Not the best run in the world, but at least I ran. I just need to keep this momentum going so I don't fall back into my routine of never working out, like first and second quarters. I left at like 7:15 and stretched for a couple minutes. I got back at 7:40 ish. I walked a lot too (but I blame that on stupid menstrual cramps, on top of not letting my food digest enough before I started. That sucks though because dinner time is usually when I get pumped to run. ...I will just have to change that.) Anyway, I have really good stamina, so distance/time isnt really the problem. The problem is route. All this week I ran the same route (plus/minus some) and 1) it isnt long enough, by far, and 2) I really need variety because that is what motivates me. What disengages me from exploring is the prospect of getting lost (another thing I will just need to get over... this campus isnt that big). Ahh well, I am just happy that I'm active again.


hmm.
oh yea, I wanted to list the songs that I listened to on my runs. The ones that are effective in helping me focus (or relax, as the case may be). Maybe I will make a playlist (if I can ever figure out how on that damned device --which I love!)
Today I started with the first one that came on which was Transatlanticism. Of course that one has a perfect rhythm and I am already use to getting short of breath on that one, cause I generally freak out and jump up and down for 7 minutes whenever they play it at concerts. :P
Anyway, the next song I didnt skip was Avenged Sevenfold's I Won't See You Tonight (Part 1, mind you). I let that song play because I know it can make me really angry, and emotional which, coincidentally makes me want to run more.
After that, which is another long one, I came across some deer and pulled out my headphones so I could talk to them as I passed. I walked here, and watched them. They didn't mind how close I was and were hopefully glad to have someone to talk with briefly. Who knows, though?
I walked for a while cause I really didn't feel good at that point, plus I was at the prettiest part of the route (out on Geoduck Road). I listened to a song by the guy from The Frames (it was one of the songs from the Once soundtrack)... oh, his name is Glen Hansard, and he sings/plays with a girl who's name I can't pronounce -- Marketa Irglova (I guess I can pronounce it, just can never remember it). I'm pretty sure he plays the guitar, and she the piano. There is also a violin (and cello, maybe... I can't remember). Anyway, there are no vocals in that particular song (The Swell Season), and it was perfect for walking amoung the trees.
I ran again, listening to We Believe (RHCP) and one other song that I can't remember, before I arrived back at the apartment.

though I don't think its from the cold.

I'm so exhausted.
Why don't I enjoy sleep more? I do... but it is really just the process of getting there. Compile OCD with being a night-owl; by the time I even resolve to sleep I have to spend an hour more getting ready and then making sure everything is okay (you really don't wanna know) before I can actually relax.

And now I'm all excited about tomorrow. Not to mention this weekend.


Ahh, well.
:)


Really though, I just need a good hug right now... that would make it easier.

2 really girly, really emotional movies later...
and only a few tears more.

So strange.

Anger

Written Reflection
Week 3 of Cultivating Voice
::

I learned a lot,
…but, that can’t be all I have to say.

I ate a lot too,
…but what did I eat? Why did I eat it? How is it important that I ate what and why?
Well truthfully, last night I ate way too much Thai food for my own good, and today I ate an egg-salad sandwich from Starbucks. But only half of it. The other half, I decided as I resealed the container, I wanted to give to a hungry woman on the side of the road. We had stopped on the off ramp and given her all the change in our pockets, which probably amounted to less than $3. So, I wanted to give her the rest of my sandwich too. But when we pulled up to get back on the freeway, there were four lanes of traffic between her and I.
That is no excuse. I could have run across; the lights were red, the cars were stopped, waiting for me to act upon my good will. But I didn’t.
Why? Conditioning (I will steal the term from Huxley), …running across the traffic was too dangerous. But, then again, it is dangerous also for her to be on the streets starving. Why is my life more important? Because I am a moving, working cog in the machine? Because I go to school? Because I am not starved of knowledge?
Neither is she.

