(no subject)
I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!
I am a lie. There is no Morghan. What was there isn’t anymore. For it to be there would mean that I believe still. And I don’t. I can’t. There’s no room for it.
I’m a lie and a liar and I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be dead. At least then I’d be on Jehovah’s mercy and never know if what I’ve done nonw was too much or not enough or worth the second chance.
They want to pin their hopes on me, but they shouldn’t do that. I’m just like my sister. What makes me any better? I’m a better fake? The only thing that separates us is she has an excuse. She was a victim, after a fashion.
WHAT AM I?
I’m so tired. I don’t care about anything anymore. FUCK IT. Somewhere inside me is a faithful little girl. She’s almost dead. I don’t have anything left of me. What’s there is something created from lies and fabrications and sneaking around to tell more lies. It’s fluff. It’s dust. I’m nothing but one lie on top of another.
And they think I’m the one who’ll stay the course. How can I? I gave up almost immediately. There is no faith anchor, no hope… nothing.
THERE ARE ONLY LIES. ON TOP OF LIES!
There. I’ve said it. I’m a fraud. I’m the worst sort of Christian. I do a good show, but there’s no substance. I’m so overextended with lies, I can’t keep up anymore. I just want it all to be over now.
I’M SO TIRED.
I think I need to take a Mental Health Year. Where I do nothing but rove around Europe and make new friends I’ll never speak to again after 2 years and forget that home is where there’s stress. I need to take a break where there is no family and no one to do for and nothing to make me stress. A Mental Health Day is nothing. I need a year.
It took a month and a half last time. A month and a half of being bored to death to get enough imagination to write again. To stop being so tired all the time. To break out of my shell and speak to people without hiding behind insecurities. 1.5 months to forget why I wanted to leave in the first place.
It’s late and my mind is racing. Round and round the same movie quote: “But oh; to be free!” Free of these entanglements of self. Of identity. Of what I am as opposed to who. Free of worry over this day and that. Free to speak my mind or to cry or not say anything at all. Free of the responsibility attached to being the oldest daughter and 21 and… oh. To be free.
Everyone should be afforded that chance. When I die, I’d like my money to go to funding at least 1 child’s Mental Health Year abroad. A year to relax and forget the hectic life behind. A year to focus….
Maybe I could work for Tim. Get paid enough to rent a flat and buy food. I’m not helpless.
I can’t focus anymore. Everything makes my brain feel like mush. Like it’s been soaked in brine and all the knowledge has been leached out. I was writing about Mental Health Day… and I drifted to renting a flat in England. And “Kiss the Girl.” Wet brain, and no alcohol. How sad.
I could see someone about this…
Who would believe me? There’s too much explanation involved. Disfellowshipping and forgotten years and religious repercussions…
I wonder if there’s an anti-depressant that helps lose weight too. To be happy and healthy is something I don’t remember.
3 years. How is it there’s something wrong for 3 years? Charlotte dying. Mom nearly dying. Webbie’s mess…. 3 years of torture. Of no focus. How can it be that ever since I got to UofL, everything’s messed up?
God. I can’t talk to Mark. The last thing I need is for him to be clingy. I’ve gotta talk to him… but I just can’t. not now. Not when all I want is to be away.
Does it mean you’re depressed when you no longer want to be?
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again! I’m tired of being alone and fat and being me. I don’t want to be here. Or awake. Or everyone’s friend. Or the lineman (since that’s all that fat girls are good for in football). I don’t want to be me. I don want to be!
Is it so terrible? To want this to end?
I don’t want to hear about it anymore. I don’t care anymore. She’s a fool. He’s off the hook for a time. I don’t want to express it in anyway but this:
I need a mental health year. A year away so I can forget here and me and just… be.
I am a lie. There is no Morghan. What was there isn’t anymore. For it to be there would mean that I believe still. And I don’t. I can’t. There’s no room for it.
I’m a lie and a liar and I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be dead. At least then I’d be on Jehovah’s mercy and never know if what I’ve done nonw was too much or not enough or worth the second chance.
They want to pin their hopes on me, but they shouldn’t do that. I’m just like my sister. What makes me any better? I’m a better fake? The only thing that separates us is she has an excuse. She was a victim, after a fashion.
WHAT AM I?
I’m so tired. I don’t care about anything anymore. FUCK IT. Somewhere inside me is a faithful little girl. She’s almost dead. I don’t have anything left of me. What’s there is something created from lies and fabrications and sneaking around to tell more lies. It’s fluff. It’s dust. I’m nothing but one lie on top of another.
And they think I’m the one who’ll stay the course. How can I? I gave up almost immediately. There is no faith anchor, no hope… nothing.
THERE ARE ONLY LIES. ON TOP OF LIES!
There. I’ve said it. I’m a fraud. I’m the worst sort of Christian. I do a good show, but there’s no substance. I’m so overextended with lies, I can’t keep up anymore. I just want it all to be over now.
I’M SO TIRED.
I think I need to take a Mental Health Year. Where I do nothing but rove around Europe and make new friends I’ll never speak to again after 2 years and forget that home is where there’s stress. I need to take a break where there is no family and no one to do for and nothing to make me stress. A Mental Health Day is nothing. I need a year.
It took a month and a half last time. A month and a half of being bored to death to get enough imagination to write again. To stop being so tired all the time. To break out of my shell and speak to people without hiding behind insecurities. 1.5 months to forget why I wanted to leave in the first place.
It’s late and my mind is racing. Round and round the same movie quote: “But oh; to be free!” Free of these entanglements of self. Of identity. Of what I am as opposed to who. Free of worry over this day and that. Free to speak my mind or to cry or not say anything at all. Free of the responsibility attached to being the oldest daughter and 21 and… oh. To be free.
Everyone should be afforded that chance. When I die, I’d like my money to go to funding at least 1 child’s Mental Health Year abroad. A year to relax and forget the hectic life behind. A year to focus….
Maybe I could work for Tim. Get paid enough to rent a flat and buy food. I’m not helpless.
I can’t focus anymore. Everything makes my brain feel like mush. Like it’s been soaked in brine and all the knowledge has been leached out. I was writing about Mental Health Day… and I drifted to renting a flat in England. And “Kiss the Girl.” Wet brain, and no alcohol. How sad.
I could see someone about this…
Who would believe me? There’s too much explanation involved. Disfellowshipping and forgotten years and religious repercussions…
I wonder if there’s an anti-depressant that helps lose weight too. To be happy and healthy is something I don’t remember.
3 years. How is it there’s something wrong for 3 years? Charlotte dying. Mom nearly dying. Webbie’s mess…. 3 years of torture. Of no focus. How can it be that ever since I got to UofL, everything’s messed up?
God. I can’t talk to Mark. The last thing I need is for him to be clingy. I’ve gotta talk to him… but I just can’t. not now. Not when all I want is to be away.
Does it mean you’re depressed when you no longer want to be?
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again! I’m tired of being alone and fat and being me. I don’t want to be here. Or awake. Or everyone’s friend. Or the lineman (since that’s all that fat girls are good for in football). I don’t want to be me. I don want to be!
Is it so terrible? To want this to end?
I don’t want to hear about it anymore. I don’t care anymore. She’s a fool. He’s off the hook for a time. I don’t want to express it in anyway but this:
I need a mental health year. A year away so I can forget here and me and just… be.