I'll be your friend in hell. But until then, I despise you.
Sometimes I have a good time. And I feel good. And I feel like I look good.
Then I sit down and think, after my good time. And I look in the mirror. And I realize, what was I thinking?
Sometimes I think "Hey, I don't look half bad today" And I feel confident and peppy. And then I realize what I've been telling myself.
Sometimes I look at my body in the mirror and I think "My body is okay. I'm not really that bad." And then I check back in with reality.
Sometimes I say something. And then after I've said it, I think "Why did I just say that?" Or I'll say, "God I sounded so stupid the way I said that."
I wear my heart on my sleeve. I really try not to.
That's it...I won't do it anymore.
I look at people I admire or people who seem to get something I want from other people...and I try to become them. I've done it for so long that I don't know who I am anymore. Am I that cool guy I met last week? Or am I that chica I knew growing up in Cali? Am I really me? Sometimes I think I am...but then I really think about it...truly think about it...and I don't really know.
I love helping people. Sitting down and listening to them talk about their problems. Tryng my best to make them feel a little bit better.
I hate getting help with my problems. I hate thinking about them.
I try to see the best in people. I try to make sure other people do too.
I rush into rekationships (all kinds) all too fast, often ruining them.
I'm predictable and boring and I don't know how to be spontaneous and fun. Please teach me? (But don't)
There are no longer any elephants at the Lincoln Park Zoo. Wanky died.
I'm suicidal, but not because of the typical teenage depression woe is me crap. It has nothing to do with unhappiness.
I absorb people's personalities and problems and often begin to act as if they were my own...but with different scenarios.
I have commitment problems.
When I have liked a boy, often times, I'll get over them real fast, but I still wish that they like me. If they did, I still want them to. If they didn't, I still want them to.
Basically, I'm fucked up. Like everyone else...I guess.
I have no comments for a reason. I don't want to hear any. Inside or outside of this journal.