Penance

I said "I wish I could stop seeing things, hearing things, talking about things and think "she'd like this, I have to tell her."" And I do. Because I just remembered the fact that she don't care. And she haven't for a long time. Long before this started. I guess it just goes to show. Show how long this had been falling and failing. Showing how uninterested we were in each other. How we alienated each other. I don't know where it started for real, but my deepest and most sincere wish is to go back a few years in time and grab myself by the lapels and just scream "what do you think you are doing!? You are ruining your own life, you are destroying everything that is beautiful and you are doing it by NOT doing anything about it!"

I wish I could just let it go, let it be. That I didn't have to drag everything up from the depths and dissect it, that I didn't have to pick the scabs and feel all this sadness and anger. But if I don't do this, how will I learn from my mistakes? How will I see?

I made so many rules for myself about how I wanted to be and what I wanted to be and tried to be that, but it made me so angry. I felt like I limited myself in so many ways. That I denied myself. That I was denied so many things. Things I wanted and needed. And it made me so angry. There was never a basis for the rules. Not an emotional basis. Sure, I understood them perfectly in an intellectual manner, but I didn't feel them, didn't feel the need, the real need inside me. I did it because I had to, but emotionally I guess I didn't understand it. I guess that is the word I am looking for. Understand. I understand so little.

Once again studying religion makes me understand how christian I am, deep down. I mean, I don't believe in Jesus Christ or God, but I have a christian way of thinking and feeling that runs really really deep. Intent is as important as result. And I haven't had the proper intent.

What have I done to myself?

All I want to do is smoke. That is the only thing that gives me some sort of joy. It is mine. The little nicotine demon. She loves me. No, she doesn't but she wants me as bad as I want her. And above all, she wants me to want her. At the moment that is a good substitute for love. If I squint my eyes and lie a bit to myself, she is almost beautiful. I can almost pretend that she loves me.