2004-11-09
worrisome/worry some
this is where you can come and worry about my wellbeing. please don't, if you do it lessens the value of having an online diary where i can supposedly let go and say something. don't worry, don't judge, please, don't even ask. i just need to type it out.
i am getting a lot better at sitting there with a sullen look on my face. can i talk to you for a second? sure, go ahead. like i don't know what the hell you're going to say. like you have no idea. looking at your face.. i can't believe i've addressed it to him like this fuck that. i hate it i hate it all get me away you're not right no but neither is this shit it's just so hard to fake. what the hell was i supposed to say? what? to think back about what he means, if it's justified and true? allow myself to find fault, within, and accept that make myself do it. i was in the wrong, i am i am, i act wrong i am so unright ungood worse than every effing predecessor they gave back look at me look at how i act and what i am, they're watching they're watching they're watching! you've said it all before somehow i've epitomized your sentiments against take me away back to ms. fisher, jenny smiling for debate running to catch the bus fuck this, fuck the team it presses against my chest and hurts so very bad be more modest more positive don't say that shhh oh god. thinking about it on the walk home, essay pops in head, heavy breathing. what happens after a panic attack? i am no future leader i am so very vulnerable sensitive but damnit SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. give up, give it all up and away is it worth it does it bloody matter if it is? quit, take a break, look the other way. go back. he can't know what he has done, you can't know this pain you have to know that i am sick enough to hold myself above it. i don't know how i'm going to act come thursday faced with it all again, maybe i'll just turn in my gay notebook and leave, go run a thousand miles and i know i've left those behind who will get up there and fake it like i do every damn day, faces bright hands clinging to gestures digging for something profound philosophy beautiful BULLSHIT. i love it so much, it's an intense relationship between me and myself pressing pressing right on chest. fake it, we all do. i'm not with it. i'm behind, above, below, back, elsewhere.
fake it. everybody does.
leesah-likes at 5:08 p.m.