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what is it with insecurities? why do they always defeat you? why do they always take you down lower than anything else can make you go? why is it so hard to pick yourself back up? i think sometimes you can't pick yourself back up. i think sometimes you need help. like, when i'm sitting there thinking that i'm not worth anything, that i'm not special, that nothing i've got could keep you here, it'd be great to feel arms around me. it'd be great to be held close. it'd be great to hear that i am perfect, or something along those lines. it's funny how breast size and ego size can sometimes go hand in hand, isn't it. it's funny how if one part of your body is so small that it can make all of you feel small. it's funny how some things can just get you so donw. it's funny how silly those some things are. it's funny how you can be perfectly happy with yourself, confident in who you are, and then you watch a show, or hear someone say something they didn't direct at you, or see a girl on the street or in a magazine, and suddenly you don't feel so hot anymore. it's funny how you can stop listening to the person's around you that matter most and feel so empty. it's funny how you can tune out their good words and hear only the bad hateful words you wanna hear. it's funny how you can take one little sad thing and find a whole lot of other sad things to put with it and mope. it's funny how fast self esteme deteriorates. it's funny how hard it is to inflate again. at least how hard it is to inflate it yourself. it's funny how much a stranger can inflate it without even meaning to. and it's funny how much trouble that can cause. it's funny how easy it all seems to fix, on paper. and how hard it is to carry it out. it's funny how sometimes you know what you need, but it'd be weird asking for it, or it'd be trouble asking for what would make you feel better, or it wouldn't mean as much if you asked. it's funny that you know so well deep inside what would help and yet you can't bring yourself to give you the help, or ask for it. it's funny how things seems so much clearer in the night time. it's funny how muddled things always really are. and how they really aren't. it's not so funny when your'e in it. but one day, when you're sure of yourself, when you've had three kids and you think you've seen just about all a normal things life can throw at you, it's funny to look back and see those things that troubled you when you weren't so sure, when you weren't so stable, when you didn't know that he could see you at your worst and see you at your best and still love you and not pass judgement on you, and still be with you no matter what. one day we'll get there and look back at all this and laugh. and while we're looking back, we may plow into a parked car, but that's really not related. sometimes things are so trivial that seem to mean the most to us at the time. it's funny really, how none of this is really funny at all. it's funny how i say it's funny while i sit here with wet cheeks. it's funny that the only way i can think to get this out to anyone who will listen and not judge me is to write it out in a stupid blog. it's funny how it still doesn't bring the desired respones. because my computer doesn't have arms. and it can't hold me. and it can't love me. and it can't wrap it's arms around me and tell me i'm wonderful and i'm beautiful and lovely just the way i am, and i don't need big breasts for it to like me, and that it'll always be my computer, loving me just the same, no matter what cause it doesn't want another human being. i know it would if it had arms. but we're a little far from that spot on the technological line. so i'll go back to bed. get under my cold sheets beside my sleeping love. and i'll go to sleep. and i'll be content to try to work on my insecurities and my jealousy and my self esteam myself. i guess it is really my fault anyway, for not being content with who i am. funny how that happens. funny how most of our problems wouldn't occur if we just weren't involved. funny. funny, how it really isn't that funny at all.