the ten cent bet.
I leave in two weeks. that is insane and it's making me sick.
i'm not sick about leaving my friends.
i'm not sick about leaving this town.
i'm sick about leaving all this shit hanging over my head because its ALWAYS hanging over my head.
every day. every day for the past year and one month i have not been able to escape the shit that sits over my head. i tell myself "i just didn't have enough time. once i'm out and finally have my time alone i will heal".
but as the days close in i cannot help but think that i am making a mistake. scratch that. that a year and one month ago i made a mistake. and i'll be making a bigger one if i leave without doing something, i dont know what.
so the dreams get worse every night and i talk to you in them, and you talk back. they never stopped, but now they are getting louder and weirder. or clearer.
so for now i sit and read these emails, countless emails. its stupid how happy they make me. i don't cry i just sit and laugh at all of the stupid silly things and happy things and sweet things.
one thing struck me. stupid stupid things i miss. like being free.
"We got into bright eyes, these nice boys in front of us had two extra tickets taht they gave us for free. which made me super excited."
i don't remember what its like to be able to say one sentence like htat without getting screamed at or questioned until dawn, and then have it continually thrown back into my face for the next six months. a simple sentence today would have the word boys replaced with "girls". scratch that. today i'd never get away with going to a show. period.
-that's fucked up tara.
-i know.
i want the dreams to stop. maybe i ought to just say " i had it really, really good for a few years. lucky. and it may not happen to me again but i can say i'm one of the few."
am i going to be ok?
i'm not sick about leaving my friends.
i'm not sick about leaving this town.
i'm sick about leaving all this shit hanging over my head because its ALWAYS hanging over my head.
every day. every day for the past year and one month i have not been able to escape the shit that sits over my head. i tell myself "i just didn't have enough time. once i'm out and finally have my time alone i will heal".
but as the days close in i cannot help but think that i am making a mistake. scratch that. that a year and one month ago i made a mistake. and i'll be making a bigger one if i leave without doing something, i dont know what.
so the dreams get worse every night and i talk to you in them, and you talk back. they never stopped, but now they are getting louder and weirder. or clearer.
so for now i sit and read these emails, countless emails. its stupid how happy they make me. i don't cry i just sit and laugh at all of the stupid silly things and happy things and sweet things.
one thing struck me. stupid stupid things i miss. like being free.
"We got into bright eyes, these nice boys in front of us had two extra tickets taht they gave us for free. which made me super excited."
i don't remember what its like to be able to say one sentence like htat without getting screamed at or questioned until dawn, and then have it continually thrown back into my face for the next six months. a simple sentence today would have the word boys replaced with "girls". scratch that. today i'd never get away with going to a show. period.
-that's fucked up tara.
-i know.
i want the dreams to stop. maybe i ought to just say " i had it really, really good for a few years. lucky. and it may not happen to me again but i can say i'm one of the few."
am i going to be ok?