There is nothing but ourselves here.

Today I have learned what it is to hate.

 

I always thought I knew about hatred. That girl in high school who drove me nuts, the guys who hurt me, the world that royally fucks me over at every possible turn. But I learned today that I hate myself now more than I thought it possible to hate anyone. I deserve nothing. I am nothing.

 

It is a cold fire, this hate. My chest rings hollow and frozen, but at the same time the fierce burn never ceases to swallow me whole, over and over, each heartbeat as hated as the one before it and each breath offering new opportunity for my self-loathing to consume me. If I could will my heart to stop, I would have been dead the minute I had to tell him no.

 

There should be no happiness for someone like me. I know that now.

 

The radio sucks.

For an indie kid, anyway. No, I don’t particularly want to listen to Kanye’s latest, but if you have the newest Iron & Wine album, that’d be great. No? Damn.

 

There’s really not much left to say. I think I’ll be going soon. I should compile a list of hipster-friendly songs to be played at the end, otherwise half my friends will be offended. Well, the other half will be offended by the indie music, but they’ll get over it.

 

Well that’s confusing.

I can’t quite decide if I want silence or if I can’t stand it. Maybe the Silents are confusing me. It is a possibility, you know.

I’m starting to believe I’m crazier than I appear to be, even to myself. It’s a strange thing, being the only one who knows the extent of the convulsions my mind experiences, when for so long there have been people to know everything about me.

I thought I liked having these kinds of secrets. It turns out I hate it, but I don’t know how to do anything else. It’s rather depressing, when you think about it. I’m going to be trapped here for the rest of my life and no one can save me.

No, not save me. I don’t need to be saved, I’m not drowning, this is not a dramatic metaphor. No one can share it with me, I suppose. I thought I’d grown past that, but it seems that I will never be able to live as more than just one person. Which is terribly upsetting when you realize the full implications of it.

I miss being two people. I miss not being so strange all the time. It was nice for a while.

 

It’s not often you meet a man with no face.

But I suppose it does happen from time to time.

It doesn’t seem like it’s been a year. Though by the same account, it feels like it’s been ten years and I’ve just now stopped to look at the time. That does seem like something I would do.

 

You’re being terrifically unhelpful.

All I can think is that I desperately want to go home, but I’ve got the most peculiar feeling that I don’t know where that is anymore.

Someone is playing Piano Man in the hallway. I will forever think of Austin Garrido and senior year and the library in that silly school when I hear that song.

I’m beginning to think I know exactly where home is, but it is the one place I cannot go. My home doesn’t want me there.

Bill, I believe this is killing me.

 

I’m not at all sure what I’m doing here.

I think I’m starting to like not knowing. This sense that anything may happen and everything may change: I don’t know if I’m just adjusting, in that way that humans have of being extraordinarily adaptable to any and all situations, or if I’m actually beginning to like it.

I’ve also just realized that my favorite animals – owls, giraffes, and elephants – are strange looking and misunderstood, gangly and awkward, and enormous and quiet, respectively. I see myself reflected in the animal kingdom.

 

Never date a man whose favorite author is Ayn Rand.

Someone really should have told me that in high school.

Christ. Ever get that feeling like…you’re not really sure who you are, or where you’re going, but that you don’t belong where you are and you really shouldn’t be who you’re being?

Yeah. One of those.

I am not who I was, but I haven’t yet figured out who I’ve become. It’s a strange feeling, not knowing yourself…I haven’t even decided if I like this new girl yet. She seems all right. A little more unhinged than the girl I was before, but then, the girl I was before was ragingly miserable 89% of the time, so. Maybe unhinged for a while is a good thing, right? Maybe it’s like when bones heal funny: you have to break them so they can heal up the way they’re supposed to.

But what if I broke a bone that set right to begin with?

…well that’s a depressing thought. If who I was before was the correct version of me, then I suck. And version 2.0 (3.0? 67.0?) of me may not be better, but she’s not any worse, I don’t think. She still likes music and movies and friends and coffee – oh God does she love coffee – but she’s maybe a little more somber than she used to be. Maybe she’s just growing up a little, and settling back into the two halves of herself. She’s reconciling the child she was with the adolescent she became, in order to develop into the woman she’s supposed to be.

