quick entry
it seems like all of my entries are "quick". i'm going through a period of self-loathing, and at the same time self-loving, that i suffer through every so often, where i feel sorry for myself, then get angry because i'm being to self-absorbed, then feel sorry for myself when i feel even worse because of that anger, etc. it's always a tiny thing that sets it off, but it feels really bad. did i used to feel this way all the time? i can't even remember. i hope not, because... well, because of a lot of reasons. i always pull away from my family and friends (as if i don't always), and feel awful. i want to go home, but i know i can't, so i try to pretend. i've noticed recently (in a rare "fight" with my parents) that i seem smiley and nice, but hide my feelings away. i can't touch, can't reach out... the only way i can really show my true feelings is through typing. i don't know why that is, but at least i have an outlet. maybe that's why i write on my blogs so much... some people think i write too much of my true feelings in here (and in my dj), but where do i put them if not here? i want to go to someone and talk about it, but i don't even understand it myself. even if i did, i would be too embarassed to go to anyone. what right have i to despair, the girl with no problems? whenever i think about that, i feel even worse. i can't tell my parents because they'll just think they should adjust the medicine. i felt like hurting myself.... but don't tell anyone. i didn't, right? everyone feels that way sometimes. it's just that i'm not used to it, because i'm the girl with no problems. i prayed, and that helped. don't laugh at me, please. some people (including me, sometimes) are uncomfortable with religious people, and i usually don't talk about the praying i do so often, but it's like a lifeline in such times. a little poem, two lines.. over and over and over... typing, typing...
when i despise myself or the world, help me to find your image within me again.
blessed are you, o lord, for making me as you wanted me.
typing it does more for me than saying it, which is not surprising. i like to read it, over and over.
the girl with no problems must just want attention, you might say. the girl with no problems.. yup, that's who i am. no problems, no problems... and the only problems i do have are my own fault, as usual. i'm too imperfect for my life. too full off dull sin to have such parents, such friends.
for making me as you wanted me.
i thought about cutting myself
blessed are you, o lord
but i knew it would hurt my parents
help me to find your image within me again
so i didn't do it.
when i despise myself or the world
plus, i didn' t have a knife... it's the kind of think that one can't stop doing once one starts. plus, i have no right.
the girl with no problems. no problems.
sometimes, i just want to hide. hide away, and never come out, school be damned. that's when i think of the girl, with no problems, who thinks she has them.
when she doesn't
that's the thing- she has no problems. why does she feel this way? why isn't she helping others through their hurts, instead of lying in the unidenfied puddle of her own?
the girl doesn't wear black. the girl is an optimist. the girl is cheery and happy almost all the time. the girl says strange things to make people laugh.
the girl is so miserable, even though she has no problems.
the girl needs help, but doesn't want help. the girl doesn't want doctors or medicines or councillors, and doesn't want the worried parent-look when they think she isn't watching.
she wants to get out of school sometimes
but she doesn't want the medicines that control her feelings
for this is an escape from an extatic cage, a cage of light and dasies and no problems
even though she is so terribly unhappy, the girl is curious. has it really been so long? no problems...
the girl is laughing at herself, and angry at the laughter, and bowing to the angry.
the girl is walled in. the girl can never crawl into a corner and cry. the girl has no problems. this makes no sense, and yet it does.
why is she not helping others? she never does... she thinks she cares about her friends, but how could she? she doesn't know what to do for them when they sink in the dark. she runs away. she doesn't even know what to do with herself, because she doesn't understand these feelings
she has no problems.
she is afraid and alone and curious. she has to leave for class. sigh.
when i despise myself or the world, help me to find your image within me again.
blessed are you, o lord, for making me as you wanted me.
typing it does more for me than saying it, which is not surprising. i like to read it, over and over.
the girl with no problems must just want attention, you might say. the girl with no problems.. yup, that's who i am. no problems, no problems... and the only problems i do have are my own fault, as usual. i'm too imperfect for my life. too full off dull sin to have such parents, such friends.
for making me as you wanted me.
i thought about cutting myself
blessed are you, o lord
but i knew it would hurt my parents
help me to find your image within me again
so i didn't do it.
when i despise myself or the world
plus, i didn' t have a knife... it's the kind of think that one can't stop doing once one starts. plus, i have no right.
the girl with no problems. no problems.
sometimes, i just want to hide. hide away, and never come out, school be damned. that's when i think of the girl, with no problems, who thinks she has them.
when she doesn't
that's the thing- she has no problems. why does she feel this way? why isn't she helping others through their hurts, instead of lying in the unidenfied puddle of her own?
the girl doesn't wear black. the girl is an optimist. the girl is cheery and happy almost all the time. the girl says strange things to make people laugh.
the girl is so miserable, even though she has no problems.
the girl needs help, but doesn't want help. the girl doesn't want doctors or medicines or councillors, and doesn't want the worried parent-look when they think she isn't watching.
she wants to get out of school sometimes
but she doesn't want the medicines that control her feelings
for this is an escape from an extatic cage, a cage of light and dasies and no problems
even though she is so terribly unhappy, the girl is curious. has it really been so long? no problems...
the girl is laughing at herself, and angry at the laughter, and bowing to the angry.
the girl is walled in. the girl can never crawl into a corner and cry. the girl has no problems. this makes no sense, and yet it does.
why is she not helping others? she never does... she thinks she cares about her friends, but how could she? she doesn't know what to do for them when they sink in the dark. she runs away. she doesn't even know what to do with herself, because she doesn't understand these feelings
she has no problems.
she is afraid and alone and curious. she has to leave for class. sigh.