Why can’t I just…?
My back hurts. Bad. Or maybe its my kidneys or maybe both. I could take something. I will probably not.
Sometimes I think about that. As an experiment. But it only works if it isn’t successful. Not a good experiment. It’s why they die again and again in my head. All of them. I feel sorry.
I had not heard that song in a long time. I thought of him–OMG I saw this person today. This person who is not a real person, but a person who has lived and died a thousand lives in my mind and who I have thought of every day for…what? Six years? More. I saw this person at the mall today. It tried to speak to me.
You don’t understand what that is like. I mean…isn’t there some kind of rule? Some sort of ban against people you tell yourself stories about not being allowed to be real people? But…
It was unnerving.
It kind of spiraled down after that.
I feel very lonely.
Not often, because if I am busy or asleep or with Jester or even with my family, I don’t feel it. But sometimes…I wish there was someone to talk to. No particular reason. I’d just like to talk to someone. And there isn’t anyone. There is nobody. Just myself when I finally have time to think about it and feel lonely. And then I think about
know how I feel about it. It was the least excited statement I could have imagined. Glum emoticon and everything.
Way to make me depressed. But it’s okay. I won’t say anything.
I hate myself. I hate how much I waste on this. Unreasonable. Irrational? Illogical? All of them are good words. But why? Is this how I know if I still
listening to random songs from last year and I heard it. It didn’t mean anything. I don’t know why. I just wanted to cry when I heard it. And hope that maybe an airplane will crush me to death (it’s a small possibility, after all). It would be fitting if it happened that way, except that nobody would connect it and understand how fitting it was. Except maybe her. She might figure it out (even better! airplanes!). You have no idea.
I can’t just be happy. I can’t just stop it.
You know what: I feel, at times, the irrational desire to drive there and stalk quietly through all the places I was at, thinking of this person who cannot possibly exist, and sending him to all these horrible fates, and listening to the songs and feeling that icy blackness and the monster’s fur spreading across my face…just to see if it feels different. Just to see if I can spot someone else that this is happening to. Just to see if I get a call (because I would, in that ridiculous situation).
Sometimes I wish I could be the person that the voice I write with belongs to. Because you know you don’t read this in my voice (if you read it at all). To be fair, most of you have never heard my voice. But even my Jester, who does know my voice, admits to not reading this in my voice.
But…sometimes I think it would be nice to be that person. Just to know what it is like to be what I was perceived as being anyway.
(Huh. I forgot about it. We were looking for lost paperwork and found in his mailbox three types of medical tape that I brought him when he busted his eye open. I forgot all about that.)
I can’t just be happy because I can’t stop obsessing. I can’t just be angry because it hurts people. I can’t just be sad because–somehow–it offends people. I can’t just be empty because I can’t stop thinking.
Have you ever tried to walk through a really marshy place? Cattails? Reeds? Slippery mud and pokey sticks and water up to your waist and all of that? It’s one of the most maddening places to try and walk.
I wish I could just say