Sunday, October 09, 2005 // 2:43 AM

selfish

i said the f word again, today, sigh. sigh sigh sigh. i don't feel like being anything else other than this, sometimes, sometimes. i dont know what to call this, i know elsewhere it wouldn't have a big deal.

and yes, ma, really it isn't all about you. i didn't want to come home today, you, your phone call. didn't really help. yes ma, of course, it's all about you. i know it's not your fault you don't see the whole picture, of course ma i don't show it to you, i'll tell you straight if i thought you could handle it, i don't want to show it to you. ma. i haven't built my life around you. i'm not sure if i'd show it to anyone, really, what's the point what's the point what's the point. everything feels pointless now. talking to people feels pointless now. i played so much playground blind man's buff last now because i just wanted to get out things, i wanted to trade the conversation for. happy hormones, or something. i dont know. everything that once mattered to me, all the things that made me happy. all of a sudden i don't want them anymore, they've lapsed into a strange routine: what's the point? what's the point? i dont know what to think i dont know what to feel, i feel nothing, mostly, i. i'm going numb, and i'm not even scared of how i'm going numb, like i was the last time. i dont think i'm going to start cutting again, i just feel. flat, completely hollow. i can't think of a single thing i want, anymore. not you, not my comic books. some things there is a faint sort of Want, things like good conversation, adrenalin, but. i dont know. right now i just feel so empty, after the moment passes nothing has changed, nothing has changed. even sleep doesn't make me happy anymore, i remember a time when i used to sleep so much so much so very much, without liking it, and da, how he thought i was on drugs. all this time and all this wasted living, all this mindless activity and all this. thoughts-in-a-box. what's the point, what's the point, what's the point what's the point. what's the point. where does God come into the picture, He doesn't, not right now. i dont know. i'm so disgusted with myself that i can't bring myself to go running back to Him, not yet, not now. i can't pretend to be all Perfect Christian, right now i don't feel it at all. love, sometimes love feels like emotional blackmail. i. i feel like withdrawing from things, from everything, but i know i can't. i can't and i owe it to people to stick around. i owe it to the many people i owe letters to write back to them though right now right now right now. i dont know. it's not that i'm not grateful when people like matt and gracelim bother to come and talk to me, it's not that i'm not touched that graceyan wrote me a postcard out of nowhere, completely completely unexpectedly. it's not that i'm not grateful when people offer to send me home because i'm tired or because it's late or because i'm upset, again. I JUST FREAKING DONT KNOW ANYTHING ANYMORE. sigh. sigh. okay. that broke me, the way sitting at the bus stop on my way home broke me, listening to guns and roses, thinking nothing, feeling nothing. sometimes. sometimes you want the storm to break. freak. ella. i really hate you sometimes, i hate how. how everything's an issue, how everything's a mess, how you're just full to the brim of emotions and spilling over spilling over spilling over. guts and too much information, all over the floor. i hate how. how emotionally high maintainence you are, i hate how you can't control it, i hate how you fall to pieces and can't pick yourself up again. i. i hate this feeling and the not knowing if it is going to go away, i hate this feeling and the Not Knowing where it comes from. i dont even want to think about it, psychoanalyse it, attempt make it go away, please, please. it's just too tiring. but, but, there are a few dangerous things to do, when i feel like this. listen to Extremely Depressing Music (garbage, placebo). even look at razor blades, alcohol. candles. so, so i guess this much means that i am still somewhat in control. way to go ella, i dont know which is worse: the violent burst of emotion or this dull thud of hollow mundanity. purposelessness. i used that word a dozen times for pc, sigh, sigh, sigh. i dont want to be purposelessness. this is the suckiest i have felt in some time, not long, but some, time.

can i say something: there's nothing dramatic about my crying, or this, this here Right Now. don't be so alarmed, don't be so confused. this, this me breaking down, this me in panic, this me bowled over by my emotions. i'm sorry for being so melodramatic sometimes, when at the end of the day this has happened too many times for me to be shocked by it.

my entire next week is gone, sigh. i don't want to do anything, really, don't want to move from right here. i want to have dinner at home and make my parents a little happier, it's not that i don't care about them. i'm determined to write that letter to my sister, even though it scares me, really, let's talk terrified, be honest with my sister? about something i know i know i just know we are going to fundamentally disagree on? and rip apart this my fundamental philosophy right now, i am going to fall apart, i know it, i know it. maybe this is not the best time to be running into the woods with things. intellect, this whole idea of intellect, michelle you have been wooed by it, but i have just been disenchanted, disillusioned. i have no idea how this conversation is going to take place, you know, you know. it is just the heart of the matter, with both of us. you're not going to be able to function with my viewpoint any more than i am going to be able to function with yours.

what is it with family. sigh. i want to be allowed to be a different person, don't tell me you know me and you know what my emotional needs are going to be. you have not been fair to say that i am incapable of change, if i have not undergone Change in the last one year then WHAT, pray tell, have i undergone. stuff your fatality, i want none of it.

and the people i owe letters to, it's not that i don't care about them, friends who have taken the time to give a shit about me, it's not that i don't care about them. like today, when christl said, it seems like everyone has fetched you home before. hello i'm grateful, i'm not just using you for your cars (cue zhixian bitching about petrol prices). it's not that i don't care, i do, in my heart of hearts i know i do. never mind my tiredness right about now, the physical emotional mental spiritual. never mind the need to focus on myself, to solve this, to purge this, to feel like less of a spiritual hypocrite. to genuinely care about people. to feel a purpose, to feel some kind of point, to all this. what am i doing? what are you doing? is this what people feel like all the time, how the heck do you stand it? i can't stand it, i can't stand this departure from the manic happiness. this. this has got to be the worst way to be.