That I love you very much.
That I don’t know why I keep feeling so sad.
That I am sorry that my feeling like this makes me numb to your affection, and that I really do wish I could feel something beyond this.
That I am trying to remind myself that you really do seem to love me, a lot.
That I am trying.
You really needn’t screw with my brain, I do that quite enough all by myself.
OH MY GOD, THIS TIMES FUCKING INFINITY. I actually heard a woman at work today talking about how Obama should be impeached because he isn’t American and that electing him goes against the Constitution. When someone mentioned that he was doing a better job than Bush had she said “Well at least Bush was an American.” How can people be so ignorant? I don’t understand. Does not compute.
I hate watching movies with you. Or going out to clubs, or bars, or god forbid a burlesque show. I refuse the idea of looking through images on deviantart, or OKCupid, or basically anywhere. Because all it reminds me of is that despite me being so completely not your ideal, you’re still here. That even though it is completely illogical, even though you have admitted to the fact that I am not what you’d normally find attractive, you seemingly are attracted to me. But I’m probably never going to get any thinner than I am right now, and lord knows that this is the best my face is ever going to look. So really, I just sit here wondering how long until you stop seeing me like that. How long until one of the other girls starts to exist as something more than just a pretty image.
I’m tired. I hate feeling like I’m someone that someone is settling for.
“Sometimes I read the same books over and over and over. What’s great about books is that the stuff inside doesn’t change. People say you can’t judge a book by its cover but that’s not true because it says right on the cover what’s inside. And no matter how many times you read that book the words and pictures don’t change. You can open and close books a million times and they stay the same. They look the same. They say the same words. The charts and pictures are the same colors.
Books are not like people. Books are safe.”” — Kathryn Erskine (Mockingbird)
You use the first tax return you’ve received in a few years (wooo… school…) to buy groceries for the next month.
You’ve applied for so many jobs that you’ve actually lost track. I think I’m somewhere upwards of thirty.
Might I add that no one mentioned that this was the way it was going to be at the end of college? Yick.
Sometimes I wonder if it is actually possible for someone to be irrevocably screwed up. Would you even know if you were? And if you did know, if you were so sure that nothing you did was ever going to change or fix the flaws and shortcomings, do you simply accept that? Cut your losses and run? Do you stick around just to pretend like there is some other choice or likelihood? Do you, perhaps, continue to try to fix yourself, to change yourself, pushing against some unending, unchanging, and overpowering tide?
I am tired. That’s the end of it, really. I am fucking exhausted and I do not want to spend my life trying to fix something that I don’t think is going to be corrected.
Perhaps if we lived within a different culture; if I lived within a different culture. If society was something other than this. But it isn’t. And I’m not. And I am so tired.