I Don’t Wanna . . .
I’m tired of writing sad things. Really sick of it. I don’t want to feel that way anymore. And I don’t, usually, as long as I am with people. And thanks, by the way, to anybody who’s just kept me company recently. But I don’t want to feel sad when I am alone anymore, either. I don’t want to rely so heavily on others. I don’t want to remember and remember, over and over, all too vividly. Dear God, when can I being to forget? When do I get to feel okay again when I’m alone? I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to see anything that reminds me of what happened. I don’t want to be reminded of my own foolishness. I don’t want to be reminded of what was right in front of my eyes and I couldn’t see. I don’t want to remember those things I once thought I would never want to forget. I don’t want them now. I don’t want those memories I once treasured so. I don’t want them. I don’t want them. I don’t want them. I don’t want them. Sometimes it makes me nauseated when I think of the things that I once valued so dearly. How could I be such a fool? I disgust myself sometimes with what I have let happen. I hate remembering. I hate it. Sometimes I feel like I am sky high again–only around friends–like I am free of all these emotional chains once more, but eventually, I come crashing back down to earth. Not earth, maybe purgatory. Maybe if I’m good for a while, I can get back up to earth. So maybe this means that there is hope for me, just maybe. I refuse to believe that my life can never be happy again. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. But, damnit, I don’t want to wait! I know I will have a scar, so let’s just cauterize this bastard and forget the stitches! Unfortunately, I don’t think that method will apply to my sort of wound. Mortal, it is not, but it will leave a mark. I can heal from a lot of things, and I will heal from this, too. But how long is this going to go on? This constant succession of highs and lows? I’d better make sure I heal right the first time, because it would be an awful shame if it gets infected. It would be like re-breaking a bone to heal it properly, and I don’t think I can take any sort of re-breaking. Once was enough. I hope to God that I can control my emotions enough to let this monstrosity heal right, so that I can begin to function as a normal human being again. But still, I hate the feeling of prolonging this emotional deformity. I don’t want to wait. I want to be better.