But I ate, and she didn’t. I learned, and maybe --probably-- she learned something this week too. However, she most assuredly didn’t learn about “reader response literary theories” or sit on a hill and talk to a tutor about how she writes.
But maybe she laid on a rock in the woods, staring at the sky at dusk, and discovered something about herself --though it’s unlikely she wrote about the experience in her blog.

What I really mean to say encompasses all I have discovered this week about my thinking and learning, about my writing and myself.
When I look at a single session of listening or thinking, my reflection of that can be no more depth-ful than the flat plain of the mirror which I can reach out to touch, but go no further. As I take in a whole week, and account for the many different occurrences and influences, places and times of learning, my reflection gains depth and body --I am then looking through the mirror glass, at a re-creation of my multi-dimensional self. At this point the very act of reflecting becomes a learning process in its own right.

I NEED TO CRY.

What is with this dry spell?

more than the fall."

I don't think I deserve to feel this way again, although I know I brought it upon myself. I searched for it and I'm not quite sure why I would do that. My explanation is that I was looking for something good to remember. Pictures are one thing, but words... words are honest. A smile can lie. A picture can be interpreted. Words can be interpreted too, but words expressing love or happiness is more telling than a picture of his mouth to my head. And when the words I read say that the pictures weren't sincere, then all the truths that I find in the pictures are false.
It's been years.


I'm losing my mind tonight, and this time there is no way to blame it on a lack of sleep, or food. No. There is just too much circling my brain.


Dream:
You visited me even before you went back to the valley. You came just to see me. And...it was more than just that. It was...
Nevermind.
I will see you this weekend. Finally. It has been months. Months too long.


fuggggg.
I'm done for now.

(PS. Why do you never call me?)

but only for like 20 minutes. I felt really good, and could have kept going, but I stopped wanting to be creative about the route and ended up back at the dorms. I sweat a lot though, which means I was either working harder than my run at Illwaco, or that I ran longer (which I didn't), or that it is warmer here (which is true). So... next time I am gonna push myself more, even if it means running in circles. And hopefully next time will be tomorrow or Tuesday, though that depends on how much work I finish today.

And on that note, it is time to start reading.

...I will always manage to find something that really hurts.
Still hurts.
That made me deserve it all.
(I should really delete some of that.)




So much for running today. Or maybe that was just enough fuel for the fire. Yea, I might still run.
But I need to read too. And write. And I really need some company.

Sincerity doesn't seem like something many people are capable of anymore.

I am sincere because I want people to know who I really am. But sometimes we aren't suppose to show certain parts of ourselves; it isn't acceptable. So I often find myself hiding. And I am sick of trying/pretending to be something or someone that I'm not.

I already wear my heart on my sleeve as much as I can. I bear my soul to the world on this blog. So why do I feel so fake?

Because I am surrounded by fake people. Not everyone, but many. Or maybe they are real. It doesn't matter. What I think of them doesn't matter because they are they, and I am I. And while I want to know them, understand them, feel what they feel, what really matters right now is how I feel. And how I can feel better. This is because I am alone in my room, on a Saturday night, after eating way too much, and watching a movie that should have made me cry more than it did.
And I am thinking about the beautiful sun hitting the body and feathers of the bird on the pier in Illwaco.
I am thinking about how it made me feel.
I never thought I would stop photographing it.
I stared into the lifeless eye, still attached to the beak, which were both disconnected from the rest of the twisted form.
I wondered if it was bad to find this beautiful; to invade its space and capture the sun glinting off the feathers with my camera.
But this body held a soul once, and it, laying there discarded, made me find some peace in death. Because the life was gone from the eye (the eye that no longer had any function, of seeing, of perceiving), but the life was not gone, because the story of the bird played backward in my mind. It lifted from the strip of man-made land and struggled through the air, taking back its last breaths, and moving toward its first. It got stronger and stronger and landing on the post of the dock, with the others for the last time... for the first time. It lifted off, again backward and flew back home. It lived its whole life again. A life, a mind, a will. Just like me.
Now, the body, soaking the sun, rewarded for carrying the soul.
and the soul, somewhere else. A new body. A heaven. Surrounding me. Or scattered across the universe. I don't know which, or whether it is something else. But I do know somehow that the things those empty eyes have seen will never be forgotten. Even if I am the only to remember.

are a little bit of heaven.

