Sometimes I find it hard to start writing if I don’t have the right font or the right background music. I find it difficult to find the words that not only explain how I feel but that people can understand, I wish I could use a more expansive vocabulary but using a thesaurus doesn’t feel real.
I don’t understand why people cannot be real and why they have to send you mixed messages when they know how you feel. Is it just me or would the world be easier if everyone was straight forward?
This thing is getting me down but the more I talk about it the more I struggle to understand it.
Usually sharing my feelings helps me figure things out myself; I listen to your advice but I’ll take my own - thank you. This time seems different. Everyone else can realise that I’ve been here before and this is just a repeat. . .I know it too, deep down somewhere.
If I spell one word wrong does it make me stupid? I read numbers the wrong way round and I cry too easily. I’m ‘good at school’ but when did that become more important to me than living my life. Why do I get more upset over grades than people and where has this come from. When someone says they haven’t cried in the past month I feel weak and somewhat stupid, I cried just two nights ago but I’m not sure why. Okay I am, I just don’t want to admit it’s because of him.
I get angry too easily, I wish I didn’t. I can’t stop though, no matter how I try. Becoming blunt with people is more usual than unusual it’s just that I want peace and quiet to clear my mind. It hasn’t been clear in a while I don’t know why I’m trying. People talk too much about unnecessary things, they make statements that don’t matter and share untrue information.
I take a walk along the beach and I can’t take my mind off ‘you’, less clearing my mind, more thinking of problems that sparked from no where. Somehow you’re a problem and a solution. This beach is too long and I’ve been here before, once too often. Pebbles with beach winds, I’ll walk until I’m lost, maybe I’ll end up in a different town.
Inspiration hits me but I can only write three paragraphs and none of it makes me feel good. My own writing is boring and I’m unsure why. I cannot inspire myself, how am I meant to inspire others? Why do I want to, why can’t I pick the career path I’m heading to over writing. Or why don’t I believe in myself enough to take a risk into the writing world?
Spending time on my own has become more of a hobby than anything else and no that isn’t sad. I prefer my own company but I wouldn’t say I’m introverted. Being with people is nice but sometimes they don’t understand me like I wish they did. Is that too cliché?
Spending time on my own has become more of a hobby than anything else and no that isn’t sad. I prefer my own company but I wouldn’t say I’m introverted. Being with people is nice but sometimes they don’t understand me like I wish they did. Is that too cliché?
I’m scared of commitment but I’m scared of being alone. Why is my life full of paradoxes? I want you but the timing isn’t right. When is the timing ever right but why is that a problem.
A year is a long time why do people not understand that. Three hundred and sixty five days. How is that not long enough? I’ll smile and we’ll be friends, that’s okay I guess. That’s enough. That’ll have to be enough because I don’t think I’d survive without you in my life somehow.
Maybe I could convince you. Maybe I could make a year enough time.
I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m everything in-between, all at once.
I’m okay.
I’m okay.
When did spilling my feelings on paper become safer than telling my closest friends. When did spilling my feelings on a keyboard lead to realising I had feelings I thought had disappeared.
