How would someone sense that I’ve lived in Georgia all of my life?
Why was there a 23 on that guy’s necklace?
Who did I have to look up? I forgot.
Why do I feel so restless all the time? Why don’t I ever know what I want or what I want to do? (These two questions particularly bother me)
"Isn’t is sad that we have to make decisions? For whatever reason we’re not able to just… exist and have that be it."
Why does lighting affect my mood so much? Why is it so important to me?
Why do I get uncomfortable at the sight of clustered crevices? Like tons of holes all close together. Thinking of these images alone is giving me goosebumps.
Why am I so drawn to the darkness? Why does it feel like a possible home?
Why do morals exist? Why can I enjoy my ethics class so much on some days and want to rip the classroom into shreds on others?
Why do I never talk to Lucas when he’s so important to me and yet in person, it’s almost as if we talk everyday?
Why is Sarah the only female that I have ever really been able to consistently talk to and feel connected with on a level beyond almost any other person?
Why is every interaction between any two people so completely unique?
Why do I have so many important people in my life that I just rarely see or talk to?
Why is it that I haven’t experienced anger in months and lately, it’s been bursting into random flames?
I am tired and I had weird dreams last night. My sleep hasn’t been good lately.
I feel as though I am reciting these words for everyone. I feel as though I’m not actually experiencing things, but rather, I’m watching everything happen. I feel like I’m supposed to be an important piece of existence within a realm of infinity, yet I am most likely just a minuscule fragment of dust. But I should be recognized. For something… what? My existence. Whatever it is that I give off (behind my lack of coherent expression). I am intimidating, but no.. I am not. I am kind and care immensely.
I wish I were able to hold every living being. Fix every sadness, every wound.
I wish I didn’t have to hurt and be hurt in all situations.
I have seen what others have seen. I have seen what many have not.
I smell extremely good right now. I can’t normally sense my scent, but today I can.
I feel more and more like I’m able to drift out of my body a little bit further always.
I am tempted to travel far. Very far.
I feel as though the more I try to get close to Barry, the more frustrated I get simply because it hasn’t been working. It’s clear. We need to change our approaches. Or we need to part. It grinds me into pieces to realize that I have never really felt as though I have belonged anywhere.
Life is full of ugly moments, but I have felt a few that have been beyond words. Moments where I’m able to completely lose track of everything else around me and focus on just one thing. Or one person. And feel the feeling returned.
I like wooden rooms.
I like white rooms.
I like symmetry.
I like expression.
I think I scratch at myself because it allows me to feel something. It gives me this weird euphoric sensation even though it’s terrible for my skin and I regret it every time. I have formed scabs and scars all over my legs.
I remember once in my English 1102(?) class last semester. There were poems projected on the screen, so the room was darker than usual. The lighting made me sleepy and hazier than normal, of course. And I allowed my eyes to follow these lines… Any lines. I made images out of these trails of vision. The crevices of the tiled ceiling, the corners where walls met walls and walls met ceiling and walls met floor and desks met walls and people met desks and well writing this sounds stupid but I just remembered it and it seemed necessary to type.
I read through an old journal the other day while I was on my long break at school… It felt bittersweet and it’s sad to think that the happiest part of that day was that. That bittersweet moment. The happiest part of that day was incredibly sad. But not really, I guess. It was only sad because I would imagine someone else thinking so.
I enjoyed it.
I look forward to May. I’ll be going to Pangea. Of course, Barry has no interest in going this year.
Something so new and exciting to me is probably the opposite to him. He has no time for this. He won’t make time for it. He has more exciting things ahead of him anyway, which I probably won’t be able to afford. Planning that far ahead seems insanely useless to me. Things about to change a lot, but I don’t know what that means.
I am tired of craving attention. I am grateful that I attract it, but in ways, I wish I didn’t.
Because generally, I get the attention I don’t necessarily want. It is seemingly true that I am attracted to what I can’t have. And in ways, I’m pretty sure I construct my life in ways that makes it that way. In other words, if I want something, I find a way for the universe to order itself so that I can’t have it. Or maybe it is truly out of my control.. Who knows. No one does.
I have three hours of sitting here left. I am super spacey today.. I accidentally walked into my co-worker.
I forget that I’m supposed to speak sometimes in certain situations. It takes a while for me to process things.
I am pretty sure that is partly what prevents me from ever being able to be an actress. I don’t have the right brain for it. The right chemical reactions to form me into something I admire, yet won’t achieve unless I do something about it… Chances are, I never will.
Acting isn’t even close in my life anymore anyway. This isn’t high school. I don’t interact in a theater environment anymore.
I just want to express myself. That’s what anyone wants, right? To project and be understood or admired of approved of in some way.
I don’t have a particular thing that I’m good at or known for. Any hobby I try taking up fades in and out of my life just as much as thoughts do within my brain. And faces. I’m good at things. Yeah, I have talent within me. That is certain. I am creative as fuck, but there is usually no way for me to contain it long enough to get it out.
I start drawings, paintings, pieces of writing and then I just… feel so pointless. It’s a struggle known to many, of course.
I am not that different.
I can’t really stand how slow time is right now.
I feel insane and I feel insaner for feeling so insane. Especially when you tell me that I’m not. What do you mean I’m not insane?
We are all mad here.