April 09, 2002 :: 11:01 p.m.
so tied up
Grrr. I haven't been myself lately. Or maybe I have been, maybe I've been more myself than I've ever been before. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I really am this bitter, disinterested, melancholy person. Maybe who I thought I was doesn't exist. Maybe it never existed. Maybe I'm going crazy. Who knows? All I know is that something has changed and I don't necessarily like it. I don't like being upset all the time. I don't like not wanting to go out, not even wanting to see my friends. I don't like feeling this way, but I don't know how to change it, or even if it can be changed, which just makes me feel even worse. It's like I have no control over what "I" am anymore, or how I feel, or what I think or do. Most of the things that used to make me happy seem... pointless, like wastes of time. The few that still interest me are thrown aside regardless, because I know I wouldn't get anything useful or worthwhile out of them anyway. I don't take pictures anymore. I don't draw. I used to create things. Clothing and jewelry and sculptures and crafty things. I used to glue little rhinestones around my eyes, like a mask, like glasses, because I loved being decorative and it made the day prettier. I used to have fun. I can't do it anymore. It's like there used to be this big, bright light, this joy inside of me that's burned out.
I used to enjoy myself, as in enjoy being myself, enjoy being in my skin and thinking my thoughts. I didn't have so many inhibitions. I didn't care what anything thought, because I was happy with myself and that's all that mattered. I'm not so happy with myself anymore. I feel inadequate, like a copy of a copy of what I used to be. Smudged and grainy and sub-par. Not thin enough, not smart enough, not focused enough. Too dependent, too afraid to speak, too unsure. Just not enough, not good enough, too much of everything I shouldn't be. I have a spectacular boyfriend; I'm loved and yet I constantly feel like I'm not. I can't make myself believe the things he says to me because I feel like I don't deserve them. Why would anyone feel that way about me? I'm not worth those sentiments, those compliments, those emotions.
*sigh* I don't know what I'm talking about, really. Just writing for the sake of writing, I suppose, just writing to get things out. At this point I really don't care if it's coherent. It's true.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
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