Apr. 23, 2006 - I'm in over my head.
Chapped-lip thoughts from tonight
as recorded in my written journal.
I guess this will be fairly personal, as personal as I get.
i.
Do other kids feel like this? Yes, yes, they do, it's all been done before, no one's story is that original, but that doesn't change my situation.
I don't want to end up feeling like I'm playing only the second-best role I could, or third-best, or some lifeless grunge I hate, I want something different, something less feasible and more fantastic (fanatic?). It's terrible that it's so tantalizing. I wish I could just just stop - take time to sit in silence, work on merging the pieces of my mind on paper.
ii.
I'm just so tired. Everything seems so unattainable to me these days. How pathetic - I 'm always so terrified of making mistakes (so I don't begin), terrified of not ending up with what I want, what I want, whatever it is I want, before I die. What's the point? What's the purpose, say say say stop and wonder? Sometimes, it seems like all you have is the moment, so you seize whatever makes you happy, or you think will make you happy, morals or humanity or kindness or creativity or beauty or destruction or even rambles, just whatever makes you happy, happy.
iii.
I can't see myself as anything but alone. Some people soothe me, make me forget about that selfish wretchedness. My problem - distance, loneliness, resistance to the contact with others that would cure that. I guess I keep thinking I want someone to save me, understand a piece of me, give me their own name for me and still not tie me down. I guess what I really need to do, though, is work more on just being okay with myself - myself and this solitary existence I seem to have imposed, because my mind tells me that's all there is, anyway, for everyone, not just me. I want to be complete in my own container. I don't want to rely on anyone to come fix me when I fall apart. ... Is it arrogance to fight your instincts, I wonder?
iv.
I hate that I let myself get attached to people.
I HATE AGE.
HATE AGE.
AGE
AGE
AGE
v.
I'm sorry if this post was completely horrible. But I can't. I can't. stand things how they are.
I can't write it all out right now. My eyes sting.
And. Right now. Something. Gnawing. impatience can't control me.
I can't let it. I won't let it. I am stronger than that.
vi.
[a poem to cap things off]
He told me, that it wouldn't matter if I died because people don't know how to think of me, they aren't sure which box to put me in, so they wouldn't know how to miss me. It is obvious to me where I would fit in, sad little sidebars. Signaling in broken words, tossing out side windows, to try and get everyone to see me like I see me. Common misconceptions always get in the way of real life thinking, friendships based upon misdeeds and untruths. No one is really honest because they can’t see through the windows, covered in smog grime, there is no air to breathe in to tell the truth.
I can see his breath in the air when he is telling me this. He is reading me his mental list of which order his friends should die in. Valuing one person’s actions over someone else’s. Where did you find the thoughts you needed to say that perhaps all along, it was me that didn’t make the difference.
If there were some explosion tomorrow, some pandemic that crawled across your skin and onto mine, there would be less to lose from the seizure of my lungs than yours. Your survival is automated, brought to your attention through a service announcement with bold words and childlike pronunciation. An afterthought to everyone who got left behind when you decided that you thought too big to be trapped in the decay.
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