Please excuse the mess
It's a jumbled mess. Everything. I can't even specify anymore. I can't even think anymore; well organise my thoughts to think properly anymore, to keep myself going. I tried keeping a paper journal but realised my writing couldn't keep up with my mind. Neither can my fingers, but they're faster still, even though now my mind is lagging. Still whirling. Is that right? I can't get anything out because everything's moving too quickly, the world is moving too quickly and I'm sliding back again. Like in a mudslide, I'm falling off that goddamned cliff again.
Again. Fuck. Again.
On the bright side, I know I won't fall down as far as before. No possibility, no hope to force me up any higher so therefore I'm good. Good-ish. I still cry, not like you knew I cried before, but I still am. Not as much as a year ago, that's good. That was a lot. I wish I could get away from myself, so I wouldn't cry. Wouldn't think so much. I'm stuck on that broken record. Broken, always broken. Where was that hope from before; the "I'll patch myself up and I'll be okay." Oh yea, stupid hope, stupid idea. Never came to be. Too busy for it to come to be. Too busy and yet not too busy. I don't want to do anything, but I keep doing it. Slacking. I can't help it. I haven't done anything. I don't even know how I pass the time. Sobbing in my car, I suppose. Those big ones, the ones where you're screaming more than crying, can't even breathe, tears huge, so hot but it doesn't matter because you're just focusing on those screaming sobs. The ones you used to get when you were little, when you were scared. The ones that made you hiccup and heave. And couldn't breathe. Can't breathe. Fine by me, I don't want to. I don't want it. But I don't want to not want it. I don't want to die, but I don't want to life. Nice. Dilemma. The more that I surpress them, the more that crop up. Then I freak out.
I hate freaking out. It means I lose control, it means that I realised I was never in control in the first place. I need control, I need that stability. I need some stability. I lost the stability I have, and where am I? Not swimming, not drowning. Not standing, not falling. It's like limbo, but worse, because both sides are pulling, ripping on me. Making me not happy. Happy, ha. Haven't been that in months. Comes home even more lately. This week especially. Where am I? What am I? Realised it, still struggling to come to terms with it, with knowing that I've been what I am the whole time, and will always will be. Bluntly: a loser. More in depth, you don't understand. I can't sum it up in that word. You say that I'm wrong, you say it's not true, but you don't know. You don't even get it. You can't see it.
To be hovering, on every group. To be searching for that group I fit into, never finding it. I crossed the ocean, still didn't find it, came back. Still nothing. Two organisations. Another group of friends. Nothing, I feel nothing. I feel like an outsider, looking in. I'm treated like an outsider looking in. That's the worse. At least, if I felt it but wasn't treated like it, it's my own damn fault. My own paranoia. But I don't think it is. Or is it? Or is it my fault, my paranoia that's pushing me to the outside? Why am I forgotten then? Remember all too late. "Oh yea... Heather... she's not here, she doesn't know" Not here, not knowing. I never know. Last to know. I hate that, it comes back to control again. I need to know.
But I'm either deliberately or undeliberately forgotten, or pushed to last. Always have, always will be. Come to terms with it, Heather, cuz it will never change. Never knew about changing dates of organisational events, not until the last second, after I've already reorganised my grip of control to a different focus, my schedule's already patched up, fit something else in. I just want to scream. Someone turns to me and says, "No, it's tonight." Then what the fuck were all the useless discussions for? Maintaining what? Your right to bitch. Fuck you. I don't need it, I don't need to be forgotten. I am better than that. I don't let on much that I know it, but I do. I'm better than how you treat me. Even if I'm just a loser. The person no one really wants to be around, but you just can't get rid of. Getting in the way. Good, serves you right because you're mean, you're horrible, and you deserve it. So do I really, the punishment in return, for being too 'huggy'/clingy/whatever. Rejection.
My mind is running dry. Sort of. My muse is saying time's up, pencils down. I'm done. I'm done with everything. I'm done with me. But how do I get rid of me?
Again. Fuck. Again.
On the bright side, I know I won't fall down as far as before. No possibility, no hope to force me up any higher so therefore I'm good. Good-ish. I still cry, not like you knew I cried before, but I still am. Not as much as a year ago, that's good. That was a lot. I wish I could get away from myself, so I wouldn't cry. Wouldn't think so much. I'm stuck on that broken record. Broken, always broken. Where was that hope from before; the "I'll patch myself up and I'll be okay." Oh yea, stupid hope, stupid idea. Never came to be. Too busy for it to come to be. Too busy and yet not too busy. I don't want to do anything, but I keep doing it. Slacking. I can't help it. I haven't done anything. I don't even know how I pass the time. Sobbing in my car, I suppose. Those big ones, the ones where you're screaming more than crying, can't even breathe, tears huge, so hot but it doesn't matter because you're just focusing on those screaming sobs. The ones you used to get when you were little, when you were scared. The ones that made you hiccup and heave. And couldn't breathe. Can't breathe. Fine by me, I don't want to. I don't want it. But I don't want to not want it. I don't want to die, but I don't want to life. Nice. Dilemma. The more that I surpress them, the more that crop up. Then I freak out.
I hate freaking out. It means I lose control, it means that I realised I was never in control in the first place. I need control, I need that stability. I need some stability. I lost the stability I have, and where am I? Not swimming, not drowning. Not standing, not falling. It's like limbo, but worse, because both sides are pulling, ripping on me. Making me not happy. Happy, ha. Haven't been that in months. Comes home even more lately. This week especially. Where am I? What am I? Realised it, still struggling to come to terms with it, with knowing that I've been what I am the whole time, and will always will be. Bluntly: a loser. More in depth, you don't understand. I can't sum it up in that word. You say that I'm wrong, you say it's not true, but you don't know. You don't even get it. You can't see it.
To be hovering, on every group. To be searching for that group I fit into, never finding it. I crossed the ocean, still didn't find it, came back. Still nothing. Two organisations. Another group of friends. Nothing, I feel nothing. I feel like an outsider, looking in. I'm treated like an outsider looking in. That's the worse. At least, if I felt it but wasn't treated like it, it's my own damn fault. My own paranoia. But I don't think it is. Or is it? Or is it my fault, my paranoia that's pushing me to the outside? Why am I forgotten then? Remember all too late. "Oh yea... Heather... she's not here, she doesn't know" Not here, not knowing. I never know. Last to know. I hate that, it comes back to control again. I need to know.
But I'm either deliberately or undeliberately forgotten, or pushed to last. Always have, always will be. Come to terms with it, Heather, cuz it will never change. Never knew about changing dates of organisational events, not until the last second, after I've already reorganised my grip of control to a different focus, my schedule's already patched up, fit something else in. I just want to scream. Someone turns to me and says, "No, it's tonight." Then what the fuck were all the useless discussions for? Maintaining what? Your right to bitch. Fuck you. I don't need it, I don't need to be forgotten. I am better than that. I don't let on much that I know it, but I do. I'm better than how you treat me. Even if I'm just a loser. The person no one really wants to be around, but you just can't get rid of. Getting in the way. Good, serves you right because you're mean, you're horrible, and you deserve it. So do I really, the punishment in return, for being too 'huggy'/clingy/whatever. Rejection.
My mind is running dry. Sort of. My muse is saying time's up, pencils down. I'm done. I'm done with everything. I'm done with me. But how do I get rid of me?