neuroses not psychoses.
Writing in here makes me feel so lame. SO LAME. Like a loser. BIG FAT LOSER.
now that I've gotten that out there.
I feel so terrible. It's weird because I just thought I was so happy. It was all "yes. studying. I love studying. And I don't want to kill butterflies or watch depressing movies." metaphors.
And then something fucks me over; makes me wonder. Did you just tear everything apart or was it ever together to begin with? Was "doing well" is just "covering shit up"? What the fuck is the difference? Because for me I sometimes think there isn't a difference. Honestly, that doesn't really bother me.
I don't have the energy to put up with shit. Smith College is enough to drive a girl (degender that for me, mmk?) MAD. It's unbalanced! And Sylvia Plath! Rewrite the belljar and attribute it to me. Reading Dostoevkii is so perfect perfect perfect. (I found out Sylvia Plath's thesis--written post-insanity-- was written on "the double," which I'm reading now.)I hate how complicated things have to be. Inhale, forgive; exhale, forget.
And.
The perfect remedy? eating dinner alone in my room to the sweet sound of elliott smith. As if there were ever anything else. God that voice. And he's dead.
now that I've gotten that out there.
I feel so terrible. It's weird because I just thought I was so happy. It was all "yes. studying. I love studying. And I don't want to kill butterflies or watch depressing movies." metaphors.
And then something fucks me over; makes me wonder. Did you just tear everything apart or was it ever together to begin with? Was "doing well" is just "covering shit up"? What the fuck is the difference? Because for me I sometimes think there isn't a difference. Honestly, that doesn't really bother me.
I don't have the energy to put up with shit. Smith College is enough to drive a girl (degender that for me, mmk?) MAD. It's unbalanced! And Sylvia Plath! Rewrite the belljar and attribute it to me. Reading Dostoevkii is so perfect perfect perfect. (I found out Sylvia Plath's thesis--written post-insanity-- was written on "the double," which I'm reading now.)I hate how complicated things have to be. Inhale, forgive; exhale, forget.
And.
The perfect remedy? eating dinner alone in my room to the sweet sound of elliott smith. As if there were ever anything else. God that voice. And he's dead.