Books help me find sanity… Or, at least some form of sanity. I can relate so much but it’s also nice to just focus on someone else’s problems for a change—even if that person is fictional. I watch them solve it and I laugh when they act stupid and don’t see the obvious answers and I just wonder to myself: why can’t life be that easy? I wish I could just read my life as it went along like a book… I wish I could see all my silly mistakes and know what to do about them instead of just screwing up and being confused.
I want to stop feeling sad every other minute of my life. I’m getting tired of trying to convince myself what and what not to do.
I was so frustrated and upset today that I had the intent of going to my room and cutting myself… I tried relaxing and thinking for a few by making a sandwich—a bowl fell out of the cupboard and split in half over my head and beet juice went all down the front of my dress.
Like a freaking little baby.
The only good news? I didn’t hurt myself—but only because my head hurt so bad and it was sufficient enough pain.
I now have a big bump on my forehead.
I don’t think I cried because it hurt, I cried because I was just at my breaking point. It’s like as soon as I’m home I’m thoroughly frustrated and irritable with everything. When this happened? The frustration just hit boiling top and I just broke down and cried.
I fucking hate crying.
I enjoy how relieving it is, but I hate when people see me cry. I don’t like feeling like they see me as weak or overly emotional.
Truth is—I AM emotional. I’m just too good at hiding it… I bottle it up and every now and then the cap pops off and shit hits the fan.
Woe is me.
I’m a freak, I know.
I treasure pain that falls upon me, because I at least don’t feel guilty for having inflicted it on myself.