(no subject)
So, for our first assignment for creative writing, we had to brainstorm all the most painful memories we could muster. Get out all our skeletons and things that made us feel angry and sad.
How ridiculous. Upon doing this exercise, I've depressed the FUCK out of myself. To the point where I almost DLed a Linkin Park song and understood the meloncholy rifts. I just want something better, you know? A better body. A better life. A better love. A better feeling. Something better than the way it is right now. Fighting cancer and a food addiction is hard. I mean, a serious food addiction. Right now, I am sad. So I eat. I can't seem to stop myself from doing it. Then I feel guilty for doing something that retarded and get mad at myself. It's ridiculous. This time I ordered some chicken - which I'm totally allowed to eat. But I still felt like asshole about it.
I want my mom back. Like, not just a little bit. I really, really miss having a mother. The person that lives with me now is just a little shell of what she used to be. She's always been a bit nuts, but now I can't talk to her. Now, it's all nonsense. I can't explain things to her because she doesn't understand. Anything. I've lost that outlet. Every girl talks to their mom - talks about their feelings and shit. That's what moms are for. And to piss you off.
I miss her so fucking much. It's just not fair. And I've got to do it alone. How the fuck can I think about finding someone to love me at a time when I'm carrying so much shit? It's pathetic. I don't want it, and yet I keep hoping for it. I like to do things for other people. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy helping my friends. But I guess I can't accept help because there is none for this sort of problem. I've just got to deal.
Work hard. For what? For lacking social skills and a nutter mom? I'd rather have a person to love than a car. I'd rather have some source of happiness than a credit card.
Not to say I don't have fun at times. I do. When I'm out with my friends and shit, sure. I don't think about home or my mom. I don't think about my cancer or the fact that I'm a quarter through my life and have nothing to show for it. Someone has to find me appealing enough to love. Baggage and all. I know that I could with another person. But I'm also a doormat so.. whatever.