1am
10 - 19 - 16
Today I sat in a red truck for three hours and watched the beautiful canadian country pass by--hazy cold pines dissappearing into fog, jagged mountains cutting sun through the clouds. To be honest, I mostly got glimpses as I was absorbed in my freshly-downloaded book (and awkwardly not talking to sara's dad).
I finished the book about twenty minutes into my flight back to seattle.
Overall, I'd say it went by very quickly--buffering, hannah hart's autobiography. At times it felt almost like summary and it wasn't linear so it didn't feel so much like reading a book as what I'm used to. But it was well-written, beautifully so at times, and if it weren't for being in public it would have brought me to tears.
So many elements of it struck chords for me, both in my own life and in sara's. (though of course I recognize that I've lived a much much more priviledged life. Hannah's story is inspiring and encouraging in the most human of things, in her struggle with her sexuality and her depression and her undying hope)
It was hard to read about hannah's mom's deterioration with schizophrenia. My dad's illness manifested in a much different manner (more 0-100 than a slow progression) but there were similarities, especially in the last days... the paranoia, the seeming coherency but with the words being nonsensical. I was immensely glad to see how hannah and her sister were able to get their mother help in the end. It made me wonder and wish about what could have been done if my dad hadn't been so quick to act, or if we'd caught it and taken it more seriously after the first signs in that last week.
Hannah's description of her depression hit the proverbial nail on the head. She described what I remember much of high school and my first year of college to feel like, and her words also echoed things I've heard from sara.
"depression feels like:
...
- a wordless whisperer telling you that this feeling is the true feeling and that every other feeling you've had was only temporary. This is your lasting reality. Those moments you called happiness or peace were just distraction, but this is you at your most real. Don't bother to fight against it, because you're always fighting against it, and since you're fighting against your own nature, you'll never fully win."
I've known of hannah as a youtuber for quite some time and I enjoyed getting to know her as an author. Her short story about the general and the monk was amazing and was what truly made the book for me. A metaphor that expresses the emotions and realities of a situation better than a simple telling of the reality would have. That's my shit.
It was a really good read. Smooth, and inspiring. Hannah started her career when she was 24 really
...
Last week I stopped the entry there. It was like all the words just evaporated out of my head. I still feel like that.
Or maybe it's more like there's too many things in my head that none of them can settle far enough to be put into words let alone be put down into coherent sentences. That's how I felt last night. Like my head was too full and the headache I had was from the pressure building up inside, a physical manifestation, that's how stuffed my head was.
It meant a lot when sara asked if we could call. Parts of the call helped and I felt better and could laugh. I always laugh with sara. But then it would come back and it would be even more too much because I wanted to be happy and excited like she was, and it was so delicate I was afraid that if I seemed off she'd close up or take it the wrong way.
But I think I was too anxious for the call. It made me feel better like just being in her presence did, but at the same time it wasn't enough I wanted to just curl up with her, and at the same time everything was scary and I was overthinking and I think in the end I just needed quiet.
I curled up in bed and went back to the one bookmark I have on ao3 and then I looked for more fic because I wanted something new and I don't usually like to read real people fic but idk sometimes if it's what I find and it's good I just don't care and I'm so isolated myself in my bed with my phone that it doesn't feel like real person fic anyways. It would've been nice to find some more suits fic or sherlock fic but what I found was oned fic so.
"'It’s like,' Louis starts. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out before he continues. 'My head gets loud, sometimes, and crowded, and it feels like if I don’t do something about it I’m going to drown in my own thoughts.'
He’s not sure if he’s making any sense, and he doesn’t want to look up at Harry’s face to figure it out, so he just keeps talking. 'It helped, sometimes, to be a little bit crazy, but it’s like there’s all this pressure and I feel like I have to try to take care of everyone all at once.'
Something in Harry must snap, because he grabs Louis’ chin with two fingers and tilts his head up, not gently at all. It doesn’t hurt, but Louis jumps a little anyway. He wasn’t expecting it.
'God, sweetheart, you don’t always have to be taking care of everyone,' Harry says. He looks upset, like he thinks he’s caused this, and that’s not what Louis is trying to say at all.
Louis swallows and keeps his eyes trained on Harry’s. It’s hard, because it’s the last thing that he wants to do, but it feels like it might be important. 'It feels like I do,' he says. He wants Harry to understand but he doesn’t want Harry to understand all at the same time.