Huh. That was oddly perspicacious.

Also, “perspicacious” is a lovely word.

 

Paperclips.

Like Dean Winchester, I too have a well-founded appreciation for paperclips. They have gotten me out of many sticky situations as well as allowed me to hand in papers of a length greater than a single sheet of paper.

Dean is too cool for this shit.

 

In which there is lots of mostly unfounded whining and a bit of snark and Kristen Stewart.

After all, unfounded whining is like what I fucking live for, right? It’s what I DO. I stress and worry over things, and then I whine about them, and then I sit up all night knitting and listening to Glee music. Rinse, repeat. I have also become very fond of capslock lately.

POSTING IN ALL CAPS MAKES PEOPLE LIKE YOU.

This time my worry-of-the-week is, what else? My boyfriend. I think that’s what I worry about like 98% of the time. But anyway. So he finally had this mini-showdown with his dad and they’ve got more normal working hours now and he’s going to the gym and things are good. Also his 21st birthday was two days ago, so happy birthday Cam. Kristen is happy for you.

That’s her happy face. Kristen is my new life-spiration. Seriously.

Anyway. So he’s got this whole new life and exciting things are starting to happen for him and he’s finally getting what he’s wanted for months and I’m so happy for him, really I am, but it also means he’s not getting home until 11:00 or so, he’s tired when he is home, and he’s distracted trying to do now in a couple hours what he used to have all afternoon to do. And when he’s a thousand miles away – literally, y’all, this is the life I lead – it makes it even easier for him to get distracted from me. I can’t just go hang out at his house while he plays video games or go to the gym with him or whatever. I just have to wait until he comes home and catch him for a few minutes here and there while he tries to do other things until he has to go to sleep. And honestly, with us being so far apart – which itself lends a bit of emotional distance, that we often can get past with a little concentration – and both of our lives changing so fast, it’s getting to the point of I feel like I have a buddy I talk to sometimes than a boyfriend. Which is not conducive to good emotional health for me. I have anxiety issues anyway, and this whole “my boyfriend doesn’t have time for me so I’m essentially alone” thing – not. helpful. Kristen does not approve of these anxiety issues.

But she looks fucking awesome doing it. Can you tell I’m on a Kristen kick lately?

Anyway. Yeah, and one of my best friends is getting married in September, the other is moving in with her boyfriend in December and…my boyfriend barely speaks to me. Like…Christ, y’all. There is only so much a girl can deal with. I even tell him I’m going to be completely out of touch for three days and he barely flinches. I mean, I know he still loves me and he still wants to talk to me, which is why this whining is unfounded, but I feel like we’re married and he knows he can ignore me because I’m not going to leave. Have I made myself too available? That’s a problem girls have, right? I read thefrisky.com. I keep on top of this shit. Maybe I should, like, make myself less available. Be aloof and shit. But that never works. I mean, I’ve totally tried it before, and it never gets me anywhere. We just get even more distant.

Where is Morgan Freeman to come in, give me some impossible task or power, and make me learn my lesson that way? I’d be ok with that.

Morgan Freeman does not understand why this is a problem.

Just…ugh. Fuck everything. I’m going to become a fucking NUN and just not HAVE this issue anymore.

Also, I got water in my left ear and now I can’t hear out of it. What the hell.

It is nap time. Maybe I can just…not wake up. That would be nice.

 

Almost last.

I am tired and I am stressed and I am broke and my boyfriend halfway across the country is apparently sharing a gym with his ex-girlfriend. I don’t – I – what did I do? I mean, REALLY. I’m a good kid. I clean my room and do my homework and go to work and wash my underwear. I do nice things for people, and I try really hard to be a good person, y’know? So why do I get days that just so utterly SUCK. Not just a little suck. Oh no. It’s…A LOT of suck. There is just suck pouring out of every single one of this day’s orifices. This day has been like marinating in suck for a whole week, just waiting to be plopped onto my plate and shoved into my face.

It is time for Supernatural, a nap, and Jelly Bellies. If I am disturbed, I will remove limbs.