This will be vague at bits. Unless I just avoid the entire subject. We'll see. I never know what will come out until I've typed into the leetle box, and after that point I can't be arsed to edit.
I'm sad, try not to hate me for that.
I was thinking about...something. And it led to thinking about something else. Wow. Vague already. I'm not impressive, really.
Point: My emotions are so fucking intense that I always spend my time pretending I don't have any. Thinking things through rationally and dismissing sadness as I cry. Dismissing feelings of fondness because they're fucking stupid. And wussy, perhaps. In any case, they don't help anything. It's best to feel nothing, in my worldview. The facts that I feel, and cry, and desperately want to scream notwithstanding. Because these things must be repressed for the sake of logic and strength. For the Greater Good.
And so I listen to the saddest music I can find, because it sings about the things I can't show. Dirty secrets. Like Mormons who seek out pornography. This goes much deeper than I'm really letting on. The music and the things I hide. But I have no real inclination to let out any more than that. I keep very few secrets from this place, but there are one or two that I want no one in the world to know.
I can't talk about this. It was a nice try though, comparatively. Maybe some other time.
(By the way, in regards to the last entry: He was sorry in the morning. As always. And nothing is changing. I feel rather ambivalent about this. Maybe I'll talk about it in a week or a month when he explodes again.)
revoless.
3:29 a.m.
June 23, 2003.
Listening to: The Good Life, then Bright Eyes.
Drinking: Water.
Eating: Nothing.
Maybe I'm not so much of a drama queen? or Just a suggestion