Oldie Tramp Ladie
There as this woman on the bus today and I felt very bad for her. Everyone was laughing at her because she smelled really horrid, she had smelly, dirty clothes and her hair was all matted together. She made me want to be sick and cry at the same time. I don't understand why some people have to be so judgemental, and why this poor old lady didn't have someone who loved her enough to help her get her life in order. I can't understand why someone would allow themselves to get like that - it doesn't take very long to wash your hair every few days. She wasn't a tramp, because she had money and shopping - but she smelled and she was old and I could tell that she was lonely. I wanted to pick her up, put her in the shower and tell her that she wasn't alone anymore. I wanted to reach out to her. She looked so small and sad sat infront of me that I wanted to shout at everyone who was making nasty comments about her. It must have been absolutely horrific for her, having to sit there and pretend she couldn't here the remarks. I think that considering what society is like today, how easy it is to communicate with someone, that she was there all alone and there was no one who loved her enough, who could help her. I told my mother this, and she said I should stop caring so much about random people. She's right.
A funny thing that happened today was this year seven running down the hill by my school absolutely going crazy that her bus was a double-decker. She screamed her head off, and went "Yes, it's a double decker". I think it was a 'had-to-be-there-moment' but I shamelessly laughed at her so much that my stomach hurt. I wish a double decker bus would make me that happy.
My hands hurt, and I have a lump in my throat but I refuse to cry. I know that it doesn't do any good. There's no reason to cry because nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect, perfect as can be. I'll smile, laugh, and pretend that inside I'm not falling apart because it makes you feel better when you don't have to constantly worry whether I'm alive or dead. I haven't tried to kill myself in weeks. There's no reason for me to put so much effort into death when I know that it's inevitable, it'll happen eventually. Suicide is my only option now, and when it feels right, it will work. No later. No sooner.
There's something wrong with Pink but he won't tell me, he never does. I want to cry because he's in so much pain and I don't know how to make anything any better. I've put so much strain on him lately that it's no wonder he can't be honest with me anymore. I scare him, make him worried and feel like he's losing me. I don't mean to. I'm such a shit girlfriend. I've decided to take an apathetic approach to the whole thing from now on; if I'm apathetic then I'm not putting pressure on him to help me and I am always avaliable to give any fucking advice and support I have. It means he's treated the way he should be treated, with the maximum attention. It means he will be honest with me like he used to be. I can't paint over the cracks in this relationship and pretend everything is as normal as it could ever be. Smile, you're happy now.
I read this weeks PostSecret.com earlier this evening and considered sending one in of my own, but swiftly changing my mind. There's absolutely no way that I could fit everything I need to say, all of the secrets that I have, in such a small space. There's too much crap, but I tried to think of something I would say, "I used to sleep on the floor when I was younger because I was too dirty and bad to sleep in a bed." or "When I was younger, I'd never tell my mother I was ill because I thought she'd know what he was doing to me.". A phrase about that, at least. My darkest demons shining through those bloody holes in my sanity again.
Anyone who read my old LJ may remember the dream I wrote about just before I deleted it but those of you who didn't then, it goes like this:
Whilst I was away, I had a dream. I was sat on the floor of the hallway in my parents' house, about seven-years-old. I was hitting myself on the head, and just about anywhere I could comfortable reach. There was no noise, just suffocating silence. Someone screamed, and then things started to change. As though by magic, my hands gradually grew bigger and stronger, the texture of my skin changed. The hands hitting me became separate from me. The screaming was louder and I couldn't think anymore. Those hands belonged to someone I couldn't see.
I had it again last night.
In addition to that dream, I had another where I was lying in bed and I had my hands over my eyes. I was about seven-years-old again, and I heard someone scream and scream and scream. With every second it got louder and I pressed my hands harder and harder against my eyes. The bed sort of swirled together and, like a hurricane, I feel from the very top to the eye of the storm. It was dark and the screaming was louder. A shadow appeared behind me and it kept walking closer and closer with it's arms outstretched. I tried to make myself run away, or wake up, but I couldn't and then, the shadow grabbed me and the loudest scream was released and I woke up with tears pouring down my cheeks.
What's the point of trying to dream anymore.