Sunday, 30 August 2015
01:12:27 AM (GMT)
I've been reading a lot to escape my feelings.
When my mind is in my brain and my soul is in my body I'm lonely. When I send my mind
elsewhere to feel someone else's feelings, I don't have to feel my own. I don't want
I'm too lonely to sleep. I'm so confused.
Phillip and I are getting messy again. I thought we were finally done. But he still
has feelings for me, and he's still annoyingly suicidal, and wakes me up at night to
tell me everyone should be glad he doesn't have a gun, or to tell me if I need more
protein in my diet his semen is available or something. Ew, right? I'm still not
convinced that he loves me. I know he wants me. But that means nothing to me. Sex
isn't my cup of tea. And he's still hurt over the fact that I don't want him. I'm
sorry that you can't accept the fact I care about you but don't want to exchange
bodily fluids with you, Phillip.
But I know him. I know the things he's been through. I want to be his friend. I want
to be there for him. I want to hang out with him. Maybe cuddle with him. But I can't
do any of that if I have to worry about him thinking about sex the whole time.
And he knows I don't want that, so he thinks the only solution is we can never hang
I just don't understand. Can it really be that hard to control your hormones?
I'm starting to wonder if Benji is polyamorous. I don't even really know what that
means, but I think it means you have the ability to be in love with two people at
once. (Like Bella from Twilight. Ew.) Anyway, who knows. Doesn't matter, he isn't in
love with me anymore. Every time we start to get along well I mess it up and he stops
talking to me.
I don't know what I am.
I'm stupid, I know that. Or I make stupid decisions. Same thing.
I want my life to start already. I'm never taking another summer off. It was
horrible. Nothing but reading and Netflix and video games and movies and websites. My
mind was never in my body. I was always distracted. Even when I went for bike rides I
was distracted. Nothing feels real anymore.
I don't know what I want. I'm sad.
I tried to force my mania to hold long enough for me to write seven essays. I wrote
three. Then I lost momentum and crashed. Now I'm depressed again. Meow.
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