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Six Hours and Counting.
Jun. 10th, 2005 02:18 am...And I haven't done anything stupid yet. Not even thrown anything, although this is the wrong type of feeling for that. I wish I could be angry. Angry is always easier - throw a few things, punch a few walls, yell at my brother, and then I calm down, and everything is fine again. But I can't manage angry. Can't live with her, it seems - or more accurately, she can't live with me - but I can't live without her, either. I'm hopeless. Worthless. I fail at relationships. For some reason, I keep trying anyway. It's both a blessing and a curse, I think - I can keep moving through everything life throws at me, because I keep believing, hoping that things will get better, even though they never really seem to. *sigh* Optimism has it's virtues, but pessimism hurts less.
Everything's fallen apart, again, and I don't think I can put it back together. Not well enough, anyway. I've been through this before, and it only makes things worse, never better, distances me from people, shatters trust, relationships. Hell, Rose still pretends I don't exist, and it still hurts.
I don't know if the fact that she'll probably never read this is comforting or not. Not, I think, because I want her to know. I had things to share, and I'm left with nobody to share them with any more. I'll probably mail back the books I borrowed on Monday - I can't look at them without crying. Kind of a pity, my library doesn't have them. Suppose I can request from other libraries, although that's a pain and I end up owing libraries I don't go to three dollars in overdue fines. But it would hurt less than this does.
Six hours, and I miss her already. I don't know how I'm going to live, except I know that I will, somehow. I always pull through. Not going to sleep well tonight, having had nightmares just come true. I'd add 'if I sleep at all', but I know if nothing else, pure exhaustion will claim me by eight or nine am. When I fall asleep is more likely to depend on when I finally tear myself away from being masochistic and reading old journal entries.
(Also, anyone who's thinking of complaining about me being melodramatic and that I should just shut up and get over it? Say it if you like, I don't give a fuck, but it won't change anything other than making me not like you, because I don't tell you what to write about in your journal.)
Everything's fallen apart, again, and I don't think I can put it back together. Not well enough, anyway. I've been through this before, and it only makes things worse, never better, distances me from people, shatters trust, relationships. Hell, Rose still pretends I don't exist, and it still hurts.
I don't know if the fact that she'll probably never read this is comforting or not. Not, I think, because I want her to know. I had things to share, and I'm left with nobody to share them with any more. I'll probably mail back the books I borrowed on Monday - I can't look at them without crying. Kind of a pity, my library doesn't have them. Suppose I can request from other libraries, although that's a pain and I end up owing libraries I don't go to three dollars in overdue fines. But it would hurt less than this does.
Six hours, and I miss her already. I don't know how I'm going to live, except I know that I will, somehow. I always pull through. Not going to sleep well tonight, having had nightmares just come true. I'd add 'if I sleep at all', but I know if nothing else, pure exhaustion will claim me by eight or nine am. When I fall asleep is more likely to depend on when I finally tear myself away from being masochistic and reading old journal entries.
(Also, anyone who's thinking of complaining about me being melodramatic and that I should just shut up and get over it? Say it if you like, I don't give a fuck, but it won't change anything other than making me not like you, because I don't tell you what to write about in your journal.)
