“But your eyes are drawn of charcoal
they’re black, they’re so cold, they’re so imperfect.
Because they see a sleeping world,
where waking isn’t worth it.” ~”The Artist”, The Hush Sound
I wrote a lengthy post a couple minutes ago, but it was way too honest, so I’ll try to cut back and see if I can be a little more shallow.
My emotions have pretty much boiled down to sensations. I don’t feel anything in my head anymore, just in my stomach or chest. Unless it’s music – that can still make me feel like I’m flying. But I can’t even hurt properly anymore. I just feel mildly sick all the time.
Okay. I was trying to be shallow. Trying again.
Ummmmm. Let’s see. I think I covered my contempt for men (and most women too) in a previous post, so I won’t even go there.
The church across from us is still playing freaking christmas carols on its obnoxiously loud bells. Someone please tell them it’s January 20th.
Lately, I either feel incredibly lonely, or I never want to see another person in my life. Or sometimes both at once. I try to either retreat to my own little world, in the case of the former, or ignore it in the case of the latter.
I’m still angry more than I should be, but it’s been shoved deeper so it’s harder to notice. I take it out on characters or by doing TKD, but it’s now so deep I don’t think I’ll be able to get it out. I think it’s mine for good whether I like it or not.
Did you ever spill a drink on the carpet when you were a kid, but when you tried to rub it out it only went deeper and became permanent? That’s kind of what this anger thing feels like. I tried so hard for so long to scrape it off the core of my being, but I only pushed it in so deep it’s a part of me now.
Everyone has anger. I know this. But I can’t imagine everyone having this much. I feel like if I try hard enough, I can make it go back to normal.
It’s not even scream-and-hit-people anger (usually). It’s cold and calculating anger. I try to blame everyone: my characters for being as hard and cold as I am (but they’re just reflections of me), my parents for even giving me life (but they couldn’t have known), anyone who makes me angry. I’m getting used to this darkness creeping over me and just let it pass, but it’s showing up in my writing and my not-writing.
I’ve just spent my whole life with this overwhelming guilt everytime I did anything the least bit harmful. I’m the “good girl through-and-through”, as I wrote in a song a long time ago. I’m so tired of it. I even felt guilty about what I think and what I read and what I write.
But now that’s just… stopped. Something snapped and I don’t feel guilty about what my avatar does, what all my characters do. I still try desperately to keep them “lightside”, keep them from going completely bad, but I’ve started easing up.
Maybe it’s just “grass-is-greener”, idk. I still feel guilty if I hurt people, I still cannot lie, I’m still the good little girl. But I’m still attracted to the idea of being the bad guy, being dark, looking after myself and no one else.
And I’m scared because I don’t care.
Well that was a pathetic attempt at being shallow, sorry for the teen angst. This is almost as bad as the first post.