I hope I never have to struggle to remember what it feels like to fall asleep next to you

Origami Around
noise dept.
h
sheepfilms
todays bird
art blog(derogatory)
Not today Justin
Peter Solarz
Claire Keane

if i look back, i am lost
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Xuebing Du
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Love Begins
Sade Olutola
Mike Driver
dirt enthusiast

#extradirty
will byers stan first human second
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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@redrum-n-coke
I hope I never have to struggle to remember what it feels like to fall asleep next to you
You Eating an apple Propping a book up with the tips of your toes Casually dipping in to a box of Star Wars Cheez Itz You are not quite here with me yet I have never felt so close to you
so I almost unfriended this guy like early today or last night because we haven't spoken in years and our political views are like OPPOSITE and then I thought like oh well he's not combative or anything doesn't bother me... And then a few hours he posted about his grandfather died and I knew him as well and so I reached out and he's really appreciative and that is just crazy isn't it??? Like?? What are the odds at all. Man.
You know I want to be great and I feel like I'm being nothing I feel like I am being worthless and restless and stagnant when all I want is to make these leaps and bounds forward
You know, lately I've been feeling really shitty. Kind of shitty about a lot of things I feel like work is up in the air and I need money so I can feel somewhat stable and I feel like I'm pouring my all into so many things and not like anything into myself But I'm spread so thin over these things And I'm anxious a lot of the time and I don't know why I can't put my finger on it or maybe I don't want to Things are getting real in my relationship and I so badly want things to continue to be good while at the same time wanting something awful to happen to see how we weather it how we get through it it can't all be amazing forever will we get bored with each other we must doesn't everyone why does he like me why does he love me do I love him do I really really love him do I love him in the way I want to in the all encompassing stressful and passionate way or do I just like him a lot and want him around how do I tell the fucking difference I'm shaky and anxious and panicking because I know he's going to find out things about me and I am full of ugliness and beauty and I can barely distinguish between the two and how should he be expected to I am selfish for putting my shit on other people for making other people put up with my shit when most of the time I repress and don't deal with it myself I'm a fucking monster and I don't like myself and at the same time I want to be great I want to be liked and why doesn't anyone seem to get that I need that I need it I need to be liked I need people's opinion of me not to be tarnished but it is so fucking easy Is that it Is that why I feel so terrible and like my walls might be up Are they Am i hiding myself from him because I'm scared I don't know I'm asking because I don't know There are so many fucking things up in the air and yet nothing is pressing down on me so why do I feel so anxious and stressed and like something is bound to go wrong soon I can't shake the feeling but I need to I want to breathe but I feel like I'm fucking suffocating
how do I release this
this pent up conglomerate
of frustrations and joys and confusions
am i not a writer?
why then do i tuck these feelings away
compartmentalizing my woes
into kind little corners
that gather dust.
am i not a writer?
even now i'm struggling to
find the words or will to create
anything that passes just the
surface of my thoughts.
am i not a writer?
shouldn't i be able to
let it flow freely in a way
i can't stop,
a storm without a patch of light
to just say what i want without the familiar
lump in my throat
fill me with apprehension,
what if it's no good, what if
i don't like my voice.
am i not a writer?
who shrinks away from myself
and the whirlwind
of self-awareness, i get swallowed
and instead i repress
and regress
and refuse
to let any bit of it release.
am i not a writer
by my own doing?
too stubborn to let go
or grow
denying myself the pleasure of
extracting the past
from their tiny individual
tucked away homes
to bring them out into the light of day
to roll them around, play with them
examine them, reflect on them
to speak to them
with words i craft and fine-tune
just to bid them a proper farewell
am i not a writer?
do i not grasp the most difficult baubles
by the horns
and shake some meaning
out on to the page?
do i not look inside for a semblance
of truth, of humanity, of reality
and cut myself open for display?
do i not let my voice shake
and resonate?
am i not a writer,
for if i'm not
what am i then?
im feeling really low lately but i'm trying to fight it off even though that shit is exhausting so i'm just gonna have a dance party by myself in my room cause if i keep going i can't feel so down
i feel like i'm not doing enough for everybody but i feel like i'm doing 20000000000000% for everything which is a sucky feeling
alsooooo i can't sleep lately at all and my dreams when i can sleep are fucked up so i'm either a ball of energy or i'm like a lump of sadness and i just don't know what's triggering this low feeling again
im not writing tonight because it makes me so emotional and sometimes sad and other times frustrated but this novel is very introspective and exhausting and i just need a break tonight
instead i'm going to sketch some fashion and I think that will make me feel loads better
this novel is boring and pointless and maybe i should just write that about six hundred times because i am so frustrated and creatively blocked
The first of many love letters to BDEA
This is the first post I'm writing about the alternative high school I work at, so I'm going to start off with some background information and fully catch everyone up to speed on the amazing place I graduated from.
