Current Music: Dummy Discards a Heart - Deerhoof
Krista fails at life. I don't even want to bother with suicide. Last time I almost died and I still remember how much that fucked up the home. I just can't decided what I want to do with my life now that I am fairly certain I will never be of use to anyone. I could become a telemarketer. At least that way I would know for sure that everyone hates me, instead of all this maybe, maybe not crap. I'm in that state of mine where anything positive anyone says about me makes me think they must be lying to take advantage of me some way. Really, right about now the only people I trust are the ones who openly want to use me. Which. . . might explain my affinity for bad romantic associations. *shrug*
I'm starting to hate, more and more, the people who focus in on one thing I say to criticize, without mentioning, once, the things I say that actually mean more to me. I write what I write to help the people I know, since a lot of them complain about what a close book I am in person. Jaime mentioned to me the other day how she couldn't read my eyes, though I always looked sad. Her mom apparently mentioned how touched she was by me while I was visiting. I have that affect on adults who look at my hair and then my clothes and write me off as a rebellious ass. Secretly, I am a 48 year old women reliving her youth.
I wish, because then, at least, I would be over this insecure stage and actually have a firm sense of identity about who I am in relation to my world. I want to kinda, I don't, shake things up, in the hopes that they settle down in a shape I can actually understand. I'm lost without a guide. I want to understand myself more, I wish I knew what I really wanted to be. I wish I knew who I am. I cant understand half my thoughts because they come out in such a way that I can barely understand the flow as coherent words rather than a primal roar of desire and hopes and anger and sadness. Mostly desire to be rid of the rest. When I don't talk to other people they assume so many things, none of them right. Sometimes, the only way to say anything at all is to be silent with more weight than words alone could weigh.
I've been reliving the worst four moments of the last month over and over again in my head. I see myself recoiling from Ferts cage, over and over again, sometimes falling into my fetal position, sometimes screaming and crying, sometimes picking him up to discover he was just seizuring and sometimes just running away in tears. I see myself consoling my mom as she looks for work, already nauseous from her afternoon medications, sometimes looking for work myself, sometimes kicking her computer in, sometimes promising I would find a way to keep her from having to go back to work. I see myself finding Omelas. . . over and over. I see myself when Scott talks to me, sometimes telling him to shut up so I can talk in private, sometimes telling him to get his fucking arm off of me before I bite it in half, sometimes I actually just stand there and cry, like I wanted to all along. At times, I can really remember what actually did happen until I stop and think about it.
All I want is a little peace and quiet from my own mind.
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