'I feel like if I don’t it’s going to be even worse,' he continues. It’s important that Harry understands, even though Louis is balking at the thought of saying it out loud. 'It feels like I have to be in control and I have to take care of everything because if I don’t it’ll all slip through my fingers.'"
I read half of it and stopped because it was too much/real, or just enough, or I wanted to save it for later, or I dunno. I read half and bookmarked it and went back to reading trash tomarry.
It's like, sometimes I read fic to get in my head, to read what I'm feeling and what I want. Then sometimes, most of the time if I'm being honest, I read fic to get out of my head completely. To just feel other things, completely different from what I'm feeling but still strong and real. Maybe it's a kind of finding perspective in a way.
I feel like I have to take care of everyone a lot. And I feel like I can't let/trust anyone to take care of me a lot. It probably comes from middle school when I had to take care of my brother and my mom and when I tried to ask my boyfriend to take care of me he sat in awkward silence while I cried and then broke up with me. There was a lot more there, obviously--he was going through his own stuff that he never told me (lack of communication) and I was transferring my stress from the divorce onto our relationship and we were both miserable but what it felt like was me asking for support and being met with silence. That's happened a few times now that I think about it. Opening up to the person I trust the most and getting no response.
Anyways what it led to is my inability to open up. My last therapy session started out shitty and I still don't know about the rest of them. I haven't told her anything real really. And I feel like now I can't. She thinks I'm super well adjusted and healthy and it's because I'm so used to downplaying and hiding that I don't know how to not do it anymore.
Also I'm good at it. And there's plenty for me to hide behind. It's not that the surface things aren't real. Talking about how I feel guilty for my dad's suicide and how I resent my mom for her lack of support with my girlfriend. Of course these things are real, but it feels like we haven't even gotten beneath the surface and I don't know how to try to get there. I want to talk about how I get anxiety sometimes and I want to talk about the depression and how hard it is to do things and how I started paper cutting as a medium so I could get blades to cut other things and I want to talk about my trust issues and my social fears and relationship fears but somehow it always ends up being, "Yeah I can get up out of bed in the morning and do the things I want to do. I have good friends who I trust and are always there for me. I feel good and comfortable about my life always." And she's like, "You're doing really well I don't know why you're in therapy," and I'm like "YEAH I GUESS I AM HUH"
It's like I'm so afraid of finally being like so give it to me straight, is there actually a problem with me? And her being like no there's nothing wrong with you you're just lazy and wasting your potential. So instead I sabotage myself so that she tells me I'm fine anyways? I don't know.
I'm getting better with sara. Better at opening up and asking for help. I've told her things that I promised myself I'd never tell anyone. It's frightening how much I trust her and how scared I still get and how much I still feel like I need to take care of everyone always. Even when I've decided to open up and be sad and ask for support I'm still figuring out how I can do it in a way that helps her/makes sure she'll feel okay? But I'm getting better at that. Every time I send a text without pumping fake energy and cheer into it it sounds so dead and I feel guilty and scared.
But I think it's good. She took care of me in the best possible way without actually being here last night. That was really good. And every time it happens I trust her a little bit more I think.
I always feel a little strange when I talk about the things that hurt me in my childhood/teenaged years. Because sara's faced so much worse, so sometimes I feel like the things that effected me are trivial. And then sometimes I think that at least now I have my dad's suicide and that's legitimate trauma so maybe it can bridge the distance a little. It's a horrible horrible thought and sometimes it helps in a horrible way.
Then again, maybe it just proves/validates the idea that trauma can be relative in a way? I don't feel any worse about my dad's death than I do about the divorce or those nights in middle school when i felt so small and tired of the world. The things that left scars on my trust perhaps left shallower scars than others' and perhaps weren't as dramatic, but the feelings and the fact that I have them are just as valid. I don't know. Maybe my dad's death will hit me harder later on, and I'll look back and be like "coming out to shivani was small potatoes. the feelings that felt so indescribably vast at the time, that led to me taking scissors to myself when i was 12 are nothing compared to this." Then again, the hardest max's death hit me. Well that was the hardest point in my life. But I don't think the feelings were worse than middle school. I don't know I didn't think about it at the time.
This is getting kinda philosophical. Are emotions/traumas relative? On the one hand, I don't agree with G when she told me she doesn't trust peope who didn't suffer some kind of childhood trauma because they're somehow less understanding/deep/worldly. I think that's ridiculous. Thinking that way leads to thoughts about purposefully giving kids trauma so that they can be more well-developed. That's some dangerous bullshit right there.
