(no subject)
I'm so tired.
I'm tired of feeling sick all the time. I'm tired of having to explain myself for every little thing. I'm tired of being the guilty one. I'm tired of having responsibilities. I'm tired of being out. I'm tired of not being allowed to cry. I'm tired of fighting for respect. I'm tired of working things out.
I just want to run away. I always say that and I never truly mean it. It's always a nice thought, just getting in the car, throwing my cell phone out the window and driving and not stopping until I run out of gas or the truck breaks down. That part of the fantasy made more sense with Thor. Odin will take more to break down. In the end I'm always just more upset, because I can't leave. I have too much to do. Talk about missing the point.
I want to break things. I want to take a sledgehammer to my room, to the pile of CDs I took last Thursday that I have to review tonight. To my stupid laptop that I'm typing on now that keeps me tethered to the world of communication and responsibility, that gives me e-mails full of more things to add to my to-do list. To my bed, that seems to fall apart all the time because Joe and I couldn't get through putting it together right.
I seem to fall apart all the time. Did somebody not put me together right?
Maybe I've just been slowly dismantled, piece by piece.
I'm tired of feeling sick all the time. I'm tired of having to explain myself for every little thing. I'm tired of being the guilty one. I'm tired of having responsibilities. I'm tired of being out. I'm tired of not being allowed to cry. I'm tired of fighting for respect. I'm tired of working things out.
I just want to run away. I always say that and I never truly mean it. It's always a nice thought, just getting in the car, throwing my cell phone out the window and driving and not stopping until I run out of gas or the truck breaks down. That part of the fantasy made more sense with Thor. Odin will take more to break down. In the end I'm always just more upset, because I can't leave. I have too much to do. Talk about missing the point.
I want to break things. I want to take a sledgehammer to my room, to the pile of CDs I took last Thursday that I have to review tonight. To my stupid laptop that I'm typing on now that keeps me tethered to the world of communication and responsibility, that gives me e-mails full of more things to add to my to-do list. To my bed, that seems to fall apart all the time because Joe and I couldn't get through putting it together right.
I seem to fall apart all the time. Did somebody not put me together right?
Maybe I've just been slowly dismantled, piece by piece.