what you once were isn't what you want to be anymore.
dear diary,
amy asked me tonight at work if i've lost weight. that's funny. all i see when i look in the mirror is disgusting fat and ugliness.
i spent the night after i got home from work talking to josh. actually talking. about us. that was a first. at least we're on the same page now, and, hopefully, there will be more of this "talking" thing in our future. i was a little surprised at how understanding he was. (but then again, maybe i wasn't. it was his sensitivity that originally attracted me to him.) he didn't understand why i was upset to begin with, why i felt guilty, but he wouldn't. i haven't told him enough to allow him to understand. what he did understand was what i wanted to do about it. he agreed. he thought it would be best. and he didn't use it as an excuse to leave. maybe he actually does like me. for some reason, i've doubted that all along. i guess we'll see though. i suppose he deserves that chance.
i also talked to drew. i don't know what that's all about. i can't really think about that right now. it's too much on top of everything else.
i'm really miserable. i hate myself, really, truly, and deeply. i hate the way i feel. i hate the way i think. i hate the way i look. i hate the way i act. i hate everything about myself. even the things that i once saw as good qualities are turning around and biting me in the ass. they now cause me nothing but pain.
and i can't talk about it with anyone. there just. isn't. anyone. i can't sleep. i can't eat. i go through my day with my mind a million miles away. people talk to me, and it goes in one ear and out the other. i feel so completely alone.
so i write in here. and it doesn't do any good because i can't talk about how i really feel because i don't know who is reading, and i don't want to hurt anybody.
and i can't call you. i can't talk to you. you know that. you don't really want me to anyway. you have your own problems to deal with. and you have plenty of people who will talk to you and make you laugh and not be so difficult all the time. you should be with them. maybe they're the ones who can help you feel again. i couldn't make you feel anything. i'm just a chore. so drop me. make it final. just let me die in peace.
i'm not thinking about suicide at all here. that would be redundant. i'm already dead inside. well, mostly. there is this one small part that's trying to hold on, but it aches and aches and aches. there is only so much that a person can take before they shut down, give up, and die. (not in a literal way. in a much more serious way. if i actually died, it would be over. i would either decompose or move on to whatever afterlife exists. but it's not over. i have to keep walking around in this shell of a body, but my heart and soul are dying.) the only things i feel are pain and guilt and fear and sadness. or i feel numb. but mostly there is just this ache. there is a constant lump in my throat. i can't breathe. at any given moment, i am on the brink of tears. and nothing outside my own head means anything. i see things, and they have no effect on me. (well, that's not entirely true. there is one thing that still affects me, and that is the thing that hurts me the most.) i'm withdrawing completely into my shell. and suddenly i'm a child again. suddenly, it's just me and my rocks and marbles and my imaginary games and my pain that i carry but refuse to share. except now it's me and my music and my terrible, inscrutable poems. i worked so hard for so many years to not be that child anymore. well, "we may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us."
i am still that little girl. maybe i have been all along. maybe i never changed. or maybe i'm more that little girl now then i was then. every year i've lived, the weight gets heavier. i have to crouch lower to support it on my back. every day, the edges get sharper, and i have to go deeper inside myself to keep from bleeding to death.
i need help. my last hope is that the acupuncture works. at least then i won't feel physically shitty all the time. at least then it will just be that quiet ache. i think i can handle that. i survived being that quiet child. i can be a quiet adult. it wasn't what i wanted for myself. i wanted so much more. but i suppose i should be used to not getting what i want by now. when have i ever gotten what i wanted and not had it taken away from me? when have i ever really been happy? i haven't ever been, and it hasn't killed me yet. i should count myself lucky. lots of people never had rocks.
