinking about it. i don't know if i this is the mental/emotional breakdown that is supposed to change everything, but something has got to give. i can't do this anymore.

i quit.

it's worth the read. i swear.

Wed, 18 Oct 2006 03:55:14 GMT

most amazing conversation everrrr

Madison is piMp: in some people's eyes, i almost count as a man...
Cthad29: ive still seen no proof
Madison is piMp: [coughyoujamesleeglenncough]
Madison is piMp: WELL I DON'T HAVE A PENIS THAT'S FOR DAMN SURE
Cthad29: not that ive seen
Madison is piMp: and you won't ever b/c it doesn't exist
Madison is piMp: i have these pretty tight dance pants that i think fairly prove that i am not a man, but lee says it doesn't count
Madison is piMp: although i disagree
Cthad29: you could be tucking it
Cthad29: or it oculd be small
Cthad29: haha, beth has a small wang
Madison is piMp: excuse me, but i woudl NOT have a small penis
Cthad29: too bad oyu do
Madison is piMp: if i did have one, which i maintain that i do not, it would not be small
Madison is piMp: anyway...it'd be BIGGER THAN YOURS...
Madison is piMp: but i suppose that isn't saying much...
Cthad29: hey youve never seen mine, i could have a sweet little va j j for all you know
Madison is piMp: i'm going to trust that you don't
Madison is piMp: dude...if you had one...i'd laugh so hard
Madison is piMp: you with a vagina. that's like...me with a penis.
Madison is piMp: it's hilarious!
Cthad29: well i find you pretty hilarious, so what does that mean
Madison is piMp: that's circular reasoning, which is false
Madison is piMp: fallacious (fallatious?) statement!
Madison is piMp: because if you argued that, i would say that i find you pretty hilarious, and that would mean that you have a vag. and do you?
Cthad29: for all you know i might
Madison is piMp: do you?
Madison is piMp: that's a direct question.
Cthad29: i can neither confirm nor deny the penis or vagina situation
Madison is piMp: i'll just go up to you and grab your balls haha
Madison is piMp: oooh god
Madison is piMp: no i would not
Cthad29: yea bad choice, ive heard the vagina is a sensitive area
Madison is piMp: so you're saying that you have a vagina?
Cthad29: im saying for all you know i might
Cthad29: and for all i know you have a tiny wang
Madison is piMp: well that's the point. i'm going to find out.
Cthad29: i can choose to belive whatever i want
Cthad29: and until i see extensive proof
Cthad29: you haev a tiny wang
Madison is piMp: i don't think i will ever personally prove to you that i do not indeed have a tiny wang, so i'll let you believe that if you'd like
Cthad29: yes sir
Madison is piMp: and i'll believe that you have a vagina
Cthad29: whatever floats your boat, i love america
Madison is piMp: hahaha
Madison is piMp: ooh yeah
Cthad29: so what youre saying is
Cthad29: id have to get oyu really drunk
Madison is piMp: are you trying to premeditatively take advantage of me?
Cthad29: im offereing, a a friend ,to get you really drunk
Madison is piMp: right
Madison is piMp: right
Madison is piMp: hey do you know what would be even more hilarious than you with a vagina?
Madison is piMp: you with a very tiny wang. haha!
Cthad29: its not the size of the boat its how you use it
Madison is piMp: so i've heard
Madison is piMp: but no matter how many times you use that gay little phrase, when it comes down to it, size really does matter.
Madison is piMp: nice women lie
Cthad29: tell that to your mom cause she sure was howlin last night
Madison is piMp: oh yeah she told me about that...she says it sucked, by the way
Cthad29: she told me she would lie to you so as not to hurt your feelings
Madison is piMp: are you sure that wasn't your mom?
Cthad29: yea, i'd recognize your moms obscene tat on the inner thigh anywhere
Madison is piMp: yeah that's my dad...
Madison is piMp: should have said grandma. DAMNIT!
Madison is piMp: that was a note to self, by the way
Madison is piMp: haha
Cthad29: yea i gathered
Cthad29: we could go on liek this for hours couldn't we
Madison is piMp: haha yeah probably
Madison is piMp: haha
Madison is piMp: i'm laughing so hard it's retarded
Madison is piMp: *i feel retarded
Cthad29: ha, i'm glad i can at least do that
Madison is piMp: i was laughing at myself.
Cthad29: because oyu know ive discovered your secret
Madison is piMp: damnit! i've got it all figured out now you pervert!
Madison is piMp: you think i have a penis, and that's why you want to get me drunk! so you can take advantage of me and try to have gay sex!
Madison is piMp: i knew it.
Madison is piMp: freak.
Cthad29: who said anything about taking advantage of oyu, i just want you to flash a crowd of people without knowing it
Madison is piMp: flash my crotch?
Cthad29: whatever floats your boat
Cthad29: i wasthinking maybe ou put on a trench coat with nothing under it
Madison is piMp: i don't think you'll ever see me really drunk
Madison is piMp: or wearing a trenchcoat w/nothing under it
Madison is piMp: helllooo lame porn
Cthad29: too bad its already in the works
Madison is piMp: yeah?

