jovenile: (last stand.)
For some reason I thought that summer would mean things get easier. I don't know why I thought this would be the case - I'm a little too old to continue believing in magic, and there's nothing magical, really, about the ecological changes that naturally follow as a consequence of the ancient revolution of the Earth around the Sun and the tilt of the planet's axis.

If I've learned anything this summer, it's that forgiveness and anger are fluid things, the demarcations of which are always shifting and never pinned. I've learned that you can never go back, and you can't go home. Not really.

But I want to.

I think I broke something when I tried to make myself into something I wasn't, never wanted to be, never will be. I kept trying to jam a square peg into a round hole, and have worn all the edges so that there's something that sticks, but doesn't function. This used to be easy. I resent it. I resent myself. I am sad and upset and a hundred other things that I don't have names for, that maybe don't have names in the languages I speak, because what's the name for this gaping, aching, writhing, hurting emptiness? I feel like I've had something taken away from me while I was asleep and woke up with a hole where my heart was supposed to be.

I wish I could put a sign on myself. Be kind to me. I am fighting a hard battle. I need help. Help me. Forgive me.

I hate this level of introspection, hate it, but I need it, and I need it to be public. I need to hold myself accountable, not just to myself. I need to flay this open, keep it open, like a wound, so it doesn't close, because I think if it closes I'm done trying to fix it - I think it means I give up. And I don't want to. God help me. I don't know if I am of the faith, but God, if you're out there, help me.

I miss having people to listen. Friends.

I wish I still believed in heroes.
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calamity jo

November 2015

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