2003-10-17 - 10:13 p.m.
the girl sat across from me and she said she hated violent people and she said that people like that are violent because they have no outlet for their anger and furthermore they aren't thinking when they are violent. my left hand is bruised because i punched daniel. my left hand is bruised because i am violent. i am violent because i am angry and my outlet for that anger is violence. the nice little smiling girl in front of me knew not what she was speaking of. how quickly i could've busted in her pretty white teeth and watched them fall to the ground and lay in the moonlight covered in blood and dirt. it was cold outside. her voice filled the air that was pleasantly quiet only moments before she arrived. maybe i'm judgemental. maybe i'm a good judge of character. maybe i'm as worthless as these words i type.
i cried on the way home and i couldn't understand why and that made me cry harder. the heater dried my tears to my face. when i got home i saw my reflection in the mirror but it didn't look like me at all. instead it looked like the perception i have of myself. how i see myself internally before i see myself physically. it's two different things. it's scary.
we were talking and i told him that when you're alone [in the sense that you have no one] you have a lot of time to think about yourself. i told him that last winter i grew up. i changed into what i am now. there were points in those nine months where i was extremely depressed and points where i was extremely content with myself. where i was at the time. i remember laying on the couch in my pajamas. cold outside, warm inside. laughing with my parents. we were watching courage the cowardly dog and i was so incredibly happy right then. but then i remember sobbing in the cold car, thinking that it might as well be the end of the world because there was no point in anything anymore. but then i remember playing the piano a lot. sitting in the dark at my grandmother's house, feeling the warmth coming from the little lamp direcly in front of me. feeling all of my energy, all of my hatred all of my anger all of my bitterness and even what love i still had left lingering, feeling it all shoot from me to my arms to my fingers to the keys. the sound produced was amazing. not because of any sort of talent i possess, but because it was simply my emotion coming out to make music.
my sister is singing in the next room.
i feel like my heart is ripped to shreds. i have a mental picture of it looking like it's been clawed by a monster. the monster being me. the heart somehow still beating, still pumping blood, yet it's a gorey bloody mess that can't still be described as a heart. regardless, it has an owner. and maybe he doesn't realize it yet, but i think he's getting the bad end of the deal.
my right hand looks like a snake bit it.
i feel lost.
i wish i could fix myself somehow. i wish i could pinpoint what is wrong so that i could change myself. improve upon. just not be so fucked.
i want to be
i just wish i weren't so frustrating for him. i snap in and out of whatever it is that i snap in and out of. it's nameless. it's all-consuming. it eats me alive from the inside out and it affects all around me. and i don't want it to touch him. i don't want him to have to put up with it. i'm afraid he didn't know what he was getting into. i'm afraid he'll want out but not know how. i'm afraid i'm going to drive him away.
in some ways we're completely alike. in some ways we're completely different. and in the ways we're different, i feel as though i lack the ability to live up to what he needs and that leads me to feel like he needs someone who can. maybe he needs someone who is more outgoing. more friendly. someone who goes out more. someone who doesn't have fits of rage for no reason. who doesn't drive too fast, listen to angry music too loud and make him scream and turn it off and god..
he tells me he loves me. he tells me he realizes my heart is in his hands. he tells me he loves me more than he's ever loved anyone before. he tells me i'm beautiful. he tells me things that i need to hear. and i don't think he knows just how much i need to hear them.
i didn't mean to write this much.
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