2005-07-14
know better
I am alive. Therein lies the one word that could ever possibly describe my existence. I want to absorb all the world can offer, and I want in turn to give up. It's like a theme in my life.
There is so much to be said for seeking contentment. I did so even the other day.
It is so hard to find peace when people seem against the belief that you have done so. We are told not to care what people think.
I really love people. I try to seek joy within them. And I am proud of the job I have done in my life to surround myself by those who are enriching. I am so glad to be friends with those who I can call by such a name. I could list them all off and tell you spectacular things about each individual. I love these other people. I try to bask in them.
That is why it becomes so difficult not to care what they think. I can sense them beginning to doubt me, and I feel it is not just paranoia. They don't see the happiness. I won't name names to these ones, it's just simple acts of extensive consideration, weary of possible misery.
I did something I should not have. It was very self-detrimental and unnecessary. I read my ex-boyfriend's journal.
I don't know why he is still writing about me. I also don't know why I am reading it. I am beginning to see that he is not "over it," possibly. I won't elaborate on my suppositions, although he unfortunately does. He could negate this and I would attempt to understand, as I can know how that feels.
I am damn sick of things being a subsconcious "depth contest." And all this stupid talk about being/getting "over it." It may be better not to think of it in those terms.
It is hard to not take someone's word to heart after I have let them nestle that very object within their hands. He is one of those people that I basked in, yet, so much more than just "one of those people." We thought we had each other figured out, and evidently still do. I hate his attempts.
I don't want to let this sort of thing get to me. But I do acknowledge how sensitive and vulnerable I am to it all. The words being spoken hurt, but the originating voice is the truly painful part.
Petie is my best friend. I want to admit that to myself, I avoid the title but I know it. She has Catlin as her superlative, so it's one of those peculiar elementaryschooltype situations where they are yours but you are not theirs. I don't care, though. She's my best. And Catlin is awesome, good for them and that thing they have going on. Petie is amazing. I have never met someone with such a spectacular sense of personality and maturing. I bask.
I am not trying to flatter these people. I just want to elaborate on how their voice hurts my ears.
They think that I am unhappy. Do you know how hard that is? Do you know how hard that is to possibly try to negate? I hold my chin up quite litterally, opening my face to the glory of the sky as they quietly whisper, �no you're not.� I can hear! And it attempts to gnaw at my impenetrable soul. Vinnie tells me it is being eaten away at. It is as though he is some "all-knowing" person trying to justify his ways by scorning at my own. Maybe we impose that on each other. That is so, so sad. He seeks the social errors in my ways and it makes his seem better. I wish we didn't do that to each other. Don't lecture, don't suggest. What works for you is so unorthodox that it will not likely apply to others. You can try if you want, but please don't include me.
I don't want to feel that I have to prove myself, but that is how it seems to be. Believe me! Please believe in me. Vinnie, don't write such doubtful things. It does no good, it does not! Petie, believe! You more than anyone, please!
I am so alive and so real. So true. I know this. I am myself. I own no mask other than the one I wore to prom!!! This is me. This is how I act, how I am. It is TRUE! I want to stifle your voices by having my own certain, clear one ring out. I don't want to have to prove myself, but I need you to believe.
I will NOT victimize myself. But no one seems to have faith in me.
Of course I question it all. Vinnie's words have some merit and validity in my life. The extent of that validity is unknown and ambiguous. He has had one solitary, misrepresented conversation with me in over four months. He does not read this diary. He has seen, at very best, mere glimpses of me. Yet he held me as no one else did, once knew me superlatively himself. So when he writes that I am self-pitying, thinks me flighty and random and gripping for something more with melancholy, I have to consider it.
After pondering in pain, I must reject it. Not only because I have to, but because I know better. I vehemently know in my soul that he does not know what he is talking about. I would almost question why I am wasting these words upon it, but I know that I must for myself. I loved him. That may seem to lack relevance, but I know it makes all the difference.
I question what premise this is all based upon. Did you not see me tilt my head up as I lay on my back nestled by the water, swimming? Didn't I laugh down the river? Wasn't it fun when I drove, when Amelia and I went canoeing, when we talked by the fire? Didn't I kindly speak to you? You know I did. Why do I feel like I have to quantify all this?! I don't want to! It was just good! Believe me! I am Not the pessimistic one here.
I just need someone to believe in me. I love Petie so much, she has no idea and I have no way to show it. I still love Vinnie as well, in a sense of detatched nostalgia for our relationship. Not clinging to the past, but appreciating it. You have to realize that it would be selfish to not love him, to let a few substantial weeks tarnish the rest. I won't get the opportunity to say thank you, and I know that he doesn't know.
I need faith. I know I have it in myself, but I don't know if that is enough. Please know that I am true. Look in my eyes and see the genuine-ness. I don't know why Vinnie brings me down like this. I am just very sensitive in this regard. Maybe anyone would be if someone who once knew them so well shrewdly observed what they thought to be melancholy behind a light quirky randomness. That does't make it excuseable. I am good. I know it, I know it deep in me. I believe.
I know my eyes lowered as you left. I didn't want you to go. I know you can be really defensive about these sort of things, when I seem stand-offish. You seem to make it about you, and in a very justiable and mature manner. I don't avoid you, and God knows I would never ignore you. I don't glorify you like Vinnie does, I don't have to. I know how good you are. I don't want to mistreat you. But if I'm not talking to you, please don't pessimistically assume it's because I don't want to. Don't let me offend you. I wasn't trying to. It was embarrassing enough, the mishaps of the day. They hurt in more ways than one. I know it can be incredibly contradictory to feel this way, but it bothers me when you let things I do get to you when really that is never an intention of mine, at all. I can't much better explain it. I can't tell you how happy I am for you. Your relationship is better than my parents'. I appreciate Sean so much and I think that you deserve each other. I just got off the phone with him. I had no idea what in the hell to say, but it's ok. He was there. I love his smile, too. Trust in my happiness, how I bask for you.
I feel alone, but I know that I am okay. I love Thomas. Maybe that is unfair and selfish, but I do. I love consciously knowing that I have overcome hurdles. I can feel it inside me and mourn that it does not resonate outward. Don't whisper. I am alive. I have to fear that this is all an affirming obligation against itself and agree; the basest human pride prohibits otherwise. But I have to know better.
Your words sputter out of a "you"-infested turbine, pressing marks up against my skin, the very flesh your mouth once adorned. I know better. That does not matter now. I do not cut or hope for an end, at all. It's a journey.
Driving home from Polson and Missoula with my mom, she told me about a coworker who lived in Massachusetts until she got divorced after her husband cheated on her. She moved back in with her parents in some desolate place north of Kalispell, basically in the middle of no where. She doesn't particularly like her job, and she misses Boston. She has trouble connecting with people here. She seemingly does not have a good life.
On a side note, she could be very happy and true deep inside herself whilst we all shake our heads in pity to the self-denial. Please don't do that to me. I have given no reason.
Anyway, hearing of this woman lead me to a startling realization, one which may seem obvious but it is an epiphany nonetheless. This woman is treated just like everyone else. When she goes to pay taxes, when she is late for an appointment, she doesn't get special treatment just because her life sucks. Some people are born into trust funds. Others into a double-wide mobile home. We make do with what we have, with what we are given.
There are no excuses. You must take life as it comes, and make do with what you have. She didn't ask for that life. But things won't be more understanding or excuseable because of it.
The justice of life is blind to circumstance.
Some people just need to be stronger than others. Their life requires it. I know better.
leesah-likes at 1:16 p.m.