Do I feel alright? No, not slightly, [*Locked/Private/Etc.*]
I haven’t gone to Ezla yet.
I said I was going to, but I didn’t - I haven’t … yet. I know I should. And I know I want to.
I love him. I love him so much - why wouldn’t I want to be around him as much as possible? Things are so much better when I’m with him, even when they’re not. Even when they’re boring, it’s a better kind. I know that. I just wrote it down, of course I know that. I’d feel safer if I went there.
But…
I’m not there.
My best friend’s in the hospital. I can’t go to work anymore because the last time I did that when this sort of stuff was going on people kept constantly hitting me over the head for no apparent reason - like it didn’t even matter, and it was my head! I was getting knocked unconscious for reasons they couldn’t even be bothered to share, and it was my head. My apartment is … well. The ministry sent me a Howler over it - like it’s my fault.
…
Well, I suppose technically it is.
Last week? My biggest worry was over a couch. And that was - that was stupid and petty and immature and a million other things I can’t be bothered to think about too much. And it was over a couch that I was never around to sit on anyways. And now there’s this big, bad something after … me, I guess. It feels so presumptuous to even think that. I don’t know what I did to deserve the attention, but I’d un-do it in a second, if it’d just … make things better.
At least when we were in school the things that went bump in the night had a face. At least they went away at the end of the day.
I’m sick of this, and I’m scared. I’m really, really scared. And when I get scared I get cold.
So, no, I don’t think I’ll be going to Ezla any time soon.
I don’t know what I want. Or maybe I do - if I just come out and say it though, I’ll just have to deal with the guilt. I feel so damn guilty. Which is stupid, but that’s hardly reason enough for me to stop feeling it any time soon. I want to feel safe - but who am I to deserve that, when it’s my fault, in the first place? Why do I get to run away? Just because I’m not as good at the whole bad guy butt kicking … hero/survival thing doesn’t make it less of my responsibility - not if it’s my fault. Or is that just - I don’t know, my pride and ego and stupidity talking? They’re easy enough to spot in other people.
I’d regret it. It shouldn’t be something to make me feel better. There’s a time and place and this is neither and … it’s just not right. It’d be like shouting from a rooftop, “Hi, I’m alive and healthy and chock full of issues maybe, but at least I’m not dying or worried about dying or having to constantly look over my shoulder!”
That’s not worth feeling better over.
I’m being so stupid, and melodramatic and just - I’d hate me right now, except that’d just add to the problem, ultimately. This … all this stupid self-pitying, monologue-ing isn’t helping. But I don’t know how to help.
I really just don’t know.
I said I was going to, but I didn’t - I haven’t … yet. I know I should. And I know I want to.
I love him. I love him so much - why wouldn’t I want to be around him as much as possible? Things are so much better when I’m with him, even when they’re not. Even when they’re boring, it’s a better kind. I know that. I just wrote it down, of course I know that. I’d feel safer if I went there.
But…
I’m not there.
My best friend’s in the hospital. I can’t go to work anymore because the last time I did that when this sort of stuff was going on people kept constantly hitting me over the head for no apparent reason - like it didn’t even matter, and it was my head! I was getting knocked unconscious for reasons they couldn’t even be bothered to share, and it was my head. My apartment is … well. The ministry sent me a Howler over it - like it’s my fault.
…
Well, I suppose technically it is.
Last week? My biggest worry was over a couch. And that was - that was stupid and petty and immature and a million other things I can’t be bothered to think about too much. And it was over a couch that I was never around to sit on anyways. And now there’s this big, bad something after … me, I guess. It feels so presumptuous to even think that. I don’t know what I did to deserve the attention, but I’d un-do it in a second, if it’d just … make things better.
At least when we were in school the things that went bump in the night had a face. At least they went away at the end of the day.
I’m sick of this, and I’m scared. I’m really, really scared. And when I get scared I get cold.
So, no, I don’t think I’ll be going to Ezla any time soon.
I don’t know what I want. Or maybe I do - if I just come out and say it though, I’ll just have to deal with the guilt. I feel so damn guilty. Which is stupid, but that’s hardly reason enough for me to stop feeling it any time soon. I want to feel safe - but who am I to deserve that, when it’s my fault, in the first place? Why do I get to run away? Just because I’m not as good at the whole bad guy butt kicking … hero/survival thing doesn’t make it less of my responsibility - not if it’s my fault. Or is that just - I don’t know, my pride and ego and stupidity talking? They’re easy enough to spot in other people.
I’d regret it. It shouldn’t be something to make me feel better. There’s a time and place and this is neither and … it’s just not right. It’d be like shouting from a rooftop, “Hi, I’m alive and healthy and chock full of issues maybe, but at least I’m not dying or worried about dying or having to constantly look over my shoulder!”
That’s not worth feeling better over.
I’m being so stupid, and melodramatic and just - I’d hate me right now, except that’d just add to the problem, ultimately. This … all this stupid self-pitying, monologue-ing isn’t helping. But I don’t know how to help.
I really just don’t know.