Thursday, February 10, 2011
Identity. It's a weird thing. I feel so lost and out of sorts at the moment. Connecting with old images of an old me only makes my heart hurt more. I don't know who I am. I don't know where I am supposed to fit. I am not glorious or splendid or even very beautiful. I am a conglomerate heap of nothing-very-much. I am so tired. So tired of sitting here, playing video games, reading books for school, doing nothing, going nowhere. Fuck.
I called my therapist to speak with her. Supposed to call her back to set an appointment. Sabotaging myself before I even get started. Oh well, it would be a week at the soonest--I can certainly rain myriad forms of destruction upon my own head in seven long days.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Apparently, I'm head fucking myself. Because I can. Because it's been too long. Because... I'm tired of pretending that I'm just fucking hunky dory fine. Learning fake foreign languages and making fake foreign friends who lie and smile and fuck off home and forget me. I did everything, smiled in all the right places, gave out handfuls of my soul, and asked for nothing in return. Head fuck. Maybe I did ask for something, only not out loud. Maybe I wanted respect and friendship. Too much to ask, apparently. Not that I really DID ask... but I sort of think I shouldn't have to.
I'm so tired of... being lied to. P said that "anyone who is your friend is fortunate to have you in their lives"... except she dropped me like a hot rock and never told me why. Never answered when I asked what the fuck I did so I could make it better. I know I went through a crazy period. I know I had it hard for a while--so, you just dump me? Awesome. And now I'm supposed to put up with your little comments about how fucking great I am. Obviously SO fucking great that you threw me away without a second glance. It hurts. It hurts every time you leave me a note.
and I can't even say any of this to you. Fucking head fuck.
I don't even tell anyone anything anymore. I'm supposed to be just fine. Smile and move on. Keep getting A's, you stupid old bag. I miss my 'home'... even though I never want to go back. I'm torn in two. Split down the middle.
I sometimes really hate who and what and where I am...