nothing.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
i have nothing to say. nothing new that is.
same stuff, different day. and it drones on and on without end.
i got a card from my friend jo today, and it felt like she was writing to a person who doesn’t even exist anymore. it was a nice card. full of love. she said that she is looking forward to seeing me at festival, but i fear that when i get there, when i see her, i will only be a shell of who she remembers me to be.
i kind of don’t even know if i want to go to festival at all. i’m terrified, actually. seeing people who i haven’t seen in two years. living up to their expectations of me. having to be “on” so no one sees the real me, the black, dark, dead me. i’m so used to throwing on that automatic personality, it’s like a costume. i wear it every day at work. i laugh, i smile, i joke, i make like a happy little worker bee. i’m not truly successful at it, but it is automatic, i don’t have to think about it. when i stop and think, i can feel the darkness creep over me. i can feel the aloneness like a chill that emanates from deep inside myself. the tears come, i have to fight them off. i can’t let myself go there during the day, it is too hard to recover from. during the times when i could not recover, i had to make excuses and go home, or cry in the bathroom and then try to get a hold of myself and hope that no one noticed the red rimmed eyes or bright red nose.
at festival, i will have to have the costume on all the time. i know that i will spend as much time as i can, alone in my tent, crying, trying not to be heard. i am dreading it.
sandra was supposed to call me today at lunch. she was supposed to call at 1, but she didn’t wind up calling till almost 1:30. she doesn’t understand how little things like that throw me. how, while i was waiting for her to call, the aloneness, the sadness, the cold spread from the pit of my stomach out to my fingers and toes. all i could do when she finally did call was cry. it all just hurts so much, i can’t explain it.
today, on post secret, there was a postcard that felt like it came from me. i felt understood by whoever sent it. i’ve been trying to explain to sandra, and my mother, and other people, why i don’t want to take medication. this pretty much sums it up...
i posted this one a few months ago... it’s like someone is sending in my exact thoughts.
i wish i could meet these people. then i would feel so much less alone.
i don’t know. i just don’t know...
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