(no subject)
My other journal has been locked (again), and so I'm turning to this (again), but it's because I really need to write. I'm going to say now that this entry isn't going to be worth your time, so you might as well X out and move on.
I don't really understand the way I feel, like I ever do right? I was so energetic and alive at school and then I come home and fall into this self-made quagmire, and I don't understand why I put myself through this. It's frustrating trying to find myself when I'm so split. I know that all the different masks and shades make me, but I also know that they're too distinct to be normal.
I try to depict the way I feel through images and poems, but I'm stuck.. there's nothing to show gratitude, and joy, and exuberance, and forced happiness, and desperation and longing, and regret, and bitterness, and misery. What picture, what image, could ever be that beautiful? How could I ever write such depth?
I feel so incapable. I can't even explain how I feel.
And I've become so selfish. The only thing that ever comes out of me these days is "me, me, me" and "I, I , I". I don't know, I don't understand a lot of things. Like, why do I keep looking back at one thing? Why do I keep wondering what if? Why am I not satisfied when my life is closer to perfect than it's ever been? And yet if it's everything I always wanted, why do I feel so empty, as if I've been given nothing at all? Because I'm selfish.
I keep rereading something over and over. And I hate how it leaves me wondering. I hate how it's left me this way. I haven't even reread my past journals, why do I keep going into this?
I'm afraid of reading past journals. I already know what to expect.
Maybe I should have held my past with two hands instead of letting it go and letting myself spin out of control.
I don't really understand the way I feel, like I ever do right? I was so energetic and alive at school and then I come home and fall into this self-made quagmire, and I don't understand why I put myself through this. It's frustrating trying to find myself when I'm so split. I know that all the different masks and shades make me, but I also know that they're too distinct to be normal.
I try to depict the way I feel through images and poems, but I'm stuck.. there's nothing to show gratitude, and joy, and exuberance, and forced happiness, and desperation and longing, and regret, and bitterness, and misery. What picture, what image, could ever be that beautiful? How could I ever write such depth?
I feel so incapable. I can't even explain how I feel.
And I've become so selfish. The only thing that ever comes out of me these days is "me, me, me" and "I, I , I". I don't know, I don't understand a lot of things. Like, why do I keep looking back at one thing? Why do I keep wondering what if? Why am I not satisfied when my life is closer to perfect than it's ever been? And yet if it's everything I always wanted, why do I feel so empty, as if I've been given nothing at all? Because I'm selfish.
I keep rereading something over and over. And I hate how it leaves me wondering. I hate how it's left me this way. I haven't even reread my past journals, why do I keep going into this?
I'm afraid of reading past journals. I already know what to expect.
Maybe I should have held my past with two hands instead of letting it go and letting myself spin out of control.