So I came to BDEA (Boston Day and Evening Academy) in January 2012. I had done a week (four day weeks, Mon-Thurs) of orientation in December that informs you more about the school, some diagnostic testing, and meeting some current students/staff. Even from the beginning of orientation, I knew this school had something really special about it, mostly because of the final 'project' we were to complete to finish orientation. It was about us. It was about what we liked, where we came from, what brought us here, what we wanted to do. I spent 5 years at BLS (no offense to BLS students...only offense to the school community as a whole. and i mean the offense. i really do) and not once did I have teachers asking me about myself, what I liked, not really...not with that genuine interest. Never once was a project about me, what I did, why I came here, what my real life goals were. Never once did I give a presentation, on myself no less, where students were listening (really listening) and asking me questions about who I was. We all heard each other's stories, found out that we all had shit happening in our lives that made other school's difficult to function at, expectations we couldn't reach, anxiety. different learning styles, and tons of ambitions we weren't willing to let go of. We wanted to finish school. We wanted to do well in school. We wanted to graduate.
My first day at BDEA was a whirlwind. I had a math class, which I was nervous about (math was never my strong suit), a science seminar class (basic science. this was because the school does not accept anything below a C, as well as the testing score I received), a research class (this class is how to write a research paper, a walk-through of all the steps which i found IMMENSELY helpful in college and like life in general), and a biochemistry class. There is also a period of the day called advisory, instead of a study hall or a guidance counselor, you have this period every day to do work, debates, watch tv (my advisor was fond of snacks and the simpsons one day a week), and talk to your advisor about your schedule and expected graduation date. Classes are smaller, teachers check in on every students, and a lot of the work is hands on. There would be 'Do-Now's, which I was accustomed to. There would be projects, more projects than papers, and I found myself with little to no homework (this is because many students work, have children, or have complicated home lives that don't always allow them a lot of time to do a bunch of homework). As the days went on, I became close with teachers. They had personality, they had their own teaching styles, and I knew them on a real level. I also found that students, despite my introverted way of never really speaking, seemed to like me. They wanted to talk to me. They struck up conversation. I have never felt so genuinely myself around these peers, I wasn't worrying the whole time if they found me annoying or ugly or generally terrible to talk to. I had friends I really enjoyed seeing in class everyday.
Surprisingly (to me) I did well in math, I even was able to help out other students. I don't know if it was just me, but the ability to help other students, to talk to other students while doing work, was just amazing to me. So different. I excelled in my science classes, and if I wanted extra work it was given to me freely. BDEA operates on a competency-based system, it has students demonstrate their knowledge in different ways. I think I took a few quizzes and can only remember one test. It was mainly projects, it was about really really knowing this stuff. You earn competency by earning benchmarks. Each class has certain benchmarks to reach, certain assignments allow you to make multiple benchmarks. Getting the lowest amount needed is called 'basic competent', there is also 'competent', and 'highly competent'. If I took a test or did a project, there was always a section available to earn a highly competent, which I usually tried to do. In fact, a lot of people did as much as they could. It wasn't an *easy* school, the work wasn't *easy*, I was challenged. I mention this because I came from such a prestigious and advanced high school, I had my worries about being bored in class. I never was, and that's honest. I left these classes KNOWING the material, even if some of it triggered vague memories of a class I barely passed two years ago.
Wow, this post is getting quite long. Not apologizing, just remarking. I'm rambling, but I'm quite fine with that. Moving on
At the end of the trimester (there is a fall trimester from sept to nov, a symposium project month in december-more about that later, a winter trimester from jan to march, a spring trimester from march to june, and a summer trimester in july-more on that later as well) there is assesment week. Here, students can finish up work that they might have missed somewhere in the trimester (YES you can finish a paper you might not have been satisfied with, finish up your notebook, do whatever shit you feel you need to do!!!) as well as work on their final project. For this trimester I had a project for math, a final exam/binder check for biochemistry, I don't quite remember anything for science seminar, and my final research paper/presentation. I wish every day that I could find this paper somewhere, as well as the doooooooooope presentation I made. My years at BLS had taught me to be very very anxious and all around freak out about finals. I stressed out about my math project, even asked the teacher to look at i before I handed it in to make sure I had even done it correctly (I had). I even helped classmates finish the project in class. She was so kind to me, I remember, assuring me that there was no need to worry. I felt relieved. My biochemistry class exam went fine, I found I knew everything necessary and had completed all the assignments. There was no need for me to have worried, I was told.
