there are flies everywhere in this house. i can hear them.
man, it gets a little dramatic in here doesn't it?
like glittery red curtains open and the sad show of my black lined mentality begins. fanfare and candy wrappers sing out while i stand center stage to shout about what hurts and how. sometimes i really annoy myself.
there is a fly in the lamp closest to me, sizzling and buzzing against the shade and the bulb. probably in a strange ecstatic confusion, overcome by light and the weird fly urges that control it. i know this general feeling, dude. but still, please die.
it's just. what the fuck. why the fuck. i sludge through afternoons wondering what will become of me. with a sometimes distant partner who seems confused by my attention. well i don't know. it's hard to read people. it's gotten harder i think. i am watching my youth disappear from under me. the light flowing under a door and into the world.... without me. i am coming to the point where i have to decide what is going to happen here. this is life right? this is 30 now. this is a third of the way through and you still don't mean very much to the people you assume are important. are you important. god, am i important. i feel like a take it or leave it kinda girl, a thanks for hanging out kind of chick, a hey i mean while you're here kind of broad on the edge of already being forgotten. and i feel like a fucking idiot for feeling so deeply about them.
about these liars, the people really actually probably doing nothing wrong. i mean, we can only really look out for ourselves right? isn't that the key to my own philosophy? so how can i hold this against anyone? what gives me the right to be angry or sad. disappointed? empty. what on earth was i expecting?
that was probably my problem all along. i should have really heard him when he told me not to expect, how can these expectations be anything, just don't ok?
i should really work on that grounding shit.
right?
oh god fuck that. you know the beautiful thing about this blog is i can go back and really see my feelings. and yea most of the time i just want to give myself a hug and wipe tears and blood away, but i can also see that streak of the right kind of crazy there. in those wild words i can feel my heartbeat. i remember days and nights of emotional disasters but i can remember waking up after with a bemused thought of damn i'm actually still alive. i am proud of myself, downright amazed that even though i was picking myself apart i stayed alive and i stayed coherent and i skipped the needles and took the joints and for every person who broke me down those walls were always magically miraculously built up again. fresh. unscarred. unlike my physical skin my unseen skin is clear and soft and open. i gave each person a new smile even when so many had decided before that i wasn't worth the time. that this broken girl was a lost cause or desperate enough to follow like a shitty sick puppy. how many people just said fuck this and left, spent nights silently uncaring before walking out the room and to a bed that had become a cell. but i'm unchanged.
i am proud of this.
i am happy for it.
goddamn it this is amazing.
i don't really think i can stress over the little things. i'm a grownup now. right. grown. but i also need to be my own thing. i need to be separate. i'm sure my heart is strong but i can't be too careful.
i just mean that i'm not really dreading destruction anymore.
my old friend, i'm always there for you, the way you have been for me.
let's start act 2.
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