:)


Goodnight,
(Finally).

something I wrote stood out.
like thoughts stand out.
and people.

someone I want to be.
or want to be like.
or want to be liked.

or want them to be alike.
they are.
quite.

quite different. the two paths.
the two halves.
of the moon.
make a full moon.
no moon.
new moon.
its too soon.
you're too far.
to get to.

ahh, the sky was so blue.
tonight. at twilight.
you might.
laugh.
but I'm not kidding.
i stepped out of the building that held my day
and looked across the lights.
the trees.
the distance.
it was dark.
ish.
it was bright.
bright blue.
bluer than I'd seen.
unless.
I had never noticed.
what a sight not to see.
the blue beyond the trees.

the you beyond the me.

hmph.
who is she? ["am I in love with just a theme?"]
in the picture?
in the mirror?
in the window.

out of mind.
out of my mind.
out of this time.
out of time.


["Somewhere across the sea of time, a love immortal just like mine will come to me eternally. Immortal she, return to me."]

"2 am and I'm still awake writing a song. If I get it all down on paper its no longer inside of me threatening the life it belongs to. And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd cause these words are my diary screaming out loud, and I know that you'll use them however you want to."

...or not
...an excess of thought
...not enough time in a day
...too much to say
...overheat
...left on repeat



ask me
throw me into the sky to find out why I am



this is dis[torted]
diction

[ad]diction
[contra]diction
fiction.

like dreams
[insight into life beyond the stars we see]
but not for me.

reality.

is hard.

soft
strange
slight change.

I'm
insane.
insom[niac].



[oh Sleep, pull me down with force, so I can see a new day and smile once again.]

I write and put periods where my thoughts end. Where I pause. This is limiting. I hope to expand sentences and thoughts...
sometimes.

[but all the while, you're growing too.]

The Day of Silence is tomorrow. In a few minutes actually. 15.

What to say? Where to even start?

Reading about the internment of Japanese Americans, hearing about the genocides in Africa ect, remembering the atrocities against African Americans in the US, knowing that people were "exterminated" in the Holocaust. Learning about all this. This is common knowledge. Things we have memorials for. Things we are ashamed of. And yet, we still discriminate. We still can't figure it out; accept each other, love each other, embrace each others differences... or AT LEAST tolerate them.

Humanity is capable of compassion. I've seen it.

I'm thinking, and dreaming, at the sky, in the woods. All the stories. My story. Laying on this rock. Looking upward and outward. Letting go of control. Just sitting, and not deliberately scheming... just letting my mind flow.

Anger lifted me up. Anger inspired this. "Anger is a gift."

The trees above me form a circle around the sky. Catching the sky. Catching my eye. Catching my thoughts, in the webs, of branches, of spiders (of lovers, of fighters).

For a minute or two or three or ten, there is nothing I have to do, nothing I want to do, nowhere I want to be. Except here in the trees, with the sky, and the rock, and my eyes and my ears. And my nose, and my mouth. To breathe in the air, to breathe in the life. To live. And feel. Unbarred. Unprecedented. Unreal.

An impulse to stand, and move lifts me but does not disturb the peace. Does not even seem to be a movement. Flowing. Going.
For once I know where I am going, and where I want to be...

But only when I'm in the trees.






I step out. Dance along the curb. Deliberating again, but still not disturbed. The light of day, the stillness. Captured. The anger, the energy. Quelled.
The beauty. The simple, pure, healing power brought by the quiet and stillness of the trees...

