I'll be the best girl you'd ever meet.
It's so frustrating not being able to talk about normal things with people anymore. Things aren't normal anymore. They're confusing and small and take so long to explain that by the time I get out what I'm trying to say they've lost interest. Or hung up. Or left.
There is graffiti downtown that says "TEETH".
I made an appointment today; we'll see if I actually go through with it. "Possibly two weeks, but the sooner the better. Is that right?" "Sure."
If pills can fix so many of my problems (physical pain, sleeplessness, distractibility, cognition) then perhaps I should stop being so goddamned self-righteous and take some that can make me complaisant.
The other day I realized just how pessimistic I am and I was terrified. I never knew I never had hope.
I re-read Yeats and Seneca trying to figure out if anything is worth anything anymore.
Sometimes I think this is new for me, then I remember being twelve years old, sitting in a restaurant booth with the only fourteen year old boy I knew, staring at the bandages on my wrists while he tried to finger me.
My mother is visiting in May. My mother is visiting in May. My mother is visiting in May.
I went to Filene's today because Dina said there was an eighty percent off sale. I waited in line with an armful of towels and whispered to them that I wanted to die.
I lost ten pounds because I'd stopped eating when I was bored. Or depressed. Or hungry. "Should I tell you you look good?" "Don't say anything."
I need to get over sex. I need to realize that not everyone I know has to want to fuck me. I need to not feel suicidal if I don't get laid. It's really depressing to know that I don't want it for the pleasure, I just want the company.
Realizing just how little certain people actually mean to you is a sobering thought. They, or anyone, could be thinking the same things about you. Uselessness abounds.
I'm losing to time travel.
There are way more pictures of you than I remember.
There is graffiti downtown that says "TEETH".
I made an appointment today; we'll see if I actually go through with it. "Possibly two weeks, but the sooner the better. Is that right?" "Sure."
If pills can fix so many of my problems (physical pain, sleeplessness, distractibility, cognition) then perhaps I should stop being so goddamned self-righteous and take some that can make me complaisant.
The other day I realized just how pessimistic I am and I was terrified. I never knew I never had hope.
I re-read Yeats and Seneca trying to figure out if anything is worth anything anymore.
Sometimes I think this is new for me, then I remember being twelve years old, sitting in a restaurant booth with the only fourteen year old boy I knew, staring at the bandages on my wrists while he tried to finger me.
My mother is visiting in May. My mother is visiting in May. My mother is visiting in May.
I went to Filene's today because Dina said there was an eighty percent off sale. I waited in line with an armful of towels and whispered to them that I wanted to die.
I lost ten pounds because I'd stopped eating when I was bored. Or depressed. Or hungry. "Should I tell you you look good?" "Don't say anything."
I need to get over sex. I need to realize that not everyone I know has to want to fuck me. I need to not feel suicidal if I don't get laid. It's really depressing to know that I don't want it for the pleasure, I just want the company.
Realizing just how little certain people actually mean to you is a sobering thought. They, or anyone, could be thinking the same things about you. Uselessness abounds.
I'm losing to time travel.
There are way more pictures of you than I remember.