(no subject)
I haven't been inspired for a long time. My words seem repetitive and dull. I read over old words and I miss the way I used to be, how I could just be in the mood to write something, anything, and I'd sit down and do it. No hesitating, no contemplating or second-guessing. Now it's different.
Nothing is routine anymore. I sleep at strange hours, pass the time that I'm awake doing things I don't even remember. I forget names and faces. Everyone is a stranger.
I have a lot of anger that I didn't have before. I used to be the calm one, the one who was never mean to anybody. Now I curse and scream and hit things, hurt myself. Cry. Not that I don't have a reason to be angry. I've been fucked over again and again and I think it's finally starting to sink in. That the general population are assholes. That people don't change. That I'm going to have to experience these facts every day until I'm too old and too tired to give a shit.
I need new books.
Although my anger is a constant variable, I'm still happy for the most part. Which is strange, I know. I don't understand it either. I'm looking at it this way:
I'm still young. Too young to trap myself in a corner and not accept anything new. I will meet people who will hurt me, and I will hurt others. I will do things I never thought I could do. Actually, I already have, come to think of it. But I'll do more. I know I will, it's inevitable. I will make the mistake of trusting someone over and over and over, but it's okay like that. I expect others to trust me, and I cannot take and not give.
It's scary that Winter's over. I hadn't even realized until today. I actually felt sad, because I would never get that Winter back. And I've said things like that before, but never really felt them as strongly as I did today.
Nothing is routine anymore. I sleep at strange hours, pass the time that I'm awake doing things I don't even remember. I forget names and faces. Everyone is a stranger.
I have a lot of anger that I didn't have before. I used to be the calm one, the one who was never mean to anybody. Now I curse and scream and hit things, hurt myself. Cry. Not that I don't have a reason to be angry. I've been fucked over again and again and I think it's finally starting to sink in. That the general population are assholes. That people don't change. That I'm going to have to experience these facts every day until I'm too old and too tired to give a shit.
I need new books.
Although my anger is a constant variable, I'm still happy for the most part. Which is strange, I know. I don't understand it either. I'm looking at it this way:
I'm still young. Too young to trap myself in a corner and not accept anything new. I will meet people who will hurt me, and I will hurt others. I will do things I never thought I could do. Actually, I already have, come to think of it. But I'll do more. I know I will, it's inevitable. I will make the mistake of trusting someone over and over and over, but it's okay like that. I expect others to trust me, and I cannot take and not give.
It's scary that Winter's over. I hadn't even realized until today. I actually felt sad, because I would never get that Winter back. And I've said things like that before, but never really felt them as strongly as I did today.