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March 26, 1999

stream of consciousness


i finally let my mind go and decided to write. just sit down here and write and get all this crap off my head for once and for all. i don't know why i want to write something that i can actually share with other people. maybe i like telling stories. maybe i like taking my life and putting it on display for the world to see. but what i know more than anything is that i love to have words depict me, my life, my surroundings, my world. there's nothing quite like the gift of being able to share like this... there's nothing like just saying what needs to be said... there's nothing quite like the feeling of exhiliration that follows a long raging stream of words flowing from mind. i simply can't explain it if you don't get it at this point. the thing is, lately i've not been able to share myself the way i've wanted. i've been in conflict with myself, my life, my everything. all i feel inside is pure rage. i'm screaming but no one can hear me. he tells me he respects me, tells me he loves me for me and not for what i can do for him. and then he takes off his clothes, exposes himself to me in that way and encourages me to do the same. and no, it's not my fault. i realize that immediately. it's his fault... he brought me here, he seduced me with his words, his mind, his life... so the fact that i'm standing naked before him only wanting to give him my heart but instead giving him my soul... well, it's perfectly understandable, isn't it? because i didn't ask for this life. i didn't ask for the decisions i made to turn out this way. how could i have known? how could i not have? i torture myself these days with what ifs and questions about what could have been. i look at the pieces of my life spread out before me and shiver with the realization that THIS is exactly what i asked for. be careful, she used to tell me. you might get what you ask for. and i did, i guess. i can rationalize every decision i've ever made. it was done for him, for her, for them, for you... but never for me. no, never for me. the times when i thought that i could make my own happiness by giving you myself... well, i never realized that i gave you everything. and it's sad when i look at the dusty pieces of my soul spread across the floor... and it's even worse when i realize that i'm the only one who cares and i really don't give a shit either. ashes to ashes, i say. i'll do this again. but how do you stop living the way you've learned to live and how do you move on and pretend that the mistakes you've just made haven't adversely affected everyone in your entire life? no one wants to hear the shit, girl. no one really cares about the scars underneath the shirt you wear. no one really wants to know what's going on with you. so you sing... you sing your song and dance your dance and before you know it you're fired up over the internalized fears you've kept to yourself all these years. you dance because you realize that the music is absolutely beautiful, but it's only later when you discover that no one else can hear what you're listening to. you can't find it if you didn't bring here in the first place. he told me that and i looked him over just once. how could he possibly know? how could this self-righteous pig have any fucking clue about what's going on with me better than i know? the truth is that he does and he is always throwing things like that at me... ready for me to juggle the idea of something new and something different. and in turn, this only makes me want to do the same old thing and give myself to him. but no. HELL NO. you scream, you stammer... you strut... you can't do this to me, you tell him. you can't ask me to forgive my past when it symbolizes the present. and you watch and wait for him to explain this one... but you already know the answer and you've known it all along. you can't find it here if you didn't bring it yourself, and it's only been six months since you've been looking anyway. and no, it's not there. you can stop looking now. pick up your bag and walk on, silly girl. keep walking, keep moving. no loitering allowed. and it's best that you pick up yourself as you move, for you can move a bit quicker that way. stop dragging yourself around that way, stop focusing on all the half-empty glasses and just realize that you've got a lot going for you. so the lipstick gets applied very carefully and you have to make sure that everything is just fucking perfect because its the only possible way that they will ever accept you. the lipstick has to be perfect, the look on your face just right and if you move to the right a little bit and just say cheese then maybe everyone will come running and ask you for your autograph, because you're capable of that. she always told you it was possible... why didn't you believe her? did you know something she didn't? or did that god-awful censor speak to you again and tell you that you weren't worth it? picture perfect in white, angelic, hair golden and teeth showing. smile, look pretty, tilt your head just right... and before you know it you're painting your toe nails, piercing your ears and trying to look seductive with a cherry blow pop in your mouth. it never did work, and you always were offended at the anticipated responses anyway. so why did you do it? why encourage the behavior that you wind up hating in the end? because it's the way things work. you always end up hating in the end the things that attracted you in the first place. it wasn't a flower blooming, it was a weed rooting itself and spreading thick into your life. and now, it has consumed you and you are left feeling hate and anger and anguish and a myriad of other emotions that are too painful to identify and work with. so you run, faster and faster, until you find yourself in the company of someone or something familiar. and it begins again. so cry little girl... cry loudly and let those tears roll straight down your face, off your chin and drop onto the floor where you'll step on them as you get up and walk across the room to open the door. you're forever letting someone in and forever finding that they didn't bring it here, either. inside! you scream. inside! now! recess is over. it's time for today's lesson.

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