i laugh at the inappropriate. i hardly ever open up. i befriend the amazing. i sing to myself. i dance in the mirror. i put others first. i'm living in love.
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AIM: supasweetyo
Lame, you say?
Tell that to my dream last night.
Beyonce was teaching me how to be an assassin.
While singing of course.
It was awesomely random.
these are the people i love to spend my nights with & who help me write my papers :) pretty sure my college career would suck massive balls without them.
:D
I’ve reached that point of frustration/anxiety/sadness/melancholy where I just want to stay in bed, just lay here and pretend that it’s just me, just me, in this bed, surrounded by these walls, and nobody else is out there, nobody who I will hurt by being such a mess, and nobody to hurt me, even accidentally, because I’m irrational and fragile, whatever that means, and I want to be, but I don’t want to feel, because it’s all wrong, because I’m all wrong.
Once the weather changed, so did everything else.
Maybe I have SAD, maybe I’m just sad.
The freezing weather is not beneficial to someone like me, my poor blood circulation leaves me perpetually chilled throughout the day.
Now, the icy wind wraps my entire body in a frigid coat, and I struggle to keep every part of my body from physically shaking as I make my way to and from class each day.
I’m reading books again, not those pertaining to my classes, but books I want to read.
So far they’re sad too, though.
Maybe I should try not reading something as depressing as my life feels at times, when I’m alone.
I’m still trying to figure out how to help, how to be someone who people are glad to see when I walk into a room, how to make people forget all the stress and all the sadness, drown it in laughter.
I’m going to go read some more.
It’s a distraction, an escape.
I’m glad it’s Friday.
The weekends are always interesting.
Maybe I’ll figure something out…
I won’t try and place the blame on anyone or anything.
I’m wasting space these days.
My patience with school has dwindled, as I attend class after class, retaining the information just long enough to walk away with a decent grade.
There are those that interest me, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve long since lost that love of learning after years of stressing over exams and papers and tedious textbooks.
My writing has suffered.
No, it has died, along with some poetic voice that’s been drowned out by the dull roar of the myriad thoughts that flood my head and leave me useless, unable to focus on any one long enough to address it and set it free from it’s cranial confine.
I feel I’m failing as a friend these days, my words of encouragement and of concern feeling automated, like options on some generic vending machine: you get what you ask for, but the selection never varies.
I can’t express my love or sorrow or frustration or happiness or pity or anger or regret or any emotion for that matter, adequately.
This melancholy mist leaves me shrouded in a stifling cloud of self-loathing, and I’m disgusted each time I imagine how others must perceive me; classmates, family, friends, strangers on the sidewalks.
I want to give myself over to something/someone else, to be given some life-assignment, so that I’ve got one purpose to strive for.
I try so desperately to see who I am through my relationships with those around me, but even in their eyes I see only the reflection of that face in the mirror, that façade, like a cardboard cut-out of a person, propped up in the middle of all this, a substitute for something more, something solid.
I feel discarded at times, and hurt, but who’s to say I haven’t been exposed for the sham that I am, and who’s to say that I hurt, seeing as I fail at finding the words myself.
“One day at a time,” has become my mantra, though I can rarely name the day, the date, the time, to save my life, and yet I’m alive: that much I can say for sure.
Or can I?
Don’t ever change.
This pleases me.
