I'm really afraid of asking you to hang out.
I'm really hurting.
I don't know what to say anymore.
I'm wrong.
I always am.
I've lost my best friend again.
I'll never be one to keep.
I smile to hide my sorrow, but it's always there. The happiness is temporary, but the pain, shame, ridicule, hatred, and regret, those will always remain. They eat at me.
No one calls. No one reaches. No one wants to lift me up. I've become a temporary person, one who comes and goes in people's lives.
Everything is hazy, especially tomorrow. Will I be on time for my carpool? Will I make someone happy? Will I make you smile? But, knowing the future would make the present pointless. Ambiguity prevents our lives from collapsing. My confidence is dependent on my past. I would be unintelligent and bland without it.
I want to stop eating. It's so basic. Why can't I live without it?
I'm addicted.
Sorry. I didn't mean to. I really didn't. I felt comfortable with you, and now it scares me to say hello. I'm afraid to be myself around you now. We've changed. We've grown apart without each other's advice and without each other's presence.
Ahh. I do need a therapist. I need God. He's the only who'll understand me. Who'll always be there. I'm so sick of me, and I'm the most reliable person I know. I'm the only reliable person. I'll never drop myself, no matter how badly I want to, or need to sometimes. I won't let myself crash. I know how to swim, I know how to hold my breath, and I'll do everything in my power to survive internally regardless if it kills me physically.
My mind and my soul are worth cleansing.
I only feel secure now when I sing. It soothes me and reminds me that I'm alive.
I feel so locked into my vocabulary. I feel so much more than I'm able to articulate, and I want to open my mind more. I want someone to teach me who doesn't have the title of a teacher. I want them to teach me accidentally through kind words and patience.
I feel so weak, so selfish, so insecure.
I used to be secure. Why, how was I so secure?

No comments:
Post a Comment