thirty-thousand feet above the earth
i feel like locking myself up in a room covered by soundproof walls and screaming at the top of my lungs. i haven't screamed in quite a while. i feel like my fucking insecurity level just keeps on getting higher and higher. confidence, my ass. i'm such a fake, and such a liar. some people even have the sweetness to call me a psycho. :) i have no confidence. i have no fucking self esteem and i have no faith or trust in anything. i have no idea how i survived this long. i wonder why i should even bother sticking around sometimes. it seems like a pointless effort to make things suitable and "okay" because nothing is ever "great" for longer than five seconds.
i amaze myself sometimes. self-centered, impatient, hypocritical, apathetic, asshole. and yet I'm a contradiction. i'm everything i was never, and i'm never anything, and i'm the exact opposite of what i thought i was and i'm the exact opposite of what you thought i was and i'm the exact opposite of the exact opposite of everything i ever wanted to be.
don't let them walk all over you! why do you care what they think? that's what people say to me. but i feel like fucking shit when i have done something and someone is upset with me. i want to bash my head into a wall. i want to scream "i'm sorry" to the entire fucking world but i don't even know what i am sorry for anymore. i wonder if it would be better to lock yourself up inside and act indifferent to everything, and think about things in a neutral way and never ever show feeling, or let feeling surface.
"das ist girl machina".
that's like death in life. i don't know why i have to feel so bad all the time, even when something good happens or just happens. i have to distract myself from it somehow but it doesn't matter anymore, i don't even have to look away for a second for my entire being to remind me who and what i am and i don't think i could bear to look in the mirror anymore. something is terribly wrong, and i never knew how to fix it. i hate that i vent like this. i hate that i feel this way, because i also feel the exact opposite. i hate that i become this monster after just being an angel and i hate that i hate anything at all. and sometimes it's everything and sometimes i could never figure out what to blame it on. i'm a venus fly trap. i'm poison ivy. i'm the bitterness hidden behind the sweetest perfection. i'm a vent machine. i'm a thought machine. i'm a feel machine. i'm nothing, but stardust, and stardust, and nothing. i'm tired of saying when does life begin - when? it began a long time ago; apparently i was looking in the wrong direction. apparently i've been on the wrong path for a long time. and all the self assurance is nothing, and all the "i cares" and "yes, i love yous" and "no, i won't ever leave yous"are like faint whispers i can barely hear, because i don't even know how anyone could prove that to me anymore. i don't know how i could prove that to anyone. i don't know why i care so much about people and care so much about everything and at the same time can turn right around and care about nothing but myself, and then bash myself and hate myself, and then hug myself and sing. hypocrite? yes. call me whatever you want, it's probably true. i don't even want to get out of bed tomorrow. i don't even want to blink.
i want to destroy. i want to punch things until my hands and wrists break, until blood is running down my arms, and my skin turns purple from swelling. i want to scream hysterically, and never stop. i want this thing fucking OUT OF ME. what else, you ask? i want to thrash around violently, kicking and punching and screaming. i want to strangle the stars for all they've promised me, and rip everyone apart that's ever hurt me. i want someone to hold me down as i breakdown. i hate you for leaving me, i hate what you've let me become, i hate you for breaking all of your promises, i hate you for everything that i wanted anything to become, and you left it to rot.
hey, you supposedly give a fuck. or at least, you used to. if i could describe it any better, i would. two nights ago, i mentioned that all i had were letters on a screen, and voices that spoke to me via the telephone. you can't deny that it's true.
yes, i'm fine. don't you dare bother asking me.