looked through my old journal
tonight.
as much as i'm glad that i've come so far, it made me miss what i felt back then.
the passion. the emotion. it was all so real. i could write anything, and it was good. i had depth then. i might have been worse, but i felt something then.
what do i feel now? nothing.
this blankness, this lack of anything, this numb feeling and lack of emotion is killing me.
i wish i could write like i did back then. but what do i write about? the woes of being a housewife? the pains of getting stains out of whites?
i knew who i was back then. i was amanda. i knew i was nothing to this world, but i was still something to me. i still HAD me.
i've lost all that. i've lost who i was. and what i have become is something i don't like in the least bit.
i should have died back then.
as much as i'm glad that i've come so far, it made me miss what i felt back then.
the passion. the emotion. it was all so real. i could write anything, and it was good. i had depth then. i might have been worse, but i felt something then.
what do i feel now? nothing.
this blankness, this lack of anything, this numb feeling and lack of emotion is killing me.
i wish i could write like i did back then. but what do i write about? the woes of being a housewife? the pains of getting stains out of whites?
i knew who i was back then. i was amanda. i knew i was nothing to this world, but i was still something to me. i still HAD me.
i've lost all that. i've lost who i was. and what i have become is something i don't like in the least bit.
i should have died back then.