Sat, 30 Sep 2006 21:21:37 GMT

je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais ce n'est pas un bon anniversaire. ce n'est pas.

Sun, 24 Sep 2006 18:56:33 GMT

i love my friends. they make me so happy. i cannot even fathom living without them. ♥

i truly hate school. thank you, mrs. manzke.

Thu, 21 Sep 2006 02:30:54 GMT

i do not care. i simply do not care. perhaps i am just off to a bad start? i really don’t think that is it, actually. i do not think that is the case at all. i suppose i have just gotten to the point of reality. i have realized that high school is doing nothing for me. it is rather depressing, really, if one considers the amount of time and effort, the attention and detail that has been invested in this cheap pageantry. it all sickens me.

i take nothing from the exaltation of skill and talent, this parade ground for child prodigies. the spit out numbers, produced by computers and mechanically recited. dates, algorithms, prostituted imitations of the great languages. english, ever evolving, lays dying in its own wasteland, reduced to child’s play as the number crunchers take the lead, their infallible answers an assurance to the drug-fed breed that is the new generation.
we’re failing, but you cannot see it. no one is made so painfully aware of the falling sensation. no one even stirs at the thought. morphine addicts with a fixation for perfection, we are numb to truth. perception is reality, so says Locke, and we perceive the plastic beauty, not the raw pain.

i love to learn but am disgusted by my options. high school is only the best four years of your life if you do not give a damn about ranking and academic devotion. how is it that i have become caught in this high strung game, training to be a well behaved show monkey? she reads! she writes! she does arithmetic! by god, sometimes she even thinks! oh, the small miracles of mankind.

call me a heretic, but i think this is all complete bullshit. when did knowledge mean knowing more than the next person? when did education become a competition? i miss learning for the enjoyment of learning. there is no fun in this brainwashing disguised as the american education system. standardization is the bane of successful education.

school is bullshit. grading systems are bullshit. ranking is bullshit. i am no bitter, low totem speaking. i have been shoved into this frenzy because i am intelligent. i have a capacity for knowledge, a higher level of understanding. then why do i not “succeed?” i do not knock myself to the ground, headed straight for a burnout because i do not see the merit. for this stress and labor, what shall i win? what will be my gain? i take little satisfaction from an A paper. chewed up and spat out. i earn nothing.

high school is but an insignificant occurrence in life’s grander scheme, a blip on the map of eternity. for some, high school is definitive in the mind’s eye, but it has no real value. we learn to be dependent, only to be thrust into a world require self sufficiency.

the formal education itself is minor. from high school, i have taken experience and inspiration, all created by the individual. little knowledge will follow me from this place, this institution that breeds failure. i will neither be able to solve pi from four years of mathemetics, nor will i be able to speak spanish from years of making art projects. this is trivial pursuit at its finest.

surprise

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 02:29:01 GMT

here's an essay for you kids. i like feedback. let me know. and family, yes, i know there may be some exaggerations. i was young. i'm going with what i remember.

Keith Wears Nathan’s Dress

Peering across the vast expanse of melded vinyl, I could not help but stare. Those perfect, white rows of carefully crafted plastic, those perfect white rows capable of ripping flesh from bone just sat there.

My first four years of life whiled away in relative disillusion and childlike bliss. I knew only what I had thus far experienced, which, as I later found out, was not quite the standard procedure of orthodox American life. Though I remained completely unaware of any discrepancy in my rearing, this one defining moment at my grandmother’s kitchen table changed everything. I had my first epiphany.

From my oversized chair at the far end of the table, I casually observed, as is my natural tendency, removing myself from the melee of old men and black coffee. The voices chattered, the coffee cups clattered, and for the first time in my premature life, I realized the abnormality of dentures on the dinner table.

