Should I feel sorry for not appreciating it? Your being kind to me, when I've obviously deluded myself far enough, when I've annoyed you enough and you want to get rid of me and sleep, you'll still tell me sweet dreams, love you. I don't believe you, but when did I ever really? even when I wanted to I couldn't. I didn't say it back, hoping you'd notice, clinging onto the hope that you might notice, or care enough that you'd wonder if I was okay. Why does this bother me so much? I'm going mad. When all I want, so much, is just for someone to be there, to promise they won't leave, not to get fed up with me, and, so, so selfishly, not to give me up for someone else. And I'm rambling, and I'm upset, maybe because I think you don't understand, but isn't that a cliche? And besides, what is there to understand? Nothing except a childish, obsessive fear of abandonment and a pathetic desparate attempt to avoid it. Thats all I am, and all I'm doing. But the way I'm doing it only serves to push everyone even further away. Not that I blame them, I'd get the hell away too. Childish, pathetic, attention seeking. He was right. And this is all this is, isn't it? A cry for attention, but thats all I've ever done. I want someone to notice, perhaps in the vain hope that it might be them, and I just hadn't noticed it before. Where did this fucking come from though? I haven't done anything, nothing has happened to me. I just got a little fucked over by a guy, but who hasn't been? Apparently it just served to make me mentally unstable. And that really can't be good, I guess. I've begun to push people away, people that I love, even when I don't want to lose them, I've suddenly, but in a strange way almost unwillingly apathetic about it, just giving over to laziness. And I don't want to be that, I don't want to be this person. I don't want to live like you, having a showcase perfection and pretending to be marvellously happy with a semblance of slight, shallow happiness and contentment. I want to actually feel it, but I don't want all of this. I don't want being afraid of never having someone who can't hurt me, who won't leave me, because that just doesn't happen. I don't want to be this screwed up, just because I think too much, just because I'm never satisfied, just because no one can live up to those fucking great expectations, just because I doubt I will ever find the other half of it. I don't want to be second best, I don't want to be compared to her, seeing which one of us you prefer, as if it were a competition. I don't like being bitter, or desparate, or useless, or lazy, or above all, selfish. I want to be able to appreciate you and tell you how much you mean to me. I don't want to play around, or lead people on, because even if I don't mean to, it still happens and it's my own fault. I don't want to be always complaining, I am aware this is all this is. This is cathartic and I suppose I need to get this out. It makes me think that somehow, today, yesterday, the day before, my skin got pierced, my brain got pierced and all the poison is flowing out in a stream. A stream of conciousness, perhaps this is what that is. This, these words, and this poison, poison because it shows you how really ugly I actually am, it will kill me off, It will deaden any feelings or any feeling of goodness you had about me and although I always have strained and tried so hard to get people to think I am a good person, although I have wanted people to think I am perfect, I fall short and realistically nothing else is possible. But perhaps in doing that I tied my own noose, I constructed a bell jar and an image that I can't keep up and maybe it'll kill me. It's killing my spirit, because I never was very strong. You have told me that I am the only one that can sort this out, that I can never trust anyone else but I don't think I can work without that other half and it's wandering around looking for me, I just can't find it. I'm so wrapped up in myself, maybe I never will. So to carry on any type of facade is a good idea, because it means I can go out and face the world and catch those moments and connect or whatever but I'm losing control of it, and I can't seem to keep hold of what it does, or what I do as if it is something else entirely and I've just let it become something stronger than I am. Like I don't even know which part is me anymore and I can't keep track of which feelings are real and which aren't. I know this doesn't make sense, but I'm just trying to tell the truth. Maybe trying to hope that someone'll see through it and offer a lifeline, I'll find something I didn't know was there, maybe I'll just turn it into another crutch, maybe I'm hoping somebody will have an epiphany and will give me all the answers, just because the ones I've gotten so far I can't seem to comply with. Maybe it's a gasp of breath before what was really there gets lost forever and I'll never actually know who I am or what I wanted. Maybe it's just another cry out for someone who's the same and who feels it, rather than just comforts, someone who feels it rather than decides to get rid of that part of life because it's too much hassle. Maybe I should stop being so ambiguous with this and start telling everyone where I really stand but it's late at night, I'm hysterical and I don't think that would be wise. Surely you don't have to be told it's all an act, but it doesn't mean I don't love you. And I can't answer those questions, when you ask me whats wrong, I'm telling the truth when I say I'm being stupid and selfish, I am not an inherently good person, I do not always do what I should and I cry because I don't get my own way. I get moody because I don't I also get moody because I do this and I hate myself for it. I get moody and upset because I am selfish and I hurt people I try and hurt myself to pay it back, but my body is not my own, its everyone else's and they take me on a guilt trip about that. If I can punish myself until it's raw I can start all over again and it won't be so bad anymore. Where did all of this come from? I'm not good enough at anything to be able to escape into it, and I'd have to be brilliant before I loved it enough, because thats what I'm like. I wonder how I used to think when I was little, how I filled up the time instead of doing this? I am smiling in those pictures and I'm happy and it all looks so simple, but I don't even remember it inside I'm probably still more child than I ever was, reverting back to dependency because I'm scared of being alone. And I know I'm not, which just highlights the fact that I'm a nutcase. Why are there so many conditions to things? I've been reckless with my weight and my eating this week. I forgot to care about it, so I suppose this disintergration is good for something.

I know, I should stop complaining. I won't know what to say when you ask, because you will. Perhaps you won't because you won't understand and you'll be scared. What does that achieve? Perhaps this is just another perverse way to alienate you. I just didn't realise it.

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

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