Weekly assignment for Cultivating Voice:

This week I am trying an exercise employing techniques from “Writing as Cooking” by Peter Elbow. This version is a couple steps after the original “external cooking” I did in my notebook, but for the purposes of this exercise, it is fairly similar:
I feel that, my first step is to open myself up. Write freely. I should know how to do this… although, I censor my blog a lot too now. And I have never been able to do it for an assignment because I so often feel that my words will stick to the page, to the piece, even if I discard them later. (Maybe that is the point…) Anyway, I wish to make this cooking process work for me. I edit out too much too quickly, as my mind and my hand filter and scratch out anything less than my supposed best. For this reason, I always have trouble starting.
I write as I stare out a train window. Writing, while traveling across the grey-green country, and sipping a too-hot cup of cocoa, listening to a beautiful song I had long forgotten; this is heaven. I am distracted, I am thoughtful. I am not fluent, and well, that isn’t the point. But I pause every few seconds searching for the thoughts, and each word as though they are strewn across the landscape, or hidden in the signs that briefly enter my life, and vanish more quickly. A new song starts. “Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box. They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.”

(Wow, I feel like I am really bad at this “external” thing because of how much I am thinking. …But then again, everything is a process--even learning a new process.)

I found this week in Cultivating Voice to be especially profound. The three sections I have divided in my mind, have each provided their own unique insights to me, helping me relearn how to project myself and my feelings onto the page; how to be open and expressive and honest with my writing. Joe Tougas’ presentation is the first of these sections. He captured me with his soft, but powerful approach. I watched as he turned a circle of people into a thoughtful crock-pot of idea, insight, truth, and questioning. He opened us up.


That was class.
On Wednesday I went to the center to work with a tutor. When I signed up, I made sure to get a different guy then I got the first time I went there two whole quarters ago. I had seen him lurking around, and I really didn’t want to encounter him again. I needed an experience that would get me cooking, rather than shoving me down the garbage disposal.

Dear Skye,
I will never forget this first session with you. When I had started to reduce myself, my writing, my art, my life to nothing, you sat with me, talked with me, and opened me up, exposing my reclusion. You stimulated my passion, my meaning. And you talked and questioned until I again knew all the things I had once found in myself through writing, but that I had lost along the way.
…I lost them through my writing too, because I had lost the art. Well, more accurately, I had given up on the art. It was no longer art for me, even if I wanted it to be, because I refused to see myself as an artist, or even as a person with the ability to be artistic.
That is wrong.
I have been creating, and what anyone creates is art, because it has the properties and involves the process of art: expression, perception, chance, meshing, molding, thought. Creation is art, and creators are artists. You, Skye, helped me remember.
Thank you,
Alex

We have just emerged from a long dark tunnel, and I look out the train window. The view opens up into a wide, bright body of water. Choppy. Waves cresting and breaking to the tune of the song that started playing through my headphones just as the darkness fell, and the clouded sunlight reconnected to this page. I stare. The train is hardly moving and I have time to see and hear, or at least imagine, a million symphonies in this particular texture and motion, this area of the water; the boundless inspiration in one site. And I can be a composer.


My final “enlightenment” this week came from the very reading that inspired this exercise: “Writing as cooking.” I am a better writer just having read it. That must be because it made me, again, look at my relationship with writing. Seeing that other people struggle with the same exact problems as I do, and discovering the techniques I need overcome those difficulties. I feel like exercising some of those techniques in this paper has already helped.

"One of the functions of a diary is to create interaction be·
tween you and symbols on paper. If you have strong feelings
and then write them down freely, it gives you on the one hand
some distance and control, but on the other hand it often
makes you feel those feelings more. For you can often allow
yourself to feel something more if you are not so helpless and
lost in the middle of it. So the writing helps you feel the feeling
and then go on to feel the next feelings. Not be stuck."
-From "Writing as Cooking" by Peter Elbow


This essay I just read, where I got the excerpt from, was fascinating. I am a better writer just having read it.