My grandfather hulks above me in my memory. A man of almost seven feet (or so he seemed) and lanky as swaying tree limbs, I did not often chance to see above his knees. Seated in his green, vinyl-upholstered chair, unmatched from the others at the wooden table, was one of the few conditions under which I could observe the upper half of his person. My sparsely haired baby’s head closely resembled his balding, geriatric head, sans bifocals and five o’clock shadow. People like to say I resemble my mother, but the evidence is undeniable; my face is purely paternal.

He was a man of his own will who religiously chose not to attend church but also acted as the host of a Sunday morning, post-mass coffee and biscuit ritual, a gathering of neatly dressed men with snowy hair who collected social security checks. Devout in his untraditional ways, he gained a respect from others that he begrudgingly lost with his ever-increasing age and what some would call senility. I prefer tenacity.

“What in the hell were you thinking, Dad?” our parents angrily demanded. “They don’t have on coats. Half of them don’t have on shoes. Why didn’t you tell someone you were taking them?”

Playing in the yard, wet grass chill under our feet, we jumped at the sight of Paw Paw driving up in his old Chevy pickup. Bored as we children were by the dull post-holiday denouement, he loaded us all into the truck’s cold bed and sped away. We were just going for a little ride.

“Faster! Faster!” the boys yelled, and faster and faster we went, zooming around the curvaceous back roads of the Louisiana flatlands. My small body clung to the dirty truck sides, both terrified and enlivened by the thrill of the ride. Having had little perception of time’s passage, the ride seemed an eternity, though it may have only lasted an hour. When we returned to the safety of our front yard once more, the parents fumed, scared to wit’s end by their disappearing progeny.

“What in the hell were you think, Dad?”
Irresponsible. Too old. Out of his mind. The same things they would later say when he sold a fortune’s worth of livestock, crashed his truck, wasted away from four packs a day.

I know now his faults, but as a child, I was both blinded by his impressive humanity and enlightened by his eye-opening idiosyncrasies. He surprised me with small candies, sugar-free for his diabetes, as well as cordials wrapped in shiny foil, though I disliked both chocolate and cherries at that age. He conversed at length with his imaginary friend Nathan, a character whom we later learned was a byproduct of his manic depression. He taught me the finer points, incidentally, of living life on one’s own terms.

He sat behind the house with his old transistor radio, the dial flicked permanently to the grainy sounds of Zydeco, a cigarette in hand, burning to the filter. He sat alone more often than not, his aging white Stetson propped low over his eyes, the shiny snaps of his cotton shirt partially open to reveal his softly sagging undershirt. He sat alone, but he always spoke.

“The damn drillin’ they’re doin’ across tha street’s driving me crazy. Keeps me up all night...yeah, yeah...he told me tha same thing yestaday...they betta find some all fa all that drillin’ they doin’ ova there...”

I always wondered to whom he spoke, but I never questioned his actions. We all knew Nathan. He was one of the inexplicable characteristics my grandfather had, yet no one discussed his habit until many years later. Nathan became the inside joke that was not really much of a joke. He was as much a part of my grandfather as his pale skin or baby blue eyes.

When I heard the news, I cried briefly, almost half heartedly, as I have come to realize is my initial and compulsory reaction to death. His funeral was a gathering of no small attendance. Though some said he was crazy in his old age, all revered him. My grandfather did not live to suit the expectations of others but to suit his own means. His uninhibited devotion to a life lived candidly gives me the confidence to remain deviant from the standard. A host bold enough to set his dentures on the table during meals, I can only hope to be such a brave and honest soul as my grandfather.

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 14:56:19 GMT

why do i always get drawn into ridiculous drama? no, i'm not after your boyfriend. i don't know where the fuck you have gotten that idea. i tried to date him once, and it didn't work out. i'm not stupid enough to try it again. he chose you, and that's the end of it. he would not have been dating you this long if he really didn't want/love/care about you. please kill the histrionics. i know you think we've got something going on, and i suppose your little friends have been telling you things (from where they have gotten their information, i dont know...), but seriously, we're just friends. he makes me smile, so i talk to him when i'm sad or upset. that's it. we have nothing more, nothing less. please don't drag me into whatever insecurities you have. i don't have the heart for it right now. it's just one more knife with which to cut my own wrists.

it's nice to know

Tue, 29 Aug 2006 03:28:42 GMT

the truth would have been nice. i'm sure it would have hurt a lot less than avoidance.

