April 14, 2004 | 11:07 pm
this was written at ryan's house two nights ago. he was at work and i was waiting for him to come home. i sat alone in his room, thinking of stephanie and what happened with them. eventually it ate at me enough and i broke down into tears on his bed. i wrote until i couldn't anymore and i fell asleep. sometime afterwards, he came to bed and my notebook and pen were on the floor.

he says he didn't see it on the bed -- that it was on the floor when he came in. i don't care. i don't care if he read it or if he didn't. i don't care if i pushed it to the floor or if he did. i stopped feeling, for that moment in time, and i went to sleep.

i had a difficult time sleeping afterwards. we talked for about two hours, and finally, around 6am, we both fell asleep.

anyway, this is what i wrote:

4/12/04

i know he says he loves me but i also know he's said these same things to her. how could i not know? she told me! not only do i have to think of him saying those things to her, i have to hear her telling me!! why won't these things leave my head?

i'm realizing more and more that i am nothing but a player in someone's sick game. i have little control over my emotions and what feels like less control over my actions. it's as if the ID i freud's structure of the mind is taking over -- but where is the pleasure in the things i do? i love ryan, and i know i do, but he makes me feel. i don't seek him for pleasure, i go to him for anything. pleasureorpainoranythingelsegoddamnitletmefeelsomething!!!

how long have i been out of touch? one or two years? eight maybe? fifteen? twenty-one? who am i and why can't i feel anything deeper than what's on the surface? i'm smart enough to know i am human and i feel happiness and sadness and things in between but why do i constantly feel so numb? i wonder if i hold on to james and andrya and thomas and tim and daniel and my dad and my horrible, shitty past because it evokes emotion.

sometimes i sit in class and stare and think, ican'tmoveican'tmoveican'tmove and ohgodican'tseenowandisthiswhatit'sliketobedeadandamireallyhere and then snap -- the professor asks a question and i fumble through my notes because oh shit, i'm in my regular seat in the front row when i should be in bed or underground or in heaven or even just floating in a red bathrub and i wake up and look through my notes -- was it baldwin v. ny that the supreme court ruled jury trials mandatory for crimes punishable of six months plus imprisionment? what the fuck was the question again? am i looking in the right section of my notebook? is this the class i'm supposed to be in? if it is, why? what am i doing -- and what am i doing with my life?

DOES THIS MAKE ME HAPPY OR DOES IT GET ME THROUGH THE DAY?? do i wake up for me or for someone else? or is it just a bad habit like everything else in my life? do i feel this way all of the time or just when i'm depressed? am i always depressed or does my mind get a break? does my mind vacation when i drink alcohol? use cocaine? where was i when my toes burned with poison? was i depressed even then?

And if i was, if there is no true relief, am i kidding myself in my wishes and desires to be happy? is it possible? please tell me i want to get better for me (not him) because i need to for me (and not just for him) because i'm the only one who will always be here for me (though he says he will)... and what if i TRY and put all of my energy into trying so hard and it drains me? what if i do -- now i'm drained and i'm (even) weaker and i blink and he's gone? carwreckplanecrashaccidentmurder OR, better yet, just plain got tired of my shit and gave up?

what if, and then what? where am i then? happy/unhappy/almosthappy/ sad/depressed/alone/confused/shamed/what? what if?

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what the fuck was i thinking? why do i still think this way?

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today andrya would have made twenty-one. happy birthday, andrya.

before | after

miss me?

make a difference - July 12, 2007
in short - February 20, 2007
gameday - October 14, 2006
quickie - October 02, 2006
roxie bear - July 06, 2006