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| I'm always so clumsy. And when I did act decisively, I was called "bitch". Grah. Zoom zoom. | | |
| I was trying to clear out stuff in my room, when I realized that my old nest of letters was still where I had last left it... Years ago. There were actually specific letters I very much wanted to find again. I didn't find them. I remember now that those conversations were all on MSN, and the computer with the history has died. Letters tell a different story, it's like only having half a conversation. Anyway. I've thrown out all the ones that were kept for the sake of my magpie tendencies, and kept the ones that meant something to me.
Most of these letters come from people I don't talk to anymore. I'm glad I have these. Guess that whole crazy letter-writing trend was more valuable than I knew. There are three people in there I guess I talked to quite a bit, but I don't remember enough to deserve to say I was their friend. I was too immature to keep pace with people like that. I do hope I won't look back at my years now, and have the same regrets. Regrets are the stupidest, and most persistent things. | | |
| Please hide me away so that I won't be able to think, or feel about any of this.
I get where I was going that night. I just wanted to get far away, to walk until I couldn't walk anymore. I wonder if I'll ever make it past the safe zone. | | |
| I swear a lot more than I used to. It's funny because I still clearly remember the first time I'd ever said "bitch", and just as clearly remember not having a clue what the word implied, just that it was a word to use when angry.
Now I swear a lot. And when I do it feels like I'm letting off steam. So it should be a good thing right? Not having so much pent up energy? The thing is that there doesn't seem to be an end to the pressure. It feels like the more valves I let open the more the rest scream for release as well. That is a lousy analogy... Basically the anger doesn't stop coming. Substitution works though. | | |
| The people I talk to are like that hole in the ground in that tale about Midas I read about as a kid. He got his ear's changed into donkey's ears, and only his barber knew. He had to tell someone so he whispered into a hole in the ground: "King Midas has ass's ears!" A crop was grown over that plot of land- barley. When they grew, every time the wind blew through them it whisked the secret out unto whichever ears the wind could carry it to.
Except that it's not about some secret. It's bits of me. Every time I tell someone something, I'm passing them a piece of myself that I probably don't get yet. And these people are forming pictures of me that sometimes have more details than I am aware of, and are sometimes entirely incorrect. This is a secondary effect though. What really gets me is that emotions come so much easier now, and I am so comfortable in this world that I can be entirely, brutally honest to people I don't know I can trust yet.
Messy way of living. Is this what they call natural? It's uncomfortable. Unless I'm at the safe house, it feels like a bad fit.
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