(at the same time i can kind of understand it? i remember first year uni spending nights with boys who told me their entire life story because i've always been voyeuristically interested in other people's lives and issues and i've always been good at putting people at ease so they tell me things... maybe that's part of what interests me in counseling. i remember listening to them tell their entire life story for hours and hours and just being.... bored. and also shocked. by how bland their lives are. how amazingly normal and vanilla in a way. i'd reached a point through having deep talks with friends/classmates/gsl where i'd concluded that everyone has had some kind of trauma in their lives. abusive parents or neglectful parents or unsupportive parents or eating disorders or mental disorders... and then to realize that some people just had good lives... what a shock. and i remember looking down on these boys, one in particular, and being like god you're so boring. the worst thing you've felt was breaking up with your long-term girlfriend and even that you handled healthily and came out fine. it felt like i could never connect to this kid.)
So then does that mean that the things that happened to me in childhood that had detrimental effects on my mental well being, does it mean that those things are equal to me as actual abuse has been to other people? I don't agree with that either. That also sounds like bullshit and it sounds super invalidating and belittling of actual trauma that people have suffered.
I don't know. Maybe it's kind of relative to a certain extent and then not. Maybe it just means that some people can relate to other people easier because of shared trauma and it takes a further stretch to relate to lesser or more trauma. Or maybe it just can't be generalized.
I don't know. I guess when it comes down to it, I should treat my own stuff the same way I treat the kids that I talk to. Individually. Not comparing.
This saturday I talked to a 14 year old kid who was struggling about whether or not to come out as bi to their high school. They had plenty of friends who knew and supported them already and I guess it was a pretty mild chat. Then I talked to a man who was stuck in a house with his abusive parents, who's dad regularly beat him and had recently tried to run over him and his boyfriend. It was probably a perfect example of the kind of range I see with kids. It never even occurs to me to compare or judge the things that kids talk to me about. I took both of the chats seriously and of course they needed different things, so I gave them different things, but both of their problems felt valid and real to me. So why should I compare or judge myself.
How did I even get on this topic. Oh yeah, how I felt last night.
I don't know. I'm getting better at opening up and asking to be taken care of I think. I still feel guilty every time, but it's better than not and I hope it's okay. Things are hard right now for both of us. I keep thinking about a year from now, when we'll hopefully be living together. I just want that. I want things to be good and easy.
I remember at one point I thought distance was romantic. Mostly because of amei. How much must two people love each other to keep loving each other over so many miles. And there's a romanticness to it in a more traditional sense of the word. A kind of beautifully tragic element that makes the love feel, I don't know, deeper, more metaphorical? somehow? I think I used to vaguely, guiltily want a long distance relationship in the same way that I wanted glasses and braces and trauma.
What is that desire. Some kind of tiny secret guilty masochistic desire. To have things that will hurt you. Of course I only ever wanted these things because I didn't have them. And for the harsher things, like divorce and death and all that. Because I never thought I would have them. I guess it was like wanting my life to be interesting in the way that the characters I loved were interesting. Tragic backstory. I never really wanted it for real. I guess it's kind of like rape fantasies? People can desire things hypothetically but not for real?
I think that stopped after max. I think it was after max that I was like, you know what death kind of just sucks. And now I'm at the point where I'm like you know what distance kind of just sucks.
I think I'm still glad to have had a long distance relationship. A part of me still sees the romance. That's what persehades is. But I'm ready to move on from the distance part of it.
I get so tired of negativity and of stuff sucking. Maybe I am weak. But I just get so tired and done with it. I'm ready to move on to boring please. Easy and domestic and settled and normal and boring and safe. I'm confident we'll get there. I started to feel it in golden, but then I had to leave. It'll still be a while. I just have to be patient.
Waiting sucks though. I want things to be easy. To spend so much time together, like the tumblr gays. Easy. But it's not. Both of us are tired and neither of our lives are easy really. Sometimes things are really good though. I should focus on that. I have a list on my phone of the best moments in golden. The golden moments ha. I'll write a separate post about that when I feel I can do it justice. I wanted to write about other things too. I had more to say about hannah's book and I had a lot of thoughts about co-dependency earlier. And tomarry and why I feel so deeply for it. That's what the title and song of this entry are for. I should change that though. This is already too long as it is. I'll write another one later.
There was too much in my head and I guess I got some of it out though I really don't know how I feel about most of this. It doesn't feel good, or right, or like I've at all said anything that I want to say. I don't know what I want to say but it's not this. I don't know what this is. But I guess it's something, and I guess it had to come from somewhere, so I guess I'll keep it.
