11.21.2004
I'm the best at ruining my life, thank you very much.
Another week, nothing new. No new people, no interesting conversation, nothing memorable. I keep wading through my life, sticking to nothing and nothing sticking to me. I'm Teflon.
I wonder if Teflon gets lonely, too. For as much as people have hurt me, I still want it. All of it. I miss getting to know people, them knowing me, the newness, the eventual familiarity, the sharing of experiences with someone who I think is special.
It's so hard to do anything, though. I've been reading the same book for like 4 months. That's not like me. I have so many unfinished tasks, projects, chores, details. I don't go to the gym anymore, haven't since the ripping out of apparently not-vital organs. I don't call people unless I'm bored and looking for something to do, or want to waste time while smoking a cigarette. I haven't shaved my legs in months. Haven't been to the doctor voluntarily or the dentist in over a year. I don't care for myself.
And there's the slow steady pulse of my own destruction from the inside out. It's my doing, I'm creating this reality around me. Laying the bricks one by one, taking my time, making sure there are no cracks. I hate to think what I'm going to be like when I'm done. When so much time has passed since I've been truly happy that there's no building room left, only me inside my own fake world, cut off from real people and real experiences, when all I can do is laugh when the cue cards tell me to and speak when spoken to. It's already starting, already happening. I can see myself doing this and yet I can't stop it. Don't want to, really. If I don't protect myself somehow, fill the time somehow, I'll really go mad. I hope someone will come along and stop me. Laugh at my walls and jump right through. And if not, at least I won't be hurt by it anymore.
alannablue at 1:13 a.m.