(no subject)
sometimes i feel like i am gripping tight to something imaginary yet so present that i know i'll go spinning wildly off if i let my fingers slip too far. i used to concentrate on making pretty sentences, lacing words with glitter and glamourizing tears. i dont remember what happened during those times, none of the reasons i was sinking and covering myself with metaphors and burrowing in the comfort of piles of fiction and characters' tears. i developed this uncanny ability to deeply connect with other people who were suffering, though mine never felt justified and this tiny voice in the back of my head told me i was a faker. you aren't depressed, depressed people have a chemical imbalance. i still remember someone i called a friend told me that. maybe i was fifteen. i was so easily influenced, i still am really when it comes to keeping the hearts of those i love. this same person told me that my comments in her livejournal twisted everything so it was about myself. we stopped talking soon after that; i wouldn't put up with someone complaining about me (in a livejournal i read) without confronting me then later telling me how i feel isn't justified and how i respond in comments makes me selfish and just like this girls' sister. i am still hurt from that time in eighth grade my best friend abandoned me to become best friends with someone else i was friends with. it was the first time i realized that people can be cruel. somehow despite all the years in elementary school when i was purposely left out and made fun of it took until i was crushed by my "best friend" to see people in a different way.
i dont know how this turned into a rant about friendship. going back to the way i used to write -- i was so heavily influenced by francesca lia block novels that i felt as if i wrote lives the way the lives in her stories were i would figure out how to live that sort of whimsical magical world. i imagined that going to college, leaving carver, would make that world real. i started internet clubs and devised a sisterhood of sorts. i used kate as my muse when it came to writing stories, she pointed out stories that needed to be written and my fingers flew above the keys. i remember freshman year of college that i was miserable and depressed, but looking back on the time i spent there i can remember mostly happy times. the only real time i remember being crushingly depressed i had spent the entire night trying to sleep only to decide i wanted to move back home but i wasn't really allowed. "if you move home, you'll have to go to bridgewater next year" so i grudgingly stayed only to be forced to go to bridgewater after that, anyway.
i feel like everything keeps coming coming coming all these bitter thoughts that are long outdated and i can't even let the current ones emerge. i wrote a lot today at work about how beautiful yesterday was. but right now i can only think about how i didn't eat dinner because i couldn't find anything in the cabinets that i even slightly felt like ingesting and it led to a near panic attack while my mom went on and on about how i needed to throw out my trash. it was twilight, the sun was setting i had to leave right. then. before i missed the light and darkness washed over. i drove myself, crying, to borders where i only experienced more anxiety and stomachaches over looking at books. i was overwhelmed by everything. i ended up walking out with three YA paperbacks not really feeling better or worse, just hungry like i still am.
i dont know how this turned into a rant about friendship. going back to the way i used to write -- i was so heavily influenced by francesca lia block novels that i felt as if i wrote lives the way the lives in her stories were i would figure out how to live that sort of whimsical magical world. i imagined that going to college, leaving carver, would make that world real. i started internet clubs and devised a sisterhood of sorts. i used kate as my muse when it came to writing stories, she pointed out stories that needed to be written and my fingers flew above the keys. i remember freshman year of college that i was miserable and depressed, but looking back on the time i spent there i can remember mostly happy times. the only real time i remember being crushingly depressed i had spent the entire night trying to sleep only to decide i wanted to move back home but i wasn't really allowed. "if you move home, you'll have to go to bridgewater next year" so i grudgingly stayed only to be forced to go to bridgewater after that, anyway.
i feel like everything keeps coming coming coming all these bitter thoughts that are long outdated and i can't even let the current ones emerge. i wrote a lot today at work about how beautiful yesterday was. but right now i can only think about how i didn't eat dinner because i couldn't find anything in the cabinets that i even slightly felt like ingesting and it led to a near panic attack while my mom went on and on about how i needed to throw out my trash. it was twilight, the sun was setting i had to leave right. then. before i missed the light and darkness washed over. i drove myself, crying, to borders where i only experienced more anxiety and stomachaches over looking at books. i was overwhelmed by everything. i ended up walking out with three YA paperbacks not really feeling better or worse, just hungry like i still am.