(no subject)
So here I am, when I should be studying for this huge test I have tomorrow, because i can't focus, because i have had something on my mind for about the last week or so - something i just can't shake. I haven't talked about Mia lately, because I thought she was at rest, I thought that she had served her purpose - but you know what they say about ASSumptions. Mia has found her way back to me, or i back to her. Here I am at a crossroads, I can't go back - the past holds nothing for me. The people that anchored me there the most are only now shadows of who they once were. At the same time though I can't see the future. The plans, the ideas, everything that I thought I knew was to come, in the last few weeks, has proved mostly to be mirage.
People ask how I am and I tell them I'm FINE. I know what it means, but they rarely do, and even when they do, they don't.
Part of what's othering me is that I have no idea, not the slightest what's to come. I'm scared again. I'm scared of next semester - that I will fail, or worse be forgotten. I'm scared that I'm finally comfortable and happy, all just in time to have it torn away. I'm scared of pain and of people, and how the two combine.
A dear friend keeps calling me lady thorns - sweet and pretty like a rose, but the closer you get the more apt you are to get pricked. And it kills me that this is true, and truer now than it probably has ever been before.
What's killing me the most though is my own hipocrisy. I put such a high value on honesty that it kills me when I can't find the courage and words to say what i need to. For heaven's sake I'm a frakin' Communications major, speaking, writing, commuicating - it's what I study, it's what I do! And yet here I am in an all to familiar situation, faced with a familiar foe in a fight I have fought repeatedly, almost to the point where my mind plays it out as a choreographed dance. The killer about dances though is that I can only follow how I am lead, so the end is always out of sight, and so the words are caught just so in my throat - AND I HATE IT.
I loathe pain with a passion, and yet I'm a massachist in this, i hate fear but still can't help being craven.
In this situation i so long to be a Stark. To have Bran's self-assuredness, Arya's outspoken, brazen manner, and most of all Catelyn's audacity and strength of will.
They say that words can never hurt you, but I know that to be a bold-faced lie. So rather than let cause pain, i swallow them. The killer is that I haven't thrown up in almost 3 years now - no matter how sick I was, but these words, these mere ideas are pushing that control, but something tells me no matter how much epicac they give me, it would take something more for me to really say them. It would take crashing down walls and cutting off thorns, and that would take encouragement. more than that though, it would take assurance of acceptance from those who cannot give it.
Winter is coming, n fact it's almost here - the more is my unrest.
People ask how I am and I tell them I'm FINE. I know what it means, but they rarely do, and even when they do, they don't.
Part of what's othering me is that I have no idea, not the slightest what's to come. I'm scared again. I'm scared of next semester - that I will fail, or worse be forgotten. I'm scared that I'm finally comfortable and happy, all just in time to have it torn away. I'm scared of pain and of people, and how the two combine.
A dear friend keeps calling me lady thorns - sweet and pretty like a rose, but the closer you get the more apt you are to get pricked. And it kills me that this is true, and truer now than it probably has ever been before.
What's killing me the most though is my own hipocrisy. I put such a high value on honesty that it kills me when I can't find the courage and words to say what i need to. For heaven's sake I'm a frakin' Communications major, speaking, writing, commuicating - it's what I study, it's what I do! And yet here I am in an all to familiar situation, faced with a familiar foe in a fight I have fought repeatedly, almost to the point where my mind plays it out as a choreographed dance. The killer about dances though is that I can only follow how I am lead, so the end is always out of sight, and so the words are caught just so in my throat - AND I HATE IT.
I loathe pain with a passion, and yet I'm a massachist in this, i hate fear but still can't help being craven.
In this situation i so long to be a Stark. To have Bran's self-assuredness, Arya's outspoken, brazen manner, and most of all Catelyn's audacity and strength of will.
They say that words can never hurt you, but I know that to be a bold-faced lie. So rather than let cause pain, i swallow them. The killer is that I haven't thrown up in almost 3 years now - no matter how sick I was, but these words, these mere ideas are pushing that control, but something tells me no matter how much epicac they give me, it would take something more for me to really say them. It would take crashing down walls and cutting off thorns, and that would take encouragement. more than that though, it would take assurance of acceptance from those who cannot give it.
Winter is coming, n fact it's almost here - the more is my unrest.