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yeah, you and that horror show cliche you've been trying to hide
i very much miss writing in bed. now that my room is finally nice, and my bed is empty, i am missing it more than ever.
i'd like to rest and speak with no one. i don't want to deal with this. i feel no particular dread towards the conversation i'm going to have shortly, but i do feel something else. i guess maybe that something else IS dread. its something i've explained before, its just how i used to feel the night i was grounded. i was always getting grounded at night, so the consequences wouldnt come until tomorrow. it was the feeling of laying in bed, knowing that sleeping would do nothing. that sleeping would be a waste of time, and i need to take advantage of what i have, no matter how tired i am.
i guess maybe to avoid this, i slept for 13 hours a day, for a very very long time. i slept as much as i could. and i loved it so much. i loved sleep, and dreaming, and skipping days. i was so happy. dates meant nothing to me, and i talked to essentially no one.
i sometimes think i am not made to be around people, but i catch myself. i mean, you have to. thinking corny shit knowing it's wrong doesn't oft help much, if anything. doesn't fix anything, and doesn't make you feel any better. makes you feel stupid. in the moment AND later. so i try to avoid it.
i am just sad. i am sad knowing that in very short time, this will just be a thing i'm going through, and that i will probably make no change at all. tomorrow, i'd like to finish my pecha kucha, and request ms. stiles let me pass her course. it was very foolish, as she said it would be, to not finish it. very very foolish.
it is also times like these that i miss cutting myself real bad. not the kind i'd think about for ages and have a record of, the kind that no one hears about. now that i think of it, or, now that im talking about it, i guess there have been a lot of things no one hears about. and i'm, as always, so proud to be able to do that. i never stick to anything. it feels very nice. to know that i really did feel it, and i know that because i didn't get anyone else's thoughts on it, and i have a mark, and stuff. or i remember the feeling, at least. like all of the times i hit myself. i'd never ever leave bruises cuz i'm so weak LOL, which means its just um, its always very real, and it, well, like, it can't be preformative. i like knowing for sure that it isn't. it can't be, if no one knows when it happens, or how, or why, or whatever. even if the people have an idea that its something i do, that doesnt matter.
i hope it would shape me, though. i hope it would be on someones mind, maybe, when talking to me, sometimes. i think it would help make me human. but maybe not. you never know how people feel about this sort of thing.
there is just no point explaining it to anyone, i guess. or trying. because it just means nothing, and thats not anyone's fault. and it hurts a lot to think theres no one to talk to, but thats just how it is. jesus.
congratulations, the killer is still alive
you tried to pull the trigger, but you hand began to shake
and so you dodged a bullet, that you wanted to take
life is long and sweet and love is pure and true
so we got ourselves a problem here, and the problem is you