I wonder if I'm just too sensitive, socially? I mean, if i pick up on things too easy? You know, something that is supposed to be a small hint becomes a gigantic hint and something that is nothing becomes something. I wonder if I think that the rest of the world is like me and shut up until I (think I) know what is coming out and if I therefore am scared of people who isn't like that?
Why couldn't I have started this journey years ago? I have wasted myself, among other things.
I'm so afraid of failing now. I wish I could see things beyond the mistakes. I wish these pangs of betrayal would go away. I do not want them there. They do not make it easy to sleep at night (I spent last night crying of both sorrow and anger).
Am I feeling all the things I have never let myself feel all at once?
I remember the night when I realized that she was probably in over her head in this. I had never doubted her before. Not like tha. Not about such things. Stupid of my, maybe. If I hadn't had such much faith in her and her... I don't know what to call it. Keen emotions? Selfknowledge? If I hadn't had that faith, maybe I would have tried harder. But she knows herself (or so I believed). I don't know myself. I don't know who I am or what makes me tick or what there really is under and inside me.
For me, there are things you do, things you feel and things you think. And these three are separate, and need to be. Or I don't really know what I will do. I mean it. If I act on my emotiones, jailtime might be needed. Not right now, but in the past.
I don't know what I want to say with this. Maybe just that I have had lifelong training in not showing what I feel about anything to anyone, least of all myself. I don't know.
I feel so far away. I don't like it. I fear it. It is like some kind of nightmare.
Cigarettes, then bed.
And GOD! I want that jacket! Despite it's flaws (like the fact that it is so weird that it will probably only look ridiculous in 1 year, and the fact that I could hardly button it) it was perfect. You see, I like my clothes tight. And this was tight. I think I should try it with a shirt on instead of a T-shirt, to see what it does to the cuffs...
Monday, March 31, 2008
Interesting...
What does Alfred Dreyfus, Nathan Söderblom, Richard Cromwell, Erasmus, Ashikaga Yoshinori, Wolfram von Richthofen and Lon Chaney Jr have in common?
They all died on the 12th of July.
And what is so special about that date?
Weeell...
140,421 People
They all died on the 12th of July.
And what is so special about that date?
Weeell...
140,421 People
Sunday, March 30, 2008
10.000 miles and counting
I got that dreadful sense of panic in the pit of my stomach again. Like my whole body just wants to run away. I don't know what I am so nervous about. Maybe it's school, but that is more or less sorted out. Maybe it's money? It doesn't feel like that.
I feel like something wants to come bubbeling up my throat.
Solitude
I have a problem with gifts. Not recieving them, but giving them. I don't want people to think that they owe me anything. I don't want people to feel like they have to give me something back or that I have some sort of motif with my actions (other than the obvious ones, that I want to give things to people I like because I like them). And there's a deeper, darker problem. I guess it is a part of one of the big problems. I don't like to show my feelings. If I give something to someone I give them power over me. I tell them "I care about you. Here's my heart." What if they break it? What if they don't want it? It will be devastating and above all, humiliating. They will get to me. Same as everything else.
God, I just got a picture in my mind of all my problems looking like dirty old men in big overcoats coming up to me and... Well, you get the picture.
The floor is covered in my hair. I got to clean this up soon. And I got to get a grip.
Another, more practical problem is the fact that I seem to be incapable of doing several things at once. I mean, I can hardly study and work at the same day. I can't study and DO something else the same day. Every day is just about ONE thing. I got to figure out a way to master that.
I feel fucking stupid.
God, I just got a picture in my mind of all my problems looking like dirty old men in big overcoats coming up to me and... Well, you get the picture.
The floor is covered in my hair. I got to clean this up soon. And I got to get a grip.
Another, more practical problem is the fact that I seem to be incapable of doing several things at once. I mean, I can hardly study and work at the same day. I can't study and DO something else the same day. Every day is just about ONE thing. I got to figure out a way to master that.
I feel fucking stupid.
Deliverance
Well... Maybe not. But maybe on my way. Spent the evening with friends. Laughed. Really laughed. For the first time in quite some time. But it is hard not to laugh when you once again get to hear about the wonderful adventures of mr. Daun. Stayed totally sober, too. I think that is something I will try and keep up.
I don't like that I spend time with people because it keeps my mind away from myself. It feels dishonest.
Sometimes I wonder if I subconciously think that I have not suffered enough yet.
It is always this problem with my memory. Things slide away. Or at least, I don't remember them but they are there and shape me. I don't remember what has shaped me, and that bugs the shit out of me. How can you shape yourself if you don't know what has made you?
It's strange... Well, no it isn't. Not really. I remember so many of the nights after this started when I just wouldn't fall asleep the whole night just because I wanted to save very minute of what was left, no matter how horrible it was. Lay awake and just look at her and feel. And I felt so much. And now I see her in everything. Things that doesn't even have anything remotely to do with her. That is on the other hand strange.
Fuck.
Well, no more of this right now. I'm going to read and shit now. Keep myself occupied.
I just wish it wouldn't feel so empty.
I don't like that I spend time with people because it keeps my mind away from myself. It feels dishonest.
Sometimes I wonder if I subconciously think that I have not suffered enough yet.
It is always this problem with my memory. Things slide away. Or at least, I don't remember them but they are there and shape me. I don't remember what has shaped me, and that bugs the shit out of me. How can you shape yourself if you don't know what has made you?
