9:41 p.m. - 2004-08-21
If I could only find the words
Sometimes I sit here and I make up games to entertain myself and I try to fool myself into laughing hysterically and smiling foolishly. I don't like crying and I know that the longer I let myself stay quiet then the closer I get to those tears. The silence is painful. It's that type of silence that isn't even silent, it's just called that for lack of a better name.
Breathing seems so pointless because it's just so repetitive. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out. Why not just see how long I can hold me breath? Then I won't have to continue the redundant process.
I can feel my nerves twitching inside my skin and I don't know why I can't stop it. I don't know why that scratching off my own skin seems so much more appealing then even trying for one second longer to sit still and I don't know why I get jumpy and upset whenever someone stands behind me.
Maybe I just know that everytime I've trusted anyone I got let down. Maybe I depended on them too much or my expectations were too high or maybe I'm just not a trusting person.
Oh, you have no idea how much I wish I could talk to you right now and tell you that it hurts to have a heart beat and a pulse and that breathing seems so tiring. It hurts to want to fade away, but it's better then feeling nothing.
I don't expect you to stick around forever and I don't expect you to understand. I don't expect you to want to know my past or share with me dreams of the future and everytime you get angry with me I stop and think to myself that I won't be able to hurt you forever. I won't be able to disappoint you forever.
Sometimes forever scares the hell out of me. I mean, when we die what happens? I think it's scary as hell to think of never being reborn again. This isn't a storybook. You can't go back to the beginning everytime you reach the last page. Maybe when I die then that's it and I'm gone. Or, maybe not, but I won't know until I'm there.
I guess that I'm just saying that there's a possibility that this is my only shot at doing anything and living and breathing and even though it hurts, maybe someday I'll be glad I tried so hard. My world is too short for me to care about the color of your hair or the insult you tossed at my three years ago. I'm not saying that I don't remember these things. If anything I have a hard time forgetting anything, but...I won't show it because it takes too much energy.
I just want to lose. I'm not saying I give up. I'm saying I want you to win. Everyday shouldn't feel like this. Maybe I'm just a cynic because I know what's out there, but for whatever reason I don't want to know the future. I want to be blindfolded, but I seem to be having this ongoing battle with myself where I keep covering and uncovering my eyes. I know sickness and depression and love and hate and pain and betrayal and loyalty and I have at times known what it was to trust people, but that doesn't make it any easier to know what move to make next or what advice to follow. I'll find my own way back because I always do, but I wish I could come and tell you and we could go for a walk and you could tell me some advice that would be sure to blow me away because I could really use that. I could really use you, but it's not that simple.
Have you ever kept your world a secret because you knew that telling anyone would make it seem too real or less real or just different? Have you ever kept it a secret because when only you knew then only you could be blamed? Have you ever kept it a secret because you knew that telling any other single living soul would only make you the lonliest person on earth?
I know when I disappoint you. I can tell. It kills me everytime. I get so upset that you have no idea. I write letters and poems and play music that matches my eyeliner. I'm beginning to think that remembering everything will only hurt me in the long run and being a nice person hurts too much.
Most of the people I know right now will say goodbye on graduation day and I'll never see them again. Sometimes I wonder why I let them make me feel so bad and alone and why I blame myself, but..I think that maybe it's easier that way. Most people don't want to take the blame for anything at all so I'll take it for them. I did it. Okay? I ruined your life and I hurt you and dissappointed you and I broke all my promises. Most people just need someone to take it all out on and someone to just blame for the things that go wrong. I seem to volunteer for that role a lot. Not so much on purpose as because I'm just searching for a cause or something..anything...anything that needs me. Or maybe it rally is all my fault. That would make far too much sense though.
I wish I could tell you so much.
Imaginative work...is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.... But when the web is pulled askew, hooked up at the edge, torn in the middle, one remembers that these webs are not spun in midair by incorporeal creatures, but are the work of suffering, human beings, and are attached to the grossly material things, like health and money and the houses we live in.
-A Room of One's Own