Sat, 26 Aug 2006 03:36:27 GMT

i hate to think that writing no longer helps me solve my problems. what has happened in the course of a year? why have i shut down even to myself? it's as if after that one moment i realized i could no longer trust life, i gave up on trying to solve it. i gave up on trying to be happy and setting expectations because i was just getting ready to fall . i hate to think that one moment can define a life.

i'm glad no one reads lifejournals anymore. it makes this easier.

Sat, 26 Aug 2006 03:25:52 GMT

this is probably the most honest thing you'll ever hear me say about myself. i don't know why i posted this now. it just kind of sums up my thoughts for the moment, though it was written in the past.

[July 1, 2006-- it's july. why am i always surprised by time? this seems to be a fairly consistent pattern i have going here. perhaps it is related to the procrastinator in me? oh, it is. as well as the dreamer. i live both in past, present, and future. time is never constant in my world. i am always shocked to discover some standard passage of hours, days, months, has occurred. i sometimes feel as if i live in perpetual shock, whether at time or any of life's other idiosyncrasies. the problem is that i think everyone else finds the peculiarities to be normal. it is unfortunate.

i hate to think of time. i loathe it's passage. that is truly why i am always surprised. time only brings you closer to an end. time makes me nervous. my indecision does not allow for fleeting time to be comfortable. i am rarely comfortable in my own skin. it make me sad. a lot makes me sad. i cannot even think of it all. i just wallow in it. wallowing. it reminds me of filth. a shitty diaper. senior citizens. alcoholism.

i often think of alcoholism, and i think i could be comfortable in it. i do not have the party lifestyle, but hard liquor makes me happy. it is warm. i like my drinks strong. i drink to get drunk. i sometimes feel more reckless without alcohol than with it. i am thankful i don't get out much. it's too bad i smoke.

it worries me that i can find comfort in something so dangerous. i always have felt in substance, though. i cannot handle emotion's seeming insincerity and whim. i like to feel my pain as i see the blood. i like to enjoy my happiness as i taste the vodka. actually, vodka just sounds poetic. i'm a rum girl, myself. i love to taste the burn. i love to feel my lips go numb. it's an instant fire. it makes me smile. i am sick.

at least i no longer have a strange fascination with making myself bleed. i like to see it and feel it and taste it, but i can't stand the thought of it. i haven't recently felt any pain great enough to break the skin. i try to douse it out before it gets too close.

i don't know why i've chosen today of all days to bare my soul. i don't know what has driven me to write. i suppose having an opportunity to unload after a year of silence has triggered the break. i need to get it all out, wipe myself clean.

i feel i have in some respects failed myself by losing so much of myself. i have lost a lot, but i also feel as if i have found new things along the way. i also find myself slowly rediscovering all that has been lost. not all. some remains long gone, and still some continues its slow farewell. i'd like to think that the majority of my change has benefit, but i also know how badly i am letting some people down.

is it really about others? what is the point, when do i cross that line of unnecessary selfishness? i do not know, and it continues to break my heart. i want to make everyone feel happy and loved, but what about me?

it's a controversy i can never solve. it reminds me why i was always a loner. no strings attached. the fewer involved, the more simplistic the balancing act. i would sacrifice nights out and another human ear, maybe a bit of my own happiness, for a less arduous routine of satisfaction. i cannot possibly satisfy everyone. the easily sated are even difficult to handle, let alone those whose happiness requires extra yards, feet, inches. miles. sometimes people require extra miles, and i don't know if i'm going far enough. i get tired so easily, and when i finally make it, i've gone too far. i never win. i always miss my exit.

it scares me how i can go on for hours, pages, lost in my own thoughts. i always feel like i have more to say, but i don't always know where i'm going. some days i have a finite thought, a maintained thought process. at other times, though, my hand just moves. my brain always moves faster. i could write forever on those days. the words never stop coming. too bad i can never figure out my problems.]

Thu, 24 Aug 2006 03:13:05 GMT

i am rather bothered that the only times i write anymore are in times of stress, need, confusion, etc. why can't my writing stem from happiness? i don't think my writing ever stemmed from happiness, actually, so i am going to declare my own question invalid.

i have been in school for exactly one week, and i am already tired. i am tired of not only school, but of relationships, attitudes, people, myself, the pressure. i am also sad. i do not want to let some people go, but i cannot stop them from leaving. this will be tough, but perhaps we will both grow. i also think that i am fabricating little fantasies for myself. little things to get me through or create something out of nothing. i don't like these fantasies. they are but farce and only make me want what i cannot have. why must i set myself up for the fall? constantly? a masochist in so many ways.