"did you ever really need somebody and really need them bad?"
I don't know when i turned into a swooning, sentimental, bi-polar fool. People say the key to accepting change is adaptation. But what if we can't draw distinctions between adapting to something, and getting so used to it that it becomes important enough to it consume you and take over your life? By that i mean so far under your skin that you can barely remember what things were like before.
As far as intense emotions and sensations go, I cope with rage well enough. Really bad bouts of gastric-flu type fatigue nausea will tame me and i'll go quietly to bed. Happiness can be contained by detaching myself. So for the life of me, i don't know why i can't detach myself from the emotions that do bother me. Disappointment. Hurt. Jealousy. Seemingly gentler on the intensity scale, but it's the private hells that can kill the fastest.
I'm passing days in a robotic daze- and maybe that's the only way to survive. I do my work, eat food without manically pursuing the 'dietry nutrition' page (maybe that's one bonus), go to school, lie in bed and stare around listlessly, and time still passes by either blinkingly fast, or in laguid, torturous stretches. When im not simply passing time, im paranoid; I analyse everything, i wonder why time spent playing xbox can't be time spent with me. I swing incessantly from doubting my own beliefs, to a violent stubborness to cling onto them. I come up with worst-case senarios so i can cope with the future. I'm afraid of imagining a better time, although those thoughts are the only ones that get me through. I'm sick of asking, is this permanent? is this a sign? is this going to happen even after 3 weeks? does he just not know? am i being unreasonable? And all i can do is rail in vain, and quietly acquiesce. What else can i do. I mean, i don't want to see my worst-case senarios played out but nothing is convincing me otherwise.
Hot Piece of the Day:
Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. I chose an unremarkable kind of cover for the picture because, well, today is a day of suppression. I need to survive.
'May you not rest, as long as i am living. You said i killed you- haunt me, then' -Heathcliff
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