That must be because it made me, again, look at my relationship with writing. Seeing that other people struggle with the same exact thoughts that I do. Having someone tell me that this is what I am doing to my writing because of how I write, and maybe how that can change. This 2 credit course is doing more for me than my stupid 16 credit. But I am starting to really like spending time in The Pacific Northwest because of the people. So I guess that makes it more worth it even if I think the teacher is not so intelligent and uninteresting, and the subject matter is less than intellectual. But Cultivating Voice... for just 2 credits, it is incredible. The conversations we have are insightful and meaningful to me. The readings are captivating. And the assignments are personal, but still challenging. *nods* (see, now I am nodding rather than shaking my head). I feel better. Even though it is late, and I still have shit to do, and I didn't get to read a chapter of New Moon. And I am behind on reading Strawberry Days. grr.
Well
tomorrow will be good (I say with as much certainty as one can say about any day or anything, really.) If all goes accordingly: I will enjoy the train, I will be productive, see Tyler, Nina, and Ariana, and hopefully Ben and Aja, and I will smile. And I will try to catch up on sleep. hah.

I miss Matt already. So much. And I know I am about to miss my family, and my kitties when I am back at school.

*sigh* well.. I need to sign off now. With any luck I will be to bed by 2. and we leave at 6:30.

Why do I feel like I have to decide? ..Between one life, or another completely different one.



And I feel like...
hmm
fuck it.

Why can't I just live? Be content. Not be miserable (or constantly fighting misery, or constantly worrying that I am going to end up miserable).


----

I always find myself shaking my head, when I get lonely, or down. I shake it at the idea that I am stuck like this. That's how I feel at these times. Like I am stuck in a dream. And I feel like someone should slap me, pour cold water on me, shake me awake. Something to spark some life into me.

So often I find myself like this. Lifeless. Unmotivated.
Unmoving.
Dizzy from the spiraling thoughts; from the whirlwind of emotion; from all the meaningless words that people say / that I say / that I hear.
Dizzy. Tired.
Stuck.

---
The train tomorrow will be good. The destination isn't perfect, and the distance isn't long enough, but the ride will be wonderful, as always.

I can sit, in peace. Move along the earth. See the world. Feel, hear the movement of the train. Taste a new air. Touch the cold window. Fly away for a while.

There are people to talk to... but only if I want. Most of them are too caught up for interaction. And that is fine. I am too.


-------
Hmm, on this note, of traveling.
I wish I was working from place to place. Paying myself around the country, around the world. I wish I was brave enough.

I want to watch Into the Wild. I've seen it once, and only once. Strange because of the connection I have to it. I guess it makes sense though. I don't want to watch it because I am afraid to watch it... for whatever of many subconscious reasons.

--
Beh,
I need to go read
and write
and get ready to sleep.

Early morning tomorrow.

--

PS.

I
LOVE
TWILIGHT.

DO SHIT!

Jimmy Durante doesn't have all the answers...

but maybe I should just shut up and listen to him.

maybe i shouldnt be allowed to take into account how i think or feel when im in a state like this... but wow... everything was beautiful today, and i dont understand why i feel like it is crumbling now.

why do i do this to myself? to my body?

i didnt eat anything but sugar today. i didnt do anything but sit around. and stay up late.
i laughed. harder than maybe ever. felt alive. and felt good. but i dont feel good now. for obvious reasons. not a perfect state of mind. but then again.. maybe my thoughts are clearer than ever.

ohmygod.
sleep.

( i wonder sometimes if i am subconciously punishing myself...)

goodnight.

because it was good.


Ran into Erin, a girl from Mount Si who is planning on coming here next year. She was super nice to talk to, and I hope I get to know her whenever she starts here.


Met with Skye at the Writing Center. He really helped my change my overall attitude, and even though all we really talked about was writing, I felt so enlightened when our session was over.


Had a wonderful, very easy, very real conversation with Tyler, as we walked around campus tonight.


Hung out with Ariana (who just broke up with Mike) and her friend (who randomly drove down from Western to be with her), and had a nice discussion with them too.


