I had one of those nights, last week.
Yes, those nights.
The completely out-of-my-mind type.
Here's what I wrote:
- - - -
I think I’m having some sort of emotional breakdown.
I don’t even know why.
Crooked calendar.
It feels like about four in the morning, not eleven at night.
And my fiancé shouldn’t have to be my psychologist – even though she just listened to half an hour of neuroses that may not even exist.
I can’t decide whether I miss people, or things, or memories.
I can’t make words fit together properly.
It’s nothing to do with the fact that I want to holds hands forever, but can’t do so in public.
Can you even miss memories?
Maybe you can miss times, but not memories.
But if memories are times, then maybe so.
Sometimes, I feel like no one takes me seriously.
I don’t usually say things for no reason.
In fact, never.
In this light it looks like my hands are wrinkled – I have this feeling I’m going to die young, you know.
Perhaps I just need a distraction; at the moment, peeling off all my nail polish feels like an accomplishment.
I’m never going to write a book,
and I’m never going to be passionate about something other than you for longer than five minutes.
If my turtle died, I’d hate myself a little bit.
I lied to myself for years – I’m not a “boy’s girl”.
But if that’s the case, why can’t I get my mother to like me?
And why has my father always preferred the others?
I couldn’t share a room.
I need to be able to sit at my laptop in the middle of the night
and take my clothes off when I get hot.
Fuck, I’m spoilt.
People always apologise too late.
‘Say what you mean, and mean what you say.’
Or, blah.
Décor with spots looks cheap.
I can say that, but I miss my nipple ring – ha!
I care when people don’t like me.
It’s obvious.
So why do you claim otherwise, fucker head?
You’re lonely, but you’ve got everyone you want.
Pluck eyebrows. Clean room. Tell baby sorry. Wear dress. Repay brother. Parents. Brother. Phone bill. Stop buying bottled water. Walk. Stop driving before car dies.
Get inspired.
Stop being dim-witted.
or
No one will ever like you.
- - - -
I can't even bring myself to read it.
So you are my psychologist!
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2 comments:
firstly. i want to say that technology sucks, just as much as it rocks... i just wrote a big speil that deleted as soon as i clicked send.
anyway, i will try to remember what i just wrote.
i am not a psychologist, but i have seen one long enough to say that i don't believe you are going crazy.
i have read a fair few of your writings, and i have to say that this one hit a pretty deep part of me. i think this is because i saw a side of you in it that i have never seen before.
i think it is a real credit to you that you expose yourself so much in your writings. i know that sugar coating things is not your forte' which i believe is one of your strongest traits.
i know you can't face the 'insecurities' you wrote of in this piece right now, but i believe one day you will beable to re-visit them with confidence, and i believe will be a truly rewarding experience for you!
Kristy
seems like me.
like something i'd say.
something i often feel.
it's confusion.
and growing.
and the two and the same time is never easy.
in fact,
i think you're dealing quite well.
just don't go too crazy.
you should know,
no matter what --
you have a home.
even if you don't feel like you belong.
and for chrissake!
you know how to love,
no matter how hard or confusing it is right now.
i really commend your spirits and honesty.
i usually don't look them in the face like that.
i usually cry,
for a few hours,
in the shower in the morning
and in bed at night.
sometimes i think the easiest thing to say is, you're not alone.
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