It's strange... Well, no it isn't. Not really. I remember so many of the nights after this started when I just wouldn't fall asleep the whole night just because I wanted to save very minute of what was left, no matter how horrible it was. Lay awake and just look at her and feel. And I felt so much. And now I see her in everything. Things that doesn't even have anything remotely to do with her. That is on the other hand strange.
Fuck.
Well, no more of this right now. I'm going to read and shit now. Keep myself occupied.
I just wish it wouldn't feel so empty.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
My Princess
She is. She truely is. I miss her.
Got drunk yesterday. Hardly had to pay for any of it. Nice. Had a bit of fun, almost. Almost got her out of my mind for a while. And today I don't feel as bad as I usually do when I'm hungover. It's just the same feeling of pointlessness. Of doing things because doing them is just as meaningful as not doing them, so why not?
I feel like I have been sleeping in my clothes. I hate that feeling. Right now I want to be in bed with my cats with a book and some chocolate milk and maybe some backrubs later on. But it don't work that way. And I guess it will have to be OK. Some day. But right now I just feel hollow, old and worn out. So old, so tired.
Yeah, well... Bite the bullet.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Watches & Guns
The watch I bought reminds me of something. Of a certain act, a certain feeling. But first things first. I have the watch in my pocket. I don't use it, but I have it with me. I am however quite scared that someone will see it. Because it is silly. First of all, no one wears a watch anymore. Second, it is a pocket watch. It is not really something that you carry around with you if you want people to take you seriously.
It reminds me of when I was a kid and played with toy guns and stuff for a longer (much longer) time than my 'peers'. I sometimes would carry a toy gun in my pocket, or a toy knife or something else. Probably because it made it possible for me to imagine that I was someone else. And I was always terrified that I would be found out, because if you are over a certain age you don't play with toys. There was no way that the other kids would see me as I imagined myself. They would laugh and everything would be even worse. It feels like that with the watch. But I don't know who or what I am imagining myself to be. But I am starting to get the feeling that that imagining, that act of make believe didn't stop there and start again here. I get the feeling that it is something I have always done. Dressing up, making myself someone else, something else. It definitely feels like that is part of what I am doing now. I think that is why I am so afraid of someone seeing through me, seeing when I don't know the rules, seeing when I mess up. Because then I once again will be the kid with the toy gun (or, in fact, the kid with the My Little Pony in his desk). The mask will inevetably fall. You know what I am saying?
To think that I have been so shaped by those years. I believe that most of it happened during 3 years. It scares me, because what have the other 22 years of history in store for me?
The idea that other people could possibly understand me is still something I find hard to believe in.
I remember when I drew a heart in lipstick on her bathroom mirror. I remember her frown when she saw that. I also remember that she let it stay for a long time, but mostly I remember her frown.
I hate this society based on consumption. I don't hate it because it fills our lives with things instead of meaning or any of that hippie bullshit. I hate it because I am not a part of it. I am not a part of that or anything else. Always slightly on the outside, never fully in the know. Never part of those that makes the rules or get away with breaking them. Never part of any society or any scene, always the one to be picked last for the team when it's time to play football. And if I where to be picked earlier it would be (in my mind) an act of misguided altruism and therefore quite humiliating. And still...
How do you do to be yourself? Can you be yourself? Isn't everyone, in one way or the other, just a reflection of the rest of the world?
I don't know if I want to go out and get really drunk or if I just want to go home to my couch (which shall soon be upgraded to a bed) and read and think. I don't really want to think anymore. But I don't want to get hung over either.
It reminds me of when I was a kid and played with toy guns and stuff for a longer (much longer) time than my 'peers'. I sometimes would carry a toy gun in my pocket, or a toy knife or something else. Probably because it made it possible for me to imagine that I was someone else. And I was always terrified that I would be found out, because if you are over a certain age you don't play with toys. There was no way that the other kids would see me as I imagined myself. They would laugh and everything would be even worse. It feels like that with the watch. But I don't know who or what I am imagining myself to be. But I am starting to get the feeling that that imagining, that act of make believe didn't stop there and start again here. I get the feeling that it is something I have always done. Dressing up, making myself someone else, something else. It definitely feels like that is part of what I am doing now. I think that is why I am so afraid of someone seeing through me, seeing when I don't know the rules, seeing when I mess up. Because then I once again will be the kid with the toy gun (or, in fact, the kid with the My Little Pony in his desk). The mask will inevetably fall. You know what I am saying?
To think that I have been so shaped by those years. I believe that most of it happened during 3 years. It scares me, because what have the other 22 years of history in store for me?
The idea that other people could possibly understand me is still something I find hard to believe in.
I remember when I drew a heart in lipstick on her bathroom mirror. I remember her frown when she saw that. I also remember that she let it stay for a long time, but mostly I remember her frown.
I hate this society based on consumption. I don't hate it because it fills our lives with things instead of meaning or any of that hippie bullshit. I hate it because I am not a part of it. I am not a part of that or anything else. Always slightly on the outside, never fully in the know. Never part of those that makes the rules or get away with breaking them. Never part of any society or any scene, always the one to be picked last for the team when it's time to play football. And if I where to be picked earlier it would be (in my mind) an act of misguided altruism and therefore quite humiliating. And still...
How do you do to be yourself? Can you be yourself? Isn't everyone, in one way or the other, just a reflection of the rest of the world?
I don't know if I want to go out and get really drunk or if I just want to go home to my couch (which shall soon be upgraded to a bed) and read and think. I don't really want to think anymore. But I don't want to get hung over either.
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