--

It feels good to meet new people, and experience the world through their stories. I'm starting to really like this.

and I wanted to save it. remember it.


"on saturday i went to
my best friends memorial service.
got in a fight with my dad.
had anna over."
--Daryan's bulletin.

I think
I have a problem.

And right now... as each moment passes... I am spiraling down, into mental chaos.


I feel like everyone knows there is something wrong with me. And they are watching me. Ignoring it. Why are they ignoring it? Why can't I?
And why am I so snappy?
Today... I just couldn't control it. Everything was pissing me off so much.

I just don't understand why are people so stupid?
So impatient.
So CRITICAL.
So annoying.
So hypocritical.
So cliche.
So unthinking.
...seriously. People don't seem to think before they do/say.
And as for me, I'm even worse, because I over think everything I do or say, and most of the time it ends up being wrong. I end up sounding dumb.

I feel that I am pretty patient, but I am losing it. And losing my mind.

For the sake of avoiding the insanity it brings me to think about how crazy I am, tonight, I will just blame all this on being tired. Hopefully that is it. Stress and exhaustion that breaks me down, and not depression, or bipolar.
But, if i am being honest with myself... i feel sick, mentally. And I have a good deal of the time since 7th or 8th grade.


I have found ways to keep it in check.
But when I start to go back down, that is the worst, because I don't know how deep it will be.

-----------------

but maybe
sometimes you just need to fall down to wake up.

The material on that site is horrendous. (dayofsilencewalkout.org)

"Parents should no longer passively countenance the political usurpation of public school classrooms through student silence."
Actually, parents should no longer be bigoted, hypocritical fucks. If they care so much about the disrupted learning of their kids why would they bad together to pull them out of school? Of course the ultimate goal is to get schools to ban the Day of Silence, but 1st of all, you cannot stop people from refusing to speak, and secondly, the so-called "disruption" is SILENCE (you know... the kind that doesnt make any sound?) and is not forwarding any particular political agenda., but is instead embracing your constitution's "liberty and justice for all."
"Furthermore, DOS participants have a captive audience, many of whom disagree with and are made uncomfortable by the politicization of their classroom."
Yes... that is the point -- minus making them uncomfortable... but then again, being put in uncomfortable positions is one of the greatest opportunities to learn and grow, and isn't that what school is supposed to be all about? (Well... Mount Si was about being a totalitarian regime more than anything... so maybe you're right...if we can't deny the rights of others, we better protest and skip school!)

"Public School Teachers: Plan activities for this day that involve student speech. Schedule speeches or oral exams; ask questions; or plan discussion-based activities that require participation from all students."
Yes, just because we can, lets purposfully deny students the right and ability to stand up (be silent) for a cause they care about ---not because it is disruptive to what was actually scheduled for the progression of class, but because it is disruptive to our manipulation of the curriculum.

"There are countless worthwhile goals that should not be promoted during class. Some might consider ending the tragedy of teen drunk-driving deaths, or the war in Iraq, or abortion to be worthwhile goals, and yet it would be equally inappropriate to use the classroom to promote them."
As I recall, I have attended many anti-drinking assemblies, that have taken us from classtime (and this classroom learning you hold so precious). We have done many moments of silence to acknowledge the people who have died in the war. Not to mention, I am sure if there was a day of silence for the troops, you would have no problem with it. AND if there was a day of silence for abortion rights, I say, let them at it! It would be the same deal. But of course, you would oppose it because THAT would be forwarding an agenda, and I can imagine that a day for the troops would be a "patriotic duty."

Oh, and this one is my favorite::
"Groups like GLSEN believe that statements of moral conviction with which they disagree constitute prejudice or discrimination. While relentlessly promoting this view, administrators are never asked to provide evidence for the dubious presuppositions on which claims of discrimination are based.They are never asked to provide evidence for the arguable claim that homosexuality is equivalent to race; or that disapproval of homosexual conduct is equivalent to racism; or that homosexual impulses are biologically determined; or that the presence of biological influences in shaping desire renders a behavior automatically moral."
(that last part of the sentence there...read that again.)

uhhhh...
Hello!! Idiot who wrote this: YOU AMAZE ME!
You know why?!! Because you succeeded in not only completely contradicting yourself, but you simultaneously helped revert this country back to a state of inequality and bigotry that we have been trying to transcend for 200 years.

