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Last night I feel asleep with a liar.
On Wednesday, Nov. 01, 2006 at 5:40 p.m.

I'm wondering--again--if I'm encouraging my misery. I'm actually okay right now and I was okay yesterday but whenever I feel good I question why and wonder if it's an interlude or a climb. Maybe I should stop thinking and over-analyzing the how and why of what I feel but it's not an option I truly grasp. Contentment bores me and I hold up intricate, damaged, and deep--basically fucked up--as such an ideal, especially when applied to writers. The best writing comes from the greates pain. It's like everything and it's obvious like everything and I'm such a fucking fool and such a fucking sucker for the idea of needing salvation (in a strictly non-religious kind of way).

I finally let go of the idea of a boy saving me (I think, in exchange, I grasped on to the converse. Ironic, considering I recently decided I really don't want a boyfriend because I don't wanna weigh someone down with my plethora of issues, no matter how happy I am they still exist, sometimes dormant. But I've always loved irony, so, it's a good thing maybe). I need to let go of the whole damaged-writer ideal I have. I need to see myself as something besides a mess of half-disorders. I know I'm more than this. I know I have talent in things besides writing and losing weight. I know I don't have to be miserable to write well. Angst doesn't help with writing. It's the other way around. I need to get that through my head. Embracing fiction over autobiography has helped a lot but it isn't enough. I feel like a waste. Like I'm constantly boring the people I talk to. Like I'm hurting my friends by asking for their time and understanding when I'd just waste it keeping how I feel inside. And then I debate between martydom and self-preservation and realize they're both horrible options.

For the first time in two months I have some will to live. It isn't much but it's something. I'm not equiped for this. I need a better support system and a better ability to utilize it. Mostly, I need an outlet for my self-destruction. Keeping it internalized is deadly but I really wouldn't know whre to begin. There are so many tantalyzing options and while none of them are far away none of them are excessively available either.

I don't think I make sense. That's good. That means I'm taking this site back, reclaiming my thoughts, mostly putting truth before beauty.



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