Letters from Under a Bridge
I'm tired of being me right now. I really really hate me and all my patheticness.

Tell me it's a good thing all you want, the only thing I hate more then the fact I break down into a puddle of tears when even the slightest thing happens is the fact that people now expect me to do just that. I hate it so much. I hate being so sensitive to every little thing. I hate being so predictable in my pathetic nature. It's one thnig to be expressive, but I'm not. I don't express, I just cry. Crying can mean many things. It can mean 'I'm so happy'. It can mean 'I'm sad', 'I'm scared', 'I'm angry', 'I'm frustrated', 'I'm injured', 'I'm proud', etcetera etcetera...

I'm told repeatedly that I need to learn to talk. This is, of course, true as can be demonstrated by the fact that I have been told it by multiple people. I'm no good at talking. Not without planing. And by the time I've planed what I'm going to say about any sort of important issue, it's too late - I'm not asked about it and I don't want to be one of those people who just brings these things up in conversations without the conversation lending itself to discussing such. I'm sorry Ri-Chan, I really am. That's why I used to write letters to my parents when I needed to tell them something. Mind you, if you've read this for a while you know how THAT goes. Does it not occur to people that, if I write a letter to them because I don't feel I can speak to them on equal terms, coming to me and baring down on me with reasons why I'm wrong for the way I feel is not the way to work it? It's like that bit from Eva R, I suppose. "I have a problem. I want to tell someone, but I can’t open up. I want to reach out, for hands I will refuse to touch. I need someone to talk to me, but I don’t want to hear their kindly words. I need a shoulder to cry on, but no one can see my tears. I need you to open up your heart to me, but I don’t want your sympathy. " Everyone gets that though - it's a part of who we are. It's the continuing angst of our own pittiful existences.


You may note there is no update. That's because most of the events of this week have lead to this update. I'm a very sad, small individual.

I suppose that is enough bitching for now. 'S gonna be a long, lonly night. But at least I've been loaned Dogma to keep me company when I can no longer colour.


"Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn; "
~ John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale
- posted by Washi @ 11:37 pm