And yet, I still had that final paper and presentation for Research. This teacher, who i would have again and eventually work for, is one in a million. She busted my ass, and I'm quite good in English classes (though you might not be able to tell from reading this). She busted everyone's ass. It was like she knew what these students were capable of, and pushed them to that point. Demanded the best out of them. I had had teachers in the past who busted my ass, made me really do things I wasn't comfortable doing (hello, declamation), but never in a way that showed they cared. During her class, she would see a journal entry I had just barely done, thrown together, and would call me on it. Not in a you're-in-big-trouble way, but in a way that showed she knew my potential and wanted me to tap into it. She would ask how my day was, she would talk to each of us before class in casual conversation. Now, I must state this or it will truly bug me. She never asked us to give 100% every single day, I mean, teachers know students have bad days (sometimes they just don't quite give a shit). She just asked us to give what we could to class every day. Imagine a school where every staff member understood that concept, because it's incredible. If I was having a shitty day, if I was just tired, if something was going on in my personal life, and I merely had 25% to give that day, all that was asked of me was to try and give that. This teacher was kind, but intimidating. I never wanted to disappoint her, and I still hope I never do. Once, I cut her class (which, at BLS would result in detention and like a berating basically) and I remember seeing her the next day, just knowing that she knew. She asked me why, and I explained that I just felt like going home, just couldn't be in class that day. She didn't act angry, she maybe showed a bit of disappointment, but moved on. She never held a grudge. She just went on teaching, and I gave 110% that day, never wanting to see her look at me that way again.
For her class I did a project on propaganda in World War 2, included examples and research from all sides of both the Axis and Allied powers involved. I loved doing that project. I loved researching something I was interested in. Topics in the class varied wildly, from careers they wanted to pursue (I remember one girl doing a project on hair braiding, it was great) to legalization of marijuana. We had a larger question, I believe mine was something about how propaganda can be used as a wartime tactic and how effective it was, that had to be answered through research and analysis. I stood outside of the school, smoked a couple cigarettes, and considered leaving. One student who was playing basketball out back, who I consider a friend to this day, reassured me that there was no need to worry, in probably the most caring way a classmate could. He lifted me up off the curb and personally walked me into the classroom, adding a 'She's nervous!" before wishing me final luck and leaving.. A few students were in the room, all doing their own work, as I set up my presentation. She sat at one end of a table with me at the other (wow why do I remember this so vividly????) and I began to talk. I had written notecards and done all this preparation for exactly what I was going to say, and as the presentation continued, I stopped looking at my notes and stopped speaking so mechanically. I simply just talked about the topic, because with all the research, I knew exactly what I was talking about. I must have gone on for a while, because as I was describing the uses of color in Russian propaganda, there were those few students gathered around my table, intently listening. When I was done, they asked questions. Not scripted 'oh I have to ask a question' inquiries, but to gain real understanding. NEVER in a million years did I imagine people at BLS or any other school for that matter (yes, i am that bold and that proud of BDEA and I dare you to try and contradict me) taking time out of their day to listen to me ramble about history, becoming so interested in it that they stopped what they were doing and took the time out to listen, and then to ask me questions for no other reason than they really wanted to know. I immediately had a feeling that now still plagues me, why was I so freaked out and nervous? I was prepared, I was fine. Even if I wasn't fine, this teacher wasn't going to fail me, be malicious. She would simply ask me to fix some things, try again. I never needed to be afraid to raise my hand with a tentative answer to a question I wasn't sure of, I sure as hell never had to fret about asking a question at all. Other students weren't going to think less of me, other teachers weren't going to think I was foolish or insolent or simply not paying attention. And that's how schools should operate. With support. With understanding. With an undying desire to HELP their students learn, and really learn, not regurgitate.