/self-indulgent self-hatred post.
love and other perishables,
erin
daily reading of the lyrical gospel: the ashtray says you were up all night. when you went to bed with your darkest mind, your pillow wept and covered your eyes. you finally slept while the sun caught fire. you've changed. we fell in love in the key of c. we walked along down by the sea. you followed me down the neck to d and fell again into the sea. you've changed, oh, you've changed. maybe all i need is a shot in the arm, something in my veins bloodier than blood. the ashtray says you were up all night. when you went to bed with your darkest mind, you changed. you've changed. what you once were isn't what you want to be anymore.
amy asked me tonight at work if i've lost weight. that's funny. all i see when i look in the mirror is disgusting fat and ugliness.
i spent the night after i got home from work talking to josh. actually talking. about us. that was a first. at least we're on the same page now, and, hopefully, there will be more of this "talking" thing in our future. i was a little surprised at how understanding he was. (but then again, maybe i wasn't. it was his sensitivity that originally attracted me to him.) he didn't understand why i was upset to begin with, why i felt guilty, but he wouldn't. i haven't told him enough to allow him to understand. what he did understand was what i wanted to do about it. he agreed. he thought it would be best. and he didn't use it as an excuse to leave. maybe he actually does like me. for some reason, i've doubted that all along. i guess we'll see though. i suppose he deserves that chance.
i also talked to drew. i don't know what that's all about. i can't really think about that right now. it's too much on top of everything else.
i'm really miserable. i hate myself, really, truly, and deeply. i hate the way i feel. i hate the way i think. i hate the way i look. i hate the way i act. i hate everything about myself. even the things that i once saw as good qualities are turning around and biting me in the ass. they now cause me nothing but pain.
and i can't talk about it with anyone. there just. isn't. anyone. i can't sleep. i can't eat. i go through my day with my mind a million miles away. people talk to me, and it goes in one ear and out the other. i feel so completely alone.
so i write in here. and it doesn't do any good because i can't talk about how i really feel because i don't know who is reading, and i don't want to hurt anybody.
and i can't call you. i can't talk to you. you know that. you don't really want me to anyway. you have your own problems to deal with. and you have plenty of people who will talk to you and make you laugh and not be so difficult all the time. you should be with them. maybe they're the ones who can help you feel again. i couldn't make you feel anything. i'm just a chore. so drop me. make it final. just let me die in peace.
i'm not thinking about suicide at all here. that would be redundant. i'm already dead inside. well, mostly. there is this one small part that's trying to hold on, but it aches and aches and aches. there is only so much that a person can take before they shut down, give up, and die. (not in a literal way. in a much more serious way. if i actually died, it would be over. i would either decompose or move on to whatever afterlife exists. but it's not over. i have to keep walking around in this shell of a body, but my heart and soul are dying.) the only things i feel are pain and guilt and fear and sadness. or i feel numb. but mostly there is just this ache. there is a constant lump in my throat. i can't breathe. at any given moment, i am on the brink of tears. and nothing outside my own head means anything. i see things, and they have no effect on me. (well, that's not entirely true. there is one thing that still affects me, and that is the thing that hurts me the most.) i'm withdrawing completely into my shell. and suddenly i'm a child again. suddenly, it's just me and my rocks and marbles and my imaginary games and my pain that i carry but refuse to share. except now it's me and my music and my terrible, inscrutable poems. i worked so hard for so many years to not be that child anymore. well, "we may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us."
i am still that little girl. maybe i have been all along. maybe i never changed. or maybe i'm more that little girl now then i was then. every year i've lived, the weight gets heavier. i have to crouch lower to support it on my back. every day, the edges get sharper, and i have to go deeper inside myself to keep from bleeding to death.
i need help. my last hope is that the acupuncture works. at least then i won't feel physically shitty all the time. at least then it will just be that quiet ache. i think i can handle that. i survived being that quiet child. i can be a quiet adult. it wasn't what i wanted for myself. i wanted so much more. but i suppose i should be used to not getting what i want by now. when have i ever gotten what i wanted and not had it taken away from me? when have i ever really been happy? i haven't ever been, and it hasn't killed me yet. i should count myself lucky. lots of people never had rocks.
/self-indulgent self-hatred post.
love and other perishables,
erin
daily reading of the lyrical gospel: the ashtray says you were up all night. when you went to bed with your darkest mind, your pillow wept and covered your eyes. you finally slept while the sun caught fire. you've changed. we fell in love in the key of c. we walked along down by the sea. you followed me down the neck to d and fell again into the sea. you've changed, oh, you've changed. maybe all i need is a shot in the arm, something in my veins bloodier than blood. the ashtray says you were up all night. when you went to bed with your darkest mind, you changed. you've changed. what you once were isn't what you want to be anymore.