disclaimer: as the site is named – this is me, this is raw. this is not a cry for help. this is not an exposé or finger pointing session. this is not for attention. these are things I need to say but can’t say. this place is my voice. no one is forced to come and read it or see it. this is my therapy, this is my outlet. public, yes but mine.
I chewed on a piece of glass tonight, not on purpose. It was in my food.
I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, and it makes me feel stupid.
I’m afraid I’m wasting time.
No place really feels like home anymore. There’s something missing from any considerable place. I didn’t know that one person could mean home.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make a big life changing decision with confidence ever again because the “last vote” is now gone.
I’m afraid I’m addicted to chaos and I won’t/wouldn’t know what to do with normality if it ever found me.
I’m afraid to start things that I think I’ll be horrible at, or that people will see I’m horrible at.
I feel like a big phony sometimes calling my pictures photographs since most of the best ones were by accident.
I feel smothered under the weight of peoples’ expectations of me.
Sometimes I really believe that I don’t deserve my friends.
I act tougher than I am.
I wear a plastic face in public so I don’t have to see my hurt mirrored in other peoples’ faces.
I feel guilty about grieving, and I feel guilty about not grieving.
Some of the “courage” people think I have, tell me I have, has just been me blindly running into a decision with my eyes and ears closed too afraid to look behind.
My self-value and self-worth were all based on what my father thought of me and I’m not sure I buy all of it anymore or where my value actually lies.
I’m angry with him that he was in too much fear and denial to give me one private hour alone when he was feeling well to talk seriously with me.
I’m angry and disappointed with misdirected sympathies and blind eyes.
I’m angry with things people know and pretend they don’t, and things people don’t know and pretend they do.
I want people to know the truth about everything that happened in my father’s last months that has caused me so much anger I haven’t grieved, or been able to but I don’t want to be the one to tell it.
I’m angry by the questions people don’t ask.
I’m afraid that people don’t really understand or care that the most devastating thing that could ever happen to me in my whole entire life happened to me in 2005.
I’m afraid no one will ever understand me again with as much depth, and/or that people who don’t will think that they do.
I’m afraid I don’t even understand myself as much as he did.
I have abandonment issues and they’re not unfounded.
I feel like he’s abandoned me.
I don’t trust people.
I have insomnia.
this is for cleansing. it is not a cry for help. Guess the glass thing was just an icebreaker.