I write poetry when I don’t know what else to turn my thoughts into. It comes out as something beautiful and fair less tainted than me.
But I haven’t been able to write any…
You may have noticed that poetry has been an after effect of all other break ups and bouts of depression. Now there is none. Now I can’t even do that.
I’ve tried. Oh hell, I’ve tried… but it turns to less than dust.
I can’t… express myself.
It just won’t come any more. There’s nothing. It’s like a silence in my head. This big, vast, empty silence that stretches on and on and I can’t fill it with anything any more.
How does that work? How can somebody empty you of every little thing?
It’s his birthday. I wrote a note on my tumblr about that. I won’t send a message. And there are so many reasons why to do it and why not… I write letters on my tumblr. They’re there because they can’t be anywhere else. And because I know he won’t be shown a link to them, to see the vulnerable thoughts and feelings I have for him still…
Why should I hide his letters from him?
Because if he saw them I would need for his reaction… Stupid needy girl. Stupid needy heart. Oh god.
This isn’t some eloquent post where I’ll lay my thoughts down like lyrics. These are just thoughts. Scattered. Innumerable. Staccato.
There’s so much hurt. And so many people trying to make it alright again. But they can’t do that. I’m such a mess. I hate myself.
I’m sorry. I do. Right now I can’t stand to be a part of me. I want to be nothing. Or less than that. Only I haven’t the energy.
I feel nothing or too much at once. It flips between the two. And when I feel nothing I seem happy, but there’s no real genuine sensation behind it any more. No nothing.
Right now I’m Clementine. I’m that ‘fucked up girl looking for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours’. I can’t deal with anyone else’s tonight. My own is bad enough.
Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate this feeling.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you have to read this. I’m sorry you haven’t stopped reading it yet.
We’re working our way back to my not feeling again through this post. We have to. We have to get there so I don’t breakdown and cry. And I am so sick of doing that. I am so sick of crying in front of people. So sick of the tears. This lack of pride.
Where the hell is my pride?! Why can’t I stop myself from tearing up?!
How did we fuck this up…? How did you fuck this up? And how could you keep my heart after you’d done it? And why did you ask me who I thought you were to gauge if I really knew you as some kind of stupid test of my love when you don’t care? What the hell was that about?
I’m so tired. I’m so very very tired of this all.
I just want to understand. I want to know why. I want the explanation that will move me on.
Because I’m terrified you love me and you’re fucking up just because you think it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s not.
But you dig yourself into these stupid holes…
I’ve just rambled tonight. Did you notice that? This isn’t coherent. This is jumping from thought to thought. And some of them I can’t type here. I won’t show the entirety of it. I won’t confess everything that burns and writhes in my mind. I try not to think of them. I so try not to.
They were thoughts that had disappeared for years, but now they show themselves in moments when my heart aches the most.
Please stop my mind. It can’t cope much more.
I’m dreading the school holidays that are coming up. No work means I have nothing to look forward to in the days. I’m so broke I can’t afford Christmas presents for people. And that’s the only thing I really enjoy about Christmas. Giving to people.
Guess it’s ironic that I can’t give anything physically this holiday season as much as I can’t give anything emotionally any more. I feel like a horse that has gone lame. And you know what they used to do with them.
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