find some comfort...
Fly away from here...
*sigh*
I should know better than to listen to sad music. Ever. Especially when I'm alone at night in my room...
I should know better than to be alone at night in my room...
it's funny, cuz I had a great day. Maybe I just want to die cuz I'm bipolar or sth.
check that, I don't actually want to die. Don't worry, no warning flags. I'm the farthest from suicidal... even when I was 14 and actually a little suicidal I was still completely not realistically suicidal. I can't do anything impressive or drastic, so I'm never in danger of committing suicide. It's a statistical impossibility, as well as being something I would just never do.
So I lost my journal. And my Wilkie Collins book. And my day planner.
My day planner has my email address, my cell phone number, and my full name. I'm thinking that if anyone from my english class (where I left the books) wanted to get ahold of me and tell me they'd found it, they could. Anytime.
They haven't. It was a week from yesterday that I lost it. Granted I skipped english yesterday, so it might have just been someone waiting to give it back till they see me in class. I asked my teacher and he'd not seen it. I asked at the Lost and Found and it wasn't there. I have this sickening, sinking sensation that it's gone. I want to stand up and run at full speed toward the wall of my room, hit it with my head down so that the contact results in a sharp spinal pain followed by a strong, dull ache that slowly spreads through my body. I want to curl up on the floor and tear at my hair, pulling my head as close to my belly button as it will possibly go.
Instead I will shrug, stand up, go to the bathroom, change, and crawl into bed. I will fall asleep and wake up at 5:30 tomorrow with Tamara to do my bread and strawberry/apple crisp dishes and get some homework done. I'll call Patti back sometime in the morning and arrange a time to do work, I'll go to work and then to class and then come home and bake oatmeal raisin cookies.Then I'll go back to class (I got 80%in psych by the way, like I thought. 81% to be exact. happy-ish I suppose) then I'll come home and call my boyfriend, talk to him for a while, then go to sleep and do it all again.
Somehow I'll keep myself from running into the classroom where I left my journal and screaming at the table I left it on. Somehow I'll try to banish from my mind the knowledge that at this moment someone I've never met is reading the things that I cannot stomach telling anyone else about myself. Someone I've never met is turning pages of my rants, fears, atrocities, insecurities, and sins. A stranger is flaying my soul with his/her gaze, and I am powerless to know or prevent it. That book is where I write the parts of me that should never see daylight, and right now someone could be reading it. Reading me. And I'll never get it back again. I've lost about 2 years of myself. In one, stupid decision not to return to my classroom and get the book because I was afraid that Taylor would show up to bring me home before I got back. I figured they'd be found by someone and that the person would contact me or bring them to the welcome centre and it would be OK. I chose to risk the loss of my journal because I didn't want Taylor to show up and not be able to find me.
Apathy.
It's my fault, and now it's all gone. I'm naked in someone else's house, I know that I'm being watched, but I can't see who it is. I can't see who's looking at me, and I'm tied spread-eagle.
well, *shrugs* I'd better go pee and change for bed. g'night.
*sigh*
I should know better than to listen to sad music. Ever. Especially when I'm alone at night in my room...
I should know better than to be alone at night in my room...
it's funny, cuz I had a great day. Maybe I just want to die cuz I'm bipolar or sth.
check that, I don't actually want to die. Don't worry, no warning flags. I'm the farthest from suicidal... even when I was 14 and actually a little suicidal I was still completely not realistically suicidal. I can't do anything impressive or drastic, so I'm never in danger of committing suicide. It's a statistical impossibility, as well as being something I would just never do.
So I lost my journal. And my Wilkie Collins book. And my day planner.
My day planner has my email address, my cell phone number, and my full name. I'm thinking that if anyone from my english class (where I left the books) wanted to get ahold of me and tell me they'd found it, they could. Anytime.
They haven't. It was a week from yesterday that I lost it. Granted I skipped english yesterday, so it might have just been someone waiting to give it back till they see me in class. I asked my teacher and he'd not seen it. I asked at the Lost and Found and it wasn't there. I have this sickening, sinking sensation that it's gone. I want to stand up and run at full speed toward the wall of my room, hit it with my head down so that the contact results in a sharp spinal pain followed by a strong, dull ache that slowly spreads through my body. I want to curl up on the floor and tear at my hair, pulling my head as close to my belly button as it will possibly go.
Instead I will shrug, stand up, go to the bathroom, change, and crawl into bed. I will fall asleep and wake up at 5:30 tomorrow with Tamara to do my bread and strawberry/apple crisp dishes and get some homework done. I'll call Patti back sometime in the morning and arrange a time to do work, I'll go to work and then to class and then come home and bake oatmeal raisin cookies.Then I'll go back to class (I got 80%in psych by the way, like I thought. 81% to be exact. happy-ish I suppose) then I'll come home and call my boyfriend, talk to him for a while, then go to sleep and do it all again.
Somehow I'll keep myself from running into the classroom where I left my journal and screaming at the table I left it on. Somehow I'll try to banish from my mind the knowledge that at this moment someone I've never met is reading the things that I cannot stomach telling anyone else about myself. Someone I've never met is turning pages of my rants, fears, atrocities, insecurities, and sins. A stranger is flaying my soul with his/her gaze, and I am powerless to know or prevent it. That book is where I write the parts of me that should never see daylight, and right now someone could be reading it. Reading me. And I'll never get it back again. I've lost about 2 years of myself. In one, stupid decision not to return to my classroom and get the book because I was afraid that Taylor would show up to bring me home before I got back. I figured they'd be found by someone and that the person would contact me or bring them to the welcome centre and it would be OK. I chose to risk the loss of my journal because I didn't want Taylor to show up and not be able to find me.
Apathy.
It's my fault, and now it's all gone. I'm naked in someone else's house, I know that I'm being watched, but I can't see who it is. I can't see who's looking at me, and I'm tied spread-eagle.
well, *shrugs* I'd better go pee and change for bed. g'night.