At the beginning of the next trimester, there is a *Town Hall Meeting*, which is an assembly during advisory period. Teachers give awards from the previous trimester for things like 'Most Improved', 'Academic Achievement' 'Good Character', or whatever else feels necessary. Every teacher decides how many and which awards to give to which students for all four of the classes they teach. They get up on stage, one at a time, and celebrate their students. I was wholly impressed to get academic achievement for Math, Biochemistry, and Research. They might just be pieces of laminated paper with your name and the class on it, but students go nuts. I cried. I had never been praised before, besides getting a good grade and I had to basically pat myself on the back, for work done in a class. Sure, you might get a causal 'hey good job on that est you aced' from a teacher every now and then, but this is in front of the whole school. Not only did I find it incredible and beautiful for this to take place in of itself, but then something even more amazing happened. Students clap, whoop, scream, and applaud their classmates. Even now, it gives me goosebumps to think about. Kids I had met like two months before clapped for me, I clapped for them, I congratulated them on their work done. Other teachers came over to me and to other students, congratulating them. I hugged each and every teacher that gave me an award. Hugging is a big thing at BDEA. Texting as well, you can text 'hey I'm running late' or 'hey, sorry I missed class today', and it's totally normal. Teachers just give out their numbers to students, I mean it's usually on their frickin syllabus. And the hugging, the hugging that means so much more than that, especially coming from BLS. It was a way of showing that they cared about us as people, wanted to watch us grow as students, and were genuinely happy to watch us succeed. It is said many times at graduations and assemblies, BDEA is a family. The guy who works the front desk and sees who goes in and out is nicknamed 'Uncle', you pass teachers in the halls who say 'hey, hows it going?' and students look out for each other. It is an ideal family. Everyone wants the best for everyone, everyone respects each other. You know that nightmare that you have that all your teachers sit around together and shit talk you? Or even worse, that all your teachers are so disconnected they don't even know each other or who all their students are or that they both even have the same students? At BDEA, these teachers might get together and talk about what kind of help you need, what learning style seems to work best for you, what tactics or kinds of lessons work best in what classes, and mostly, how awesome you are. Seriously. Even now, I sit and chat with the teachers I work with about students and how awesome they are. That's no joke,. And that's what family is. That's what a school community is. They don't push when yo udon't want to be pushed, they ask what's wrong and try to help, and they genuinely care. I cannot stress that enough. These people give a shit about me (I keep saying me which makes me sound like I'm all important or whatever, but just consider me an example because it really is for every single student) and want to know me, really know me. That is something I never expected from teachers, or from anyone in this school. I just came to do my work and graduate. It's funny to remember that now, two years since graduation and I've been working here sine I graduated. I plan on completing college and applying to work here. Once you see a school operate this way, it's hard to imagine going anywhere else. Hard to imagine ever leaving my family.
I feel like I'm truly supposed to be finding myself, and who I am, in my twenties. To form myself into a person with strict morals, things I like, things I absolutely do not like, what I want out of life, etc. To find out, when I'm all alone, what would make me truly happy. And it terrifies me.
More often than not, I was, in the course of my life, trying to fit into certain molds. Since I can remember, I hid what I liked, strategically chose how to speak and eat and walk and dress, to fit a mold. Even now, I panic whenever I do something that might be considered too weird or out of place. I know that the group of people I surround myself with now is not the kind to berate me for doing so, or even think anything of it quite honestly, but the thought always plants itself there.
When I was young, I enjoyed things no other children did. I would watch black and white classics with my mother, stay inside reading all day, knew nothing of what was on television at the time or what movies were coming out. I had phases of liking Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly, or watching ever John Wayne movie I could get my hands on before the age of 10. I didn't understand references made in the classroom, instead poured myself over books and books and more books. I just never liked the same things as other kids did, never understood what they liked in the slightest.
Then, I started to have a few select friends. I wanted so desperately to keep these friends, to be in the loop with what they liked and what they were talking about. I did what they did, spoke how they did, recycled inside jokes and never ever pushed the boundaries to be myself. This was a trend that continued probably until I was 16, hiding what I liked, forcing myself to like whatever was popular at the time. My first boyfriend told me I had no personality of my own, which was something he really liked about me. He could tell me how I should dress, how I should talk, how I should act around people. And because I was spineless, I did just that. I remember all of my early teenage years being filled with pretending. This is how I should think. This is how I should act. This is how I should be. I would go home and critique my actions over the day, that laugh was too loud, that thing you said was too weird, you weren't funny enough today, you didn't look pretty enough today, etc.