Today I sat in a red truck for three hours and watched the beautiful canadian country pass by--hazy cold pines dissappearing into fog, jagged mountains cutting sun through the clouds. To be honest, I mostly got glimpses as I was absorbed in my freshly-downloaded book (and awkwardly not talking to sara's dad).
I finished the book about twenty minutes into my flight back to seattle.
Overall, I'd say it went by very quickly--buffering, hannah hart's autobiography. At times it felt almost like summary and it wasn't linear so it didn't feel so much like reading a book as what I'm used to. But it was well-written, beautifully so at times, and if it weren't for being in public it would have brought me to tears.
So many elements of it struck chords for me, both in my own life and in sara's. (though of course I recognize that I've lived a much much more priviledged life. Hannah's story is inspiring and encouraging in the most human of things, in her struggle with her sexuality and her depression and her undying hope)
It was hard to read about hannah's mom's deterioration with schizophrenia. My dad's illness manifested in a much different manner (more 0-100 than a slow progression) but there were similarities, especially in the last days... the paranoia, the seeming coherency but with the words being nonsensical. I was immensely glad to see how hannah and her sister were able to get their mother help in the end. It made me wonder and wish about what could have been done if my dad hadn't been so quick to act, or if we'd caught it and taken it more seriously after the first signs in that last week.
Hannah's description of her depression hit the proverbial nail on the head. She described what I remember much of high school and my first year of college to feel like, and her words also echoed things I've heard from sara.
"depression feels like:
...
- a wordless whisperer telling you that this feeling is the true feeling and that every other feeling you've had was only temporary. This is your lasting reality. Those moments you called happiness or peace were just distraction, but this is you at your most real. Don't bother to fight against it, because you're always fighting against it, and since you're fighting against your own nature, you'll never fully win."
I've known of hannah as a youtuber for quite some time and I enjoyed getting to know her as an author. Her short story about the general and the monk was amazing and was what truly made the book for me. A metaphor that expresses the emotions and realities of a situation better than a simple telling of the reality would have. That's my shit.
It was a really good read. Smooth, and inspiring. Hannah started her career when she was 24 really
...
Last week I stopped the entry there. It was like all the words just evaporated out of my head. I still feel like that.
Or maybe it's more like there's too many things in my head that none of them can settle far enough to be put into words let alone be put down into coherent sentences. That's how I felt last night. Like my head was too full and the headache I had was from the pressure building up inside, a physical manifestation, that's how stuffed my head was.
It meant a lot when sara asked if we could call. Parts of the call helped and I felt better and could laugh. I always laugh with sara. But then it would come back and it would be even more too much because I wanted to be happy and excited like she was, and it was so delicate I was afraid that if I seemed off she'd close up or take it the wrong way.
But I think I was too anxious for the call. It made me feel better like just being in her presence did, but at the same time it wasn't enough I wanted to just curl up with her, and at the same time everything was scary and I was overthinking and I think in the end I just needed quiet.
I curled up in bed and went back to the one bookmark I have on ao3 and then I looked for more fic because I wanted something new and I don't usually like to read real people fic but idk sometimes if it's what I find and it's good I just don't care and I'm so isolated myself in my bed with my phone that it doesn't feel like real person fic anyways. It would've been nice to find some more suits fic or sherlock fic but what I found was oned fic so.
"'It’s like,' Louis starts. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out before he continues. 'My head gets loud, sometimes, and crowded, and it feels like if I don’t do something about it I’m going to drown in my own thoughts.'
He’s not sure if he’s making any sense, and he doesn’t want to look up at Harry’s face to figure it out, so he just keeps talking. 'It helped, sometimes, to be a little bit crazy, but it’s like there’s all this pressure and I feel like I have to try to take care of everyone all at once.'
Something in Harry must snap, because he grabs Louis’ chin with two fingers and tilts his head up, not gently at all. It doesn’t hurt, but Louis jumps a little anyway. He wasn’t expecting it.
'God, sweetheart, you don’t always have to be taking care of everyone,' Harry says. He looks upset, like he thinks he’s caused this, and that’s not what Louis is trying to say at all.
Louis swallows and keeps his eyes trained on Harry’s. It’s hard, because it’s the last thing that he wants to do, but it feels like it might be important. 'It feels like I do,' he says. He wants Harry to understand but he doesn’t want Harry to understand all at the same time.
'I feel like if I don’t it’s going to be even worse,' he continues. It’s important that Harry understands, even though Louis is balking at the thought of saying it out loud. 'It feels like I have to be in control and I have to take care of everything because if I don’t it’ll all slip through my fingers.'"
