Tuesday, August 24, 2004
DELAYED MY FLIGHT//STILL IN BLOODY TEXAS FOR ANOTHER WEEK
i'm miserable and it's my fault.
i can't sleep. i can't eat. i can't think. i can't read. i can't even concentrate long enough to figure it out. i've had a enough people tell me that i'm a mystery to them and that i'm a complex person, but i feel like an open book. i feel like i put everything out there, guts exposed, muscles showing, almost bare to the bone and still no one gets it. i'm just a simple fragile minded little girl. i haven't grown up. i'm still waiting for a fairy tale ending -- the happily ever after -- when dave and i ride away on the white horse off into the sunset. unfortunately, nothing is that simple.
everyone is looking for the black and white to things, but inside i feel tangled. i feel like people should read me, but it's true, if i can't, then why should they? just because it's not this or not that, doesn't mean it's not a bit of both.
i can only handle one step at a time. right now i feel like i'm on the plank and there is a gaggle of pirates urging me forward with their cutlasses. i'm trying to take slow calculated steps, but it's hard to concentrate amongst the jeering and angry faces. i feel like every single person in my life is angry at me. i feel like i'm surrounded by a bunch of sad and angry faces, and i'm hiding under rocks and nodding yes to things i don't want to do, to make them happy. i don't know what makes me happy anymore. it feels like the only times i'm happy are when i hear him laughing over the phone or when a friend tells me they need me. which is happening less and less.
i feel like i'm shrinking. something reconfirmed the other day when my mom said, "you seem shorter than usual. what shoes are you wearing?" and i was wearing heels.
¶ 4:51 PM
|
i'm miserable and it's my fault.
i can't sleep. i can't eat. i can't think. i can't read. i can't even concentrate long enough to figure it out. i've had a enough people tell me that i'm a mystery to them and that i'm a complex person, but i feel like an open book. i feel like i put everything out there, guts exposed, muscles showing, almost bare to the bone and still no one gets it. i'm just a simple fragile minded little girl. i haven't grown up. i'm still waiting for a fairy tale ending -- the happily ever after -- when dave and i ride away on the white horse off into the sunset. unfortunately, nothing is that simple.
everyone is looking for the black and white to things, but inside i feel tangled. i feel like people should read me, but it's true, if i can't, then why should they? just because it's not this or not that, doesn't mean it's not a bit of both.
i can only handle one step at a time. right now i feel like i'm on the plank and there is a gaggle of pirates urging me forward with their cutlasses. i'm trying to take slow calculated steps, but it's hard to concentrate amongst the jeering and angry faces. i feel like every single person in my life is angry at me. i feel like i'm surrounded by a bunch of sad and angry faces, and i'm hiding under rocks and nodding yes to things i don't want to do, to make them happy. i don't know what makes me happy anymore. it feels like the only times i'm happy are when i hear him laughing over the phone or when a friend tells me they need me. which is happening less and less.
i feel like i'm shrinking. something reconfirmed the other day when my mom said, "you seem shorter than usual. what shoes are you wearing?" and i was wearing heels.
¶ 4:51 PM
|
