Please forgive me. I'm so sorry, so, so very, very sorry.
I was so sure that she wouldn't end up like Beatrice. But both her and Richard are the spitting images of her. I feel ashamed for her. For the loss of her to-be husband and for her rape in the Summer house.
I'm home alone.
There were so many times I put the novel down in my lap and cried, then screamed out. Because I can, because Julia won't and it drives me insane. I drive myself insane.
I'm so fearful. I'm getting sad again, I feel the misery pulling me flat on my ass by the ankles. While everyone else is wanton and lewd I can't even bring myself to the realization of the human nature. Reproduce. Love is part of the imagination, it's just a term we use to disguise the truth of the matter, that love is jealousy. We try to keep to one soul purpose because everyone gets jealous. If I kissed a boy from down the street and then one in Germany and if either of them ever found out they may not say anything but let it eat them away OR, they would confront me. It's still jealousy, no matter what you say. Love [Jealousy] is useless. Isn't it?
But the fact is I may be becoming ill sitting on my hide at home, but I fear I'll just become far worse if I tried pulling myself together and go to Ballet every single day. Religiously.
You have no idea how I forget I'm even living when I dance. How everything is fake and I don't know how to pinch myself to see if it's real or not. I'll get up the mornings with maybe an hours or two worth of rest, I'll try to wash the sleepiness off my face, I'll look at myself in the mirror and despise the person looking back and see how much further my eyes sink further back into my head, everyday a little bit more. Everyday the circles, the bags beneth my lids and eyeballs grows darker and bruised, because I'm abusing myself. I'm bruising because I can't handle it.
Same thing when I don't eat. When I feel bones where I hadn't felt before and the weight sheds away and when I'm dancing it isn't because I lost the weight that I feel so feather-like, so free. It's because I can't think and I'm just doing what I'm told and I'm light headed and dizzy because my body is weak and feeble and misunderstanding.
Eventually, my body will be unforgiving as well.
But I am getting sick and these options and choices that everyone throws into my lap are so hiatus, lacuna. Even yin-yang sometimes. It's as if their making me decide in front of all the world if I want to live or die and I can't help but crumble up in a ball and when I say I just want things to stay the way they are and not get any worse or better they say, "So you want to live?" But this isn't living. I forget that. I'm somewhere in between, floating in the mists, undecided. I'm unaware of the fact that my time is running out and if I keep wasting it I'll have no purpose, so there won't be any point to continue on being. I'll be mediocre, not that I'm not already. And without being religious I feel like I haven't been baptised and am in lingo, "A little side show to hell itself."
The fact is that I have been baptised, with no religion thou.
I feel like I've committed a murder and am sentenced to hang tomorrow. I feel regicide. How I know what that feels like I can't explain. But it is killing me.
If you've read this, please do comment, I most likely won't console in you if you give me pity or prejudice. I most likely won't console in you at all anyways. But just say something. Everyone is always so quiet around me.