I read half of it and stopped because it was too much/real, or just enough, or I wanted to save it for later, or I dunno. I read half and bookmarked it and went back to reading trash tomarry.
It's like, sometimes I read fic to get in my head, to read what I'm feeling and what I want. Then sometimes, most of the time if I'm being honest, I read fic to get out of my head completely. To just feel other things, completely different from what I'm feeling but still strong and real. Maybe it's a kind of finding perspective in a way.
I feel like I have to take care of everyone a lot. And I feel like I can't let/trust anyone to take care of me a lot. It probably comes from middle school when I had to take care of my brother and my mom and when I tried to ask my boyfriend to take care of me he sat in awkward silence while I cried and then broke up with me. There was a lot more there, obviously--he was going through his own stuff that he never told me (lack of communication) and I was transferring my stress from the divorce onto our relationship and we were both miserable but what it felt like was me asking for support and being met with silence. That's happened a few times now that I think about it. Opening up to the person I trust the most and getting no response.
Anyways what it led to is my inability to open up. My last therapy session started out shitty and I still don't know about the rest of them. I haven't told her anything real really. And I feel like now I can't. She thinks I'm super well adjusted and healthy and it's because I'm so used to downplaying and hiding that I don't know how to not do it anymore.
Also I'm good at it. And there's plenty for me to hide behind. It's not that the surface things aren't real. Talking about how I feel guilty for my dad's suicide and how I resent my mom for her lack of support with my girlfriend. Of course these things are real, but it feels like we haven't even gotten beneath the surface and I don't know how to try to get there. I want to talk about how I get anxiety sometimes and I want to talk about the depression and how hard it is to do things and how I started paper cutting as a medium so I could get blades to cut other things and I want to talk about my trust issues and my social fears and relationship fears but somehow it always ends up being, "Yeah I can get up out of bed in the morning and do the things I want to do. I have good friends who I trust and are always there for me. I feel good and comfortable about my life always." And she's like, "You're doing really well I don't know why you're in therapy," and I'm like "YEAH I GUESS I AM HUH"
It's like I'm so afraid of finally being like so give it to me straight, is there actually a problem with me? And her being like no there's nothing wrong with you you're just lazy and wasting your potential. So instead I sabotage myself so that she tells me I'm fine anyways? I don't know.
I'm getting better with sara. Better at opening up and asking for help. I've told her things that I promised myself I'd never tell anyone. It's frightening how much I trust her and how scared I still get and how much I still feel like I need to take care of everyone always. Even when I've decided to open up and be sad and ask for support I'm still figuring out how I can do it in a way that helps her/makes sure she'll feel okay? But I'm getting better at that. Every time I send a text without pumping fake energy and cheer into it it sounds so dead and I feel guilty and scared.
But I think it's good. She took care of me in the best possible way without actually being here last night. That was really good. And every time it happens I trust her a little bit more I think.
I always feel a little strange when I talk about the things that hurt me in my childhood/teenaged years. Because sara's faced so much worse, so sometimes I feel like the things that effected me are trivial. And then sometimes I think that at least now I have my dad's suicide and that's legitimate trauma so maybe it can bridge the distance a little. It's a horrible horrible thought and sometimes it helps in a horrible way.
Then again, maybe it just proves/validates the idea that trauma can be relative in a way? I don't feel any worse about my dad's death than I do about the divorce or those nights in middle school when i felt so small and tired of the world. The things that left scars on my trust perhaps left shallower scars than others' and perhaps weren't as dramatic, but the feelings and the fact that I have them are just as valid. I don't know. Maybe my dad's death will hit me harder later on, and I'll look back and be like "coming out to shivani was small potatoes. the feelings that felt so indescribably vast at the time, that led to me taking scissors to myself when i was 12 are nothing compared to this." Then again, the hardest max's death hit me. Well that was the hardest point in my life. But I don't think the feelings were worse than middle school. I don't know I didn't think about it at the time.
This is getting kinda philosophical. Are emotions/traumas relative? On the one hand, I don't agree with G when she told me she doesn't trust peope who didn't suffer some kind of childhood trauma because they're somehow less understanding/deep/worldly. I think that's ridiculous. Thinking that way leads to thoughts about purposefully giving kids trauma so that they can be more well-developed. That's some dangerous bullshit right there.