It actually is impressive how much I would tweak myself to fit into whatever mold I felt necessary to fit into at the time. Some things, I genuinely did like, don't get me wrong. Nevertheless, I did whatever I could, and for what? For friends that were so fair-weather they couldn't have dealt with me being myself? It got to the point that I couldn't stand being myself when I was alone, because who was I anymore?
Now, that's where I find myself. Trying to rebuild the authentic parts of me, the things I actually like, the way I actualy am, without any input from others. Sometimes I forget what I like, forget what I want to wear, forget how I want to talk. I'm so impressionable that way, simply because I always have been. It is shocking to me that someone could like me just the way I am. It's shocking to me that my current friends like me the way I am, don't mind watching obscure films or critically acclaimed war documentaries from the 70s. Don't mind that I'm exploring what I like, who I am, who I want to be. Don't mind that I'm figuring out how I think and how I act, figuring out that I might not be totally alone in the way I am.
My boyfriend and I are no longer together. I believe it's been about a month. I have been neglectful to writing on here. I wasn't too keen on writing about the break up itself.
I do ache with loneliness sometimes. Other times I just miss him specifically. A lot over the past week, I have missed him specifically. I miss the good times, not the times that led to the needed parting. A few times I've texted him, to kind of quench that loneliness. Talking to him is the closest thing I really have, short of going to visit him at work which would just be quite awkward and uncomfortable at this moment, and then he makes a small comment and I think I made the right decision and that the missing him will lessen with time. I think I will be okay. I think I enjoyed making the decision myself, rather than wait for his initiation into expiration.
I never wanted to break up with someone because then when you're lonely, the guilt falls on your shoulder. I was much more experienced in being left than doing the leaving, and it's a terrible feeling to be left or to feel unwanted. Even when we did break up, it was not how I wanted it to go down. I do feel the guilt, but I also feel proud of myself for making the right decision over what was easy. That quells the hurt.
Now I feel lost. I feel sort of content, but not quite. I feel sort of sad, like things might get bad again, but not quite. It's very odd.
I feel very okay with not dating anyone. Dating someone is stressful. The pressure to sleep with them. The pressure to kiss them. The pressure to open up to someone. The pressure that a relationship means ideally to be together for a long time. The pressure of letting someone into your life and to get to know them. The pressures basically never end, and it seems so daunting I am curious how I have ever been in one before.
I covet my friendships because they are people I have been able to open up to. I find that special. I find those people are who I can really be myself around, unapologetically. And yet, those people I am not really very close to anymore. I haven't seen a few in close to a year. Yet I still hold them on a pedestal, but why? It doesn't seem to make much sense that I'm so desperately gripping onto the fabric of 'best friendship' when it has faded more into good friendships/very familiar acquiantances. Yet, with my last boyfriend and one before (the other was when I was young and naiive and opened up quite a bit, and the only other was in said group of friends before dating, which I found awesome as hell) I never really felt that same closeness and trust to open up all the way. I would always shield parts of myself away. I never relented. I would mention things about myself, obviously, or have moments of sadness or declarations of problematic past occurences. Not once, however, would I let them see all of me at once. Not intentionally, just instictually.
Part of that is my fault. I feel like sometimes I cling to my already formed bonds so much that I don't allow myself to form new ones, ones that might stand the test of time even more than those previously formed.
Part of that is my gut feelings about people, and how I read them. With my most recent ex especially, I never felt that he wanted to hear about me. I never felt that I should open up. I never felt that it was okay for me to do so, that I would be heard, or that I would be understood.
I've lost the point in this post. I am getting sad again. Not over the breakup, not really. I can just feel it coming over me. It does feel good to write again.
i want to be perfect
to create beautiful things
watch utter flawlessness drip
from my own fingertips
i want to be a masterpiece
and an artist
i want to be a legend
i want my actions to be worthy of old tales
strung together by whispers of excited incredulity
Does everyone have those few topics and thoughts that you have to force yourself to avoid because you genuinely don't know how to handle it or react without coming undone?
You know I'm genuinely not trying to post fucked up things or depressing things, because that's not all that my writing is. I've just been dispassionate lately, so I thought that writing in my journal during fits of extreme emotion would be good for now at least. Until something strikes me. Then I can really write. I want that time to come so desperately. I want to be doing well at something, to have a reason for a pen in my hand and to be hunched over my journal.
