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03Aug08

In five hours, I have to wake up and do it all over again.

And in this moment of silence – nothing but the hum of the wind against the chilled windowpane and the tap-tapping of my keypads, the full blow of tomorrow and the days after flows through me like… waves. Like crushing waves of inescapability.

I have never been good at hiding my feelings. It seems at times as though my heart really was etched on my sleeve and in my face – people read me so easily I no longer try to build shields. But when it comes to anger… I stew. I simmer. I let it boil inside. I curl up deep under layers of warmth so that I can just express my anger to the stagnant air, which is where it stays.

I feel stretched. I feel torn. I am not helpless, but my problem is I feel too much. I always have to be liked, and when disapproval stares me in the face, I cower and wait to be let back in. Human favour makes me weaker than it should. I have theories as to the origins of this, but right now, after years of being selfish and mean, I’m trying to figure out the balance between caring too much and caring too little. I used to ignore decorum but I wouldn’t mind knowing some now. And common sense had always eluded me. If it became my friend right this instant, I wouldn’t mind either. Because I am sick of being awkward and garish. I’m sick of adapting to everyone to the point that I almost lose myself. I’m tired of fooling myself with imaginings.

If it cannot be, it cannot be. It is, what it is.

I’ll probably delete this vague, ambiguous post that is seemingly about nothing and everything at the same time. How very postmodern of me.

But for now, this is real, and this is how I feel, and I needed to lift this from my ribcage so that I can try to breathe.

Because in less than five hours, I have to do this all over again. And I want to do it with less pain.

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