I don't know why

Sep 26, 2004 22:52

I'm not sure why, but right now, I feel an intense need to write in my journal. Usually, the only writing I do in here is intentionally peotic, but here, I'll make an exception. Or obsession. Whatever.
I feel horrible right now. I really don't know why. I'm just upset. Sad. Depressed. Whatever. I just feel fucked up in the head. I'm starting to cry, and I don't know why. I have so many things on my mind, and I can't come up with any reasonable solutions. I have so many things that I NEED to be doing, I can't can't seem to get myself to do them.
Fuck. My best friend is going away from me. Intentionally. And it sickens me, but fuck it, I want her to leave. We're dangerous to each other, and frankly I feel smothered, but I keep begging to be suffocated, and I hate myself for it.
Beyond that, but complimentary to it, I have a new friend who I really want to know me (my entire life story!) but I keep trying to tell her everything at once, and I keep getting stuck, so I wind up keeping my mouth shut and telling her nothing at all.
At the same time, she literally has become my new best friend. It fucks with my head that I've met such a wonderful, beautiful person, and my happy emotions are being conflicted by my preconcieved notions of myself and my relations to the others I exist with.
I'm just sick of it!
I don't want to immortalize the moment, I don't want to grow cold. I'd prefer to let Mr. Samsa keep living because I love the beauty of the progression.
I hate myself because I love being trapped in a negative feeling. And I love the positive that proceeds it. I love the rollercoaster ride. The logical flow of time, and the fact that I've already forgotten I've cried. Knowing that in five minutes, I might do it again.
Sigh.
Weee! Bounce. Sniff. Purr. Smile. Scream. Weep. Blush. Bite. Slap. Blink. Skip. Blarg. Poop. Squee.
Don't look for any meaning in me. I'm not sure there is any anymore.
And don't look for any meaning in that, because there wasn't any.
Why do I only speak in metaphors?
Am i so wrapped up in my art that I only live life as boB anymore?
There's so much more on my head than I've admitted to thus far, but i want all of these thoughts out at once. I'm typing, but you have no Idea how fast these thought come and go. Before I've typed a sentence, it has three meanings, while it's being typed it has seven. After I've read it again, I add context, three more meanings, and then it gets deleted. Iamgine how meny you could find in this paragraph.
Most things are intentionally done. But then, I'm usually misread. How many more meanings do you find that I didn't even know existed?
Do you consider this to be shitty prose? Do you even read it?
Do you read it and attach meaning, or do you just scan for your name and move on to the next entry on your friends page?
bah. bleh. zzz.
Z? only because it's on my mind. Only because I did it all day because I didn't want to wake up. I hate waking up. With a passion. I hate having to face a day full of questions I can't answer. I hate having someone else's friend of a friend make my fucking decisions for me.
I guess if you didn't like me, then you'd simply ignore me, and the only simple solution is do be myself. Why is it that to be ourselves we always need somebody else's help?

ok. I'm done. Resume your life. You no longer have to focus on mine. I'm fine. But thanks for your time.
And I Love You.
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