But wait, lemme get this straight:: even if you believed that homosexuality was biologically endowed, it is STILL immoral?! Why do we just purify this earth then? Take out everyone who is different (even if they can't help it, even if they are proud of it and embrace it, even if they are more spiritually sound then you). Ok, Hitler? Let's do it! That would be the moral thing to do!

"If we allow schools to define discrimination so expansively as to prohibit all statements of moral conviction, character development is compromised and speech rights are trampled."
And they aren't by what you are trying to pull? How do you think someone's character is going to develop if they can't even fully express who they are because they are afraid of getting shunned, or killed because of it? That's gonna foster lovely future generations, donchathink? And "moral conviction." Your "moral conviction" has killed people --thousands of people! So, I say fuck your morals, fuck your god, and fuck you too.

"Been going up when now, for too long, forget how to let go, seems too hard. Too late now to turn around. The world has its ways to quite us down. The world has its ways to quiet us. Down comes rain. Down comes our spirits again. Down comes the strength to lift us up and then…"

I guess to follow up with the last post, in many aspects I do feel very weak right now. But some of what I am feeling is not necessarily weakness on my part, but a complete lack of empowerment in anything. I feel discouraged by the world. And maybe... maybe the world is letting me down because I let it down with of my weaknesses. Maybe. But I feel like I do every thing I can to help... to not let anyone down. Maybe... maybe I am not trying hard enough, to appreciate how things are. But I still can't help but think that after my efforts to motivate myself into this lifestyle of health and love and joy and balance, that I shouldn't feel better.

Right now all I can think is it must be the chemical imbalance everyone talks about. Maybe I really am just prone to depression, because nothing in my life is near bad enough to justify the way I feel right now. And I know I am receiving some of this negative energy from things that are bigger than me and my personal, individual life... but I shouldn't feel this bad about it. Right?


I think a lot of what I am feeling right now is how other people are affecting me. I'm not trying to blame anyone. Not at all. But the way that I compare myself to other people; the way I see people act; what I hear people say; all of this just breaks me down. Yea, some people are idiots. Yea, someone's always going to be better than me (or just different in a way that I admire more than I admire myself). That's reality. Why can't I deal with it? I have no fucking clue.
This is why I feel so broken. I feel like normal people don't even think about these things.

Fuck it. I'm talking and thinking in circles, and not saying what I actually mean. Like I said... I just can't get anything to translate from me to other people, or on here, or even to myself.




But on a last note; a side note.
Who the fuck are you? I don't think you remember.


"We All Have A Weakness
But Some Of Ours Are Easier To Identify. Look Me In The Eye
And Ask For Forgiveness;
We'll Make A Pact To Never Speak That Word Again
Yes You Are My Friend.
We All Have Something That Digs At Us,
At Least We Dig Each Other
So When Weakness Turns My Ego Up
I Know You'll Count On The Me From Yesterday
If I Turn Into Another
Dig Me Up From Under What Is Covering
The Better Part Of Me
Sing This Song
Remind Me That We'll Always Have Each Other
When Everything Else Is Gone.
We All Have A Sickness
That Cleverly Attaches And Multiplies
No Matter How Hard We Try.
We All Have Something That Digs At Us,
At Least We Dig Each Other
So When Sickness Turns My Ego Up
I Know You'll Act As A Clever Medicine.
If I Turn Into Another
Dig Me Up From Under What Is Covering
The Better Part Of Me.
Sing This Song!
Remind Me That We'll Always Have Each Other
When Everything Else Is Gone.
Oh Each Other....
When Everything
Else Is Gone."