Advice from a friend that I was with today, something she told me almost exactly the same as something _____ would tell me.
How I’ve been feeling, put more beautifully than I could ever do.
It’s so strange
After everything that had went through my head
After everything I thought and said
It’s so strange
I look at you
or even just when I’m thinking of you
I feel like you don’t know me
or it’s a different me
The me that only shows when I’m with you
And there’s this huge lump in my heart or chest or…
I don’t know where exactly
but it’s been bugging me to crawl out
I can feel it in my throat now
And I need to take it out and give it to you somehow
It’s the urge to tell you everything and anything
The urge let go and come clean
The urge to want you to know every little piece of me
Why is that?
Isn’t that strange?
I guess it’s always been me to want people to know the whole story
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Something my neighbor called me today. Something I find both a compliment and a form of alienation. I love being told I’m different. Who doesn’t want to be different from the crowd? To stick out. To be noticed as someone that isn’t like everyone else.
In a way, whenever you get to know someone they’re always different from what you’d expect. They’re always different once you hear their story. They’re different when you spend more time with them. Of course its easy to say I’m different.
I never know for sure if people just say things like that to everyone, or if they actually mean it. And if they do mean it, what does it mean? How am I different from anyone else?
It seems so lonely at times to know that I’m “different” but time and time again I’d rather be different than anything else.
These past few days I’ve had conversations with people that have either really helped me reflect on things, for better or for worse. Continue reading
I went alone today to the clinic, in my favourite green dress. I let bus drivers go ahead of me before I cross the street, I hold doors for random strangers, I simultaneously make myself known but invisible all the same. I try to be polite to anyone I encounter, and as a very agreeable person, I have a hard time displeasing people, or disappointing them, I prefer to spare their feelings you could say.
I. Can’t. Trust. My. Feelings.
There it is. Back again. That itch. That yearn. I rub my eyes with my knuckles as a way of deciding that now’s probably a good time as ever to get out of bed. I stretch over my mattress. I flip my blanket over off of my body, and feel the cold morning air seeping through my windows onto my skin. Goosebumps appear. It’s dark. All my blinds are down. I haven’t decided whether I want to let the sun in or not.
And then the feeling comes back. Back again. That itch. That yearn. I want something. And I want it right now. I can’t seem to think about anything else.
I work towards how to get it. My train of thoughts become consumed with how to feed this feeling. This bottomless pit of feeling that never seems to be fulfilled. The more I feed it, the hungrier it gets. It’s been getting out of control, but I’ve done nothing to stop it. A vice that consumes my priorities. A vice so strong that I’d be willing to give up everything I have to offer to succumb to it. It feels so good. I’m euphoric. Elated. Happy.
I’m not on Earth. The Sun is blue, and the sky is purple. The water is a glistening gold, and as it hits the warm black sand; it retreats back, leaving specs of its remnants behind. A world I never want to leave. A world where all my dreams come true, and all my fantasies fulfilled. A world of purely pleasure. Where addictions are constantly fed, as if one was in famished conditions. A flooding of consumption. A bottomless pit of fun.
An addiction to succumb to.