What a double-sided sword. But isn't everything double-sided? Our mind is our greatest tool and our worst enemy. Life is beautiful and scary. The Shizzyflatt gets you high but it also brings you down. Maybe it was a mistake to separate good and evil - maybe it's one big blob of possibility.
Man I wish someone would hold my hand and tell me, something. I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like I COULD be doing so much better. That I could have a comforter on my mattress instead of a sleeping bag. I don't want all the drama of being me - I'm a grand player who frets across the stage and dances and sings and loves and loses in the grand production of my life - one show only, running time uncertain.
Over everything is my parents - the ground zero of my problems. To begin to discuss, fair reader, is not a thing I want to embark on this time. But they are - my god. My god.
But this is a problem that won't get solved. What was my dream last night? I was running through an obstacle course in the jungle - being chased by my Dad. (But he really didn't look like my Dad - he was, well, he was a thought in my head. And he was chasing me and I thought I wouldn't make it and I come out the other side safe, but my father says he wasn't chasing me at all, and my friends backed him up. I felt stung, betrayed.) The best thing is to let it go - drop it. For your own sake.
I WILL NOT LET IT GO! DON'T YOU SEE WHAT THEY DID TO ME? CAN'T I HAVE SOMEONE SEE WHAT THEY DID TO ME? WHO WILL LISTEN? WHO WILL LISTEN?!
Slow down. Stillness. Yes, it's "justified". But now what? It is justified. You have every right to be angry, it's a miracle you survived.
AND NOW I HAVE TO ASK HIM FOR MONEY BECAUSE I HAVE NONE?
Let him help. He wants to help, in the limited way he can.
Man I wish someone would hold my hand and tell me, something. I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like I COULD be doing so much better. That I could have a comforter on my mattress instead of a sleeping bag. I don't want all the drama of being me - I'm a grand player who frets across the stage and dances and sings and loves and loses in the grand production of my life - one show only, running time uncertain.
Over everything is my parents - the ground zero of my problems. To begin to discuss, fair reader, is not a thing I want to embark on this time. But they are - my god. My god.
But this is a problem that won't get solved. What was my dream last night? I was running through an obstacle course in the jungle - being chased by my Dad. (But he really didn't look like my Dad - he was, well, he was a thought in my head. And he was chasing me and I thought I wouldn't make it and I come out the other side safe, but my father says he wasn't chasing me at all, and my friends backed him up. I felt stung, betrayed.) The best thing is to let it go - drop it. For your own sake.
I WILL NOT LET IT GO! DON'T YOU SEE WHAT THEY DID TO ME? CAN'T I HAVE SOMEONE SEE WHAT THEY DID TO ME? WHO WILL LISTEN? WHO WILL LISTEN?!
Slow down. Stillness. Yes, it's "justified". But now what? It is justified. You have every right to be angry, it's a miracle you survived.
AND NOW I HAVE TO ASK HIM FOR MONEY BECAUSE I HAVE NONE?
Let him help. He wants to help, in the limited way he can.
