I can't speak to you.

[solid_figments]

I went into my archives to check what I had written about Halloween last year. Apparently, I didn't write about it on here. I wrote about it (in seemingly alarming detail) in my other journal. Looking back at the other Halloweens and the entries I wrote, I suppose it's time to show that I actually celebrate the holiday.

I dressed up for the weekend, drank rum, ate jell-o shots, partied with friends, went to bars, and woke up the next day not hungover. Friday I was a werewolf, Saturday I was an 80's chick. It was an overall good weekend. Not at all like last year, which was both good and bad. It was good because this year I'm not realizing that I am completely insensitive to other people's feelings. It was bad because a part of me that I constantly keep down made a little appearance on Saturday and has yet to leave me.

Urges are terrible, terrible things, particularly when they cannot be acted upon. Most urges that I have, I can quickly eradicate. The one I've been having brings me back to when I was young and thought masturbation was something to be ashamed of. There's no one to really talk to about it, and if acted upon, whether or not I will feel better is unknown.

It's taking over my head, and I wish I could hate it.