(at the same time i can kind of understand it? i remember first year uni spending nights with boys who told me their entire life story because i've always been voyeuristically interested in other people's lives and issues and i've always been good at putting people at ease so they tell me things... maybe that's part of what interests me in counseling. i remember listening to them tell their entire life story for hours and hours and just being.... bored. and also shocked. by how bland their lives are. how amazingly normal and vanilla in a way. i'd reached a point through having deep talks with friends/classmates/gsl where i'd concluded that everyone has had some kind of trauma in their lives. abusive parents or neglectful parents or unsupportive parents or eating disorders or mental disorders... and then to realize that some people just had good lives... what a shock. and i remember looking down on these boys, one in particular, and being like god you're so boring. the worst thing you've felt was breaking up with your long-term girlfriend and even that you handled healthily and came out fine. it felt like i could never connect to this kid.)
So then does that mean that the things that happened to me in childhood that had detrimental effects on my mental well being, does it mean that those things are equal to me as actual abuse has been to other people? I don't agree with that either. That also sounds like bullshit and it sounds super invalidating and belittling of actual trauma that people have suffered.
I don't know. Maybe it's kind of relative to a certain extent and then not. Maybe it just means that some people can relate to other people easier because of shared trauma and it takes a further stretch to relate to lesser or more trauma. Or maybe it just can't be generalized.
I don't know. I guess when it comes down to it, I should treat my own stuff the same way I treat the kids that I talk to. Individually. Not comparing.
This saturday I talked to a 14 year old kid who was struggling about whether or not to come out as bi to their high school. They had plenty of friends who knew and supported them already and I guess it was a pretty mild chat. Then I talked to a man who was stuck in a house with his abusive parents, who's dad regularly beat him and had recently tried to run over him and his boyfriend. It was probably a perfect example of the kind of range I see with kids. It never even occurs to me to compare or judge the things that kids talk to me about. I took both of the chats seriously and of course they needed different things, so I gave them different things, but both of their problems felt valid and real to me. So why should I compare or judge myself.
How did I even get on this topic. Oh yeah, how I felt last night.
I don't know. I'm getting better at opening up and asking to be taken care of I think. I still feel guilty every time, but it's better than not and I hope it's okay. Things are hard right now for both of us. I keep thinking about a year from now, when we'll hopefully be living together. I just want that. I want things to be good and easy.
I remember at one point I thought distance was romantic. Mostly because of amei. How much must two people love each other to keep loving each other over so many miles. And there's a romanticness to it in a more traditional sense of the word. A kind of beautifully tragic element that makes the love feel, I don't know, deeper, more metaphorical? somehow? I think I used to vaguely, guiltily want a long distance relationship in the same way that I wanted glasses and braces and trauma.
What is that desire. Some kind of tiny secret guilty masochistic desire. To have things that will hurt you. Of course I only ever wanted these things because I didn't have them. And for the harsher things, like divorce and death and all that. Because I never thought I would have them. I guess it was like wanting my life to be interesting in the way that the characters I loved were interesting. Tragic backstory. I never really wanted it for real. I guess it's kind of like rape fantasies? People can desire things hypothetically but not for real?
I think that stopped after max. I think it was after max that I was like, you know what death kind of just sucks. And now I'm at the point where I'm like you know what distance kind of just sucks.
I think I'm still glad to have had a long distance relationship. A part of me still sees the romance. That's what persehades is. But I'm ready to move on from the distance part of it.
I get so tired of negativity and of stuff sucking. Maybe I am weak. But I just get so tired and done with it. I'm ready to move on to boring please. Easy and domestic and settled and normal and boring and safe. I'm confident we'll get there. I started to feel it in golden, but then I had to leave. It'll still be a while. I just have to be patient.
Waiting sucks though. I want things to be easy. To spend so much time together, like the tumblr gays. Easy. But it's not. Both of us are tired and neither of our lives are easy really. Sometimes things are really good though. I should focus on that. I have a list on my phone of the best moments in golden. The golden moments ha. I'll write a separate post about that when I feel I can do it justice. I wanted to write about other things too. I had more to say about hannah's book and I had a lot of thoughts about co-dependency earlier. And tomarry and why I feel so deeply for it. That's what the title and song of this entry are for. I should change that though. This is already too long as it is. I'll write another one later.
There was too much in my head and I guess I got some of it out though I really don't know how I feel about most of this. It doesn't feel good, or right, or like I've at all said anything that I want to say. I don't know what I want to say but it's not this. I don't know what this is. But I guess it's something, and I guess it had to come from somewhere, so I guess I'll keep it.