5:06 am - July 09, 2004
Blah. Blah. Blah.
I hate this. I can't talk to anyone. I've been on the brink of talking to everyone. Real people, even online people. I feel like I'm doing what I'm supposed to, going out, chatting, being a friend, being fun and pretty for everybody when they ask. When I'm alone I can't breathe. You can't live wanting to bash your head against a wall or a convenient rock. I'm a girl. That's icky. I don't care. Maybe it's just tonight, I'm moody or some such. I can't keep having these conversations that mean nothing. I don't want to be troubled!
I just want to be real. See? More of that ridiculous stuff. I'm real. I bruise, I bleed, just like everybody else. Twin, I know you don't read anymore, but I need you.
So, it's late. And I go. And I blather on and on and on. You know what I wish that I can't ask for? I want to sleep in the same bed as someone. Have them put their arms around me and feel safe for a little while, like for these few hours, nothing's going to happen that will turn my life upsidedown again. I won't be able to disappoint anyone for a few hours. For these few hours, I will be loved and right and everything you've ever wanted from me.
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