7:35 p.m. - 2004-07-28
I never wanted you to feel bad for me
I'm hardly ever sure of anything, but when I am, I'm stubborn as all hell. I'm not stubborn now. I'm...not much of anything right now besides sick and tired and pretty scrubby looking. I guess I'm feeling kinda trippy. Notice that I said "I guess", I'm not sure. I'm hardly ever sure of emotion, but who is really? They're so complicated. I don't really feel like I'm here...or like I'm me. I'm hesitating here because it seems so hard to explain.
I'm hanging in thin air, so thin that I can barely breath and talking is out of the question. If I didn't know better, then I'd be scared. I'm hanging by a string and it feels so thin, but I know better. I know that this single string is stronger then anything I could imagine. I know to trust it. So, I'm hanging on to this string and I'm holding on so tight, but my grip is losening and if I fall it will no one else's fault but mine. I'm aware of this, but I pay no attention to it. Probably more because I don't want to then because I can't.
This is a philosophy of mine. Probably not a good one, but that is besides the point. I know from experience that if I ignore the situation I have at least a small chance of it going away. I have more of a chance if the situation only involves me. I have been known to stop my hand from hurting after a nail has gone through it by ignoring it. Anyways, I'm ignoring this fact because there is nothing I can do about it and if I were to fall then it would be to my death. My breath is steady, but soft and slow due to the the air. For some reason my breathing seems so loud and the echo feels so ear-splitting.
I'm not asking for you to understand this. The thought itself is.....ridiculous, laughable even. The fact is that I will have no recollection of having written this later and when I see that I have it will scare me. It's the hidden track to my soundtrack, you might say. I mean that more figuratively then literally. Obviously I am writing this and I have no trippy alter ego or black outs to explain this with. I'm not a character in your movie. You can't control me.
I'm not saying I'm above that, but I know what I'm not- moreso then what I am. I guess I'm just saying that I don't know who I really am or why I do the things I do. I don't know why I start stories that I can't finish, although I'd guess it's because I don't want them to end because once the story is over it will be forgotten and it will eventually turn to dust. I don't know why I don't trust people- even the most trustworthy, although I'd guess it's because trusting people means putting your life in their hands and I think that if I'm going to fall then I want it to be my fault, I want to only be able to blame me. Most importantly, I don't know why I blamed you for what could never have been your fault, but I'd guess it was because most people have a tendency for hurting the people closest to them and vice versa.
I'm not starting at the end for you anymore because I don't want you to do me any favors. If you don't want to read it then don't. If you don't want to be my friend, then don't. If you want to get in touch with me, then pick up the goddamn phone. Stop playing the good guy. Stop playing the best friend. Stop playing.
I don't deserve to see the play because I never bought a ticket. Don't give me any free shows. I'm no better then those beggars in the subway that you walk past. In fact, they're better then me. They have more pride and they are certainly more respectable. Maybe I'll learn a few things from them and next time you ask me why I'm out on the street or why I won't go get a job, then I'll look at you and I'll grin and I'll say " I can't. I'm too busy saving up for my mansion." You'll walk away and scorn me for joking and refusing to grow up. I'm wise beyond my years and at heart I'm probably old enough to be good friends with death, but you'll never know.
Maybe I just won't settle for your average business day where I send the kids off to school and spend a few hours cleaning the house and then run off to the office. Maybe I won't settle for that. The fact is that you don't know me and if you did you wouldn't scoff at me, you'd be jealous because I know how to make myself happy and I know that staying in one place for too long only wears out my welcome. So, I'll hug my sweatshirt a little closer and push those sunglasses up more on my nose and then I'll find some place new to go. You can watch me as I go if you'd like, but you may find it difficult as I am everywhere at once. I am that little dancer in the sun. You find it odd that I act so happy in my ragged sweatshirt and sunglasses with blood red nail polish that's starting to look absolutely dreadful, but maybe that's because it's been a blood red summer and maybe because you expect me to be dirty and unhappy and whiny and altogether unpleasent. You can't understand how I am too proud to let myself become this. Or....at least I am on the inside.
You see, this isn't me and really I can be mean on the outside. Now it could be because I was born that way or it could be that society changed me into that or it could be that I'm not really like that at all and I'm just lying again, but who am I to decide?
"You'll read and you'll judge" and so you will. I'd give you permission if I thought that's what you wanted, but I know better. You don't need me and you especially don't need my permission. You are free. How do you like that? Just remember, if this were a different situation then I'd be laughing right now and at heart I'm just that carefree little girl with the sun in her eyes and the stars in her hair. Just remember that, because if you do, then you'll never feel bad for me.