Fiction isn't a strong suit of mine, as I truly don't have a visual or like conceptual imagination? I don't think I've told many poeple this. I can't picture things I'm told to imagine, or when I'm reading a novel I cannot physically picture what the characters or settings look like in my head. I can close my eyes and there's only blackness and I have no ability to actually imagine. I'm also shit when it comes to coming up with creative ideas. Either there's something bursting from my mind that I have to get out, or there's nothing. I sit to do my nails the other night and fancy I might do some nail art. Then it hits me that I have no ideas what to do. No desire to do anything, but wanting my nails to be beautiful and full of creativity I'm severly lacking. Nothing came to me for so long.
I can sit and sit and sit and plan and plan and it's either my first idea or I'm lost.
Doesn't that fucking blow? I want to be writing all the time, but there's nothing in my head to truly start a story about. Just my ranting, my talking, my thoughts, ideas and observations. That's all I can have.
So basically the point of this post was....I'm forgetting honestly, but I hope for less dreary posts and more bursts of creativity.
I don't quite mind just typing to no one, ranting to no one, talking to no one. I don't quite mind if no one reads anything I post. I don't quite mind if they do. I just want to be honest. I want an outlet to be myself without judgement. My social, real life self, is so ridden with self-consciousness that I am sometimes unable to do anything but mold into whatever situations call for....but here I can just be honest. I don't have to impress. Or I don't feel like I have to, I guess.
TW: A post of self-loathing in the heat of the moment (from journal, last week)
It's absolutely astounding how fast my head goes to self-deprication. As much work as I do to love myself and care for myself and nurture my own ego into less of a pit of hatred, it all gets undone so quickly,. The second I'm sad or feel misunderstood or frustrated, I resort to my same old thoughts all over again. It honestly terrifies me. I want them to stop beign the first to rush into my head whenever any little thing goes wrong. Even now as I cry all I can think of is how ridiculous I am for needing to try new methods to release how much I can't stand myself. I used to cut and I'm so disgusted by how well it works and how simple it was to cover up in lies. Even more sick over how often I did it. Far past those years when i was young and had no clue how to cope, but I am realizing that I still can't cope. It's deplorable and weak willed but it helped so much because the pain was just so justified to me. That's what I felt I deserved. And now I have this tattoo where I would cut. And I have the looming cloud of guilt that comes with cutting, the justification I used to hold in my brain no longer suffices. I enjoyed cutting, therefore I cannot do it anymore. It's not what I deserve anymore, I deserve to learn to restrain myself. So instead, I'm writing. It's not even good writing, I'm just doing it to release and to vent. But the voices in my head that are hateful and cruel are still there and I just want to mend myself. Every fucking inch of my character and my appearance and my weak will and then maybe that can quell the voices. It has to. But I can't fix who I am no matter how hard I try and that just makes me despise myself worse. Cause I want so bad to change and yet I just revert back to my same old shit cause it's too hard and I forget to be diligent with myself until it erupts and then I'm flooded with how mad I am at how much I suck all over again.
I'm feeling some type of way lately
Like a stagnant air of indifference and nothingness
Not the sad kind of nothingness where I can only attempt to wade in the dark waters of my thoughts and the voices all clamor in my head at once to try to get a thought out but it just ends up raw shouts of desperation
and not the happy kind of nothingness where the contentment is free and flowing through the course of my body and mind to the point that the days drift in a lazy kind of waltz of tranquility
but in the way that I'm restless and I'm doing things I haven't been and I'm beginning to grow concerned over frivolous things and the resentment for myself is resurfacing in a new way
but in that same moment I grow uncaring and unmoved by much of anything and I just want to feel passion for something
other than that need that's clawing at me for so many things to be different, for so much change at once and so immediate and life-altering that everything can finally be quiet again
or loud
I just need something to give, to budge
My heart is tired and bored, my soul is weary and uninterested, my brain wants for wear but lacks motivation
These songs are the only things that move me, and they end, and the pattern of the silence and the sounds mirrors how I feel
Neither lasting, neither permanent, just someone else's life, someone else's words murmuring in my ear but I can just barely hear through the fog of nothingness
I'm at the point where I'm not sure anyone can understand what this post is even talking about. Or if I want people to. If my intention was to rant to make me feel better, to reach out, or maybe for someone to connect. Maybe for some recognition. Maybe i did it for nothing.
I feel no different.
old journal entry//posted two years later
Today is a little better. I can't stop my head from wandering still. I wonder if that will ever part from me. I want to write, but it hurts too much still. I just want to repress it until I can't remember it anymore. But a big part of me knows that is impossible.