I have to do it again, close myself off. Otherwise I won't be able to survive this - I won't be able to survive it. I miss how I used to be, how I never told, how I never depended on anyone and it wasn't necessary for anyone to "stick around" in my life because they were oblivious. But I fucked that up, I fuck everything good up. I was going so well, it was so much better than it is now. I was safe back then, I didn't need anything back then. I had myself and I dealt with me. Now I have to deal with all of them.
I want them to go away, I want to go away.
I want that 8 weeks abroad to come quicker. I need to leave here, I need to leave them behind. I need to get a good grip of my security again. I can't let people in like this. I need to bury it further because it's dug its way out over the past few months. I need to squash it. I need to suffocate it again.
Because, although it may feel terrible -it's only the adjustment. And I know it's so much better than this. I know that I can't trust anyone, and I know that I can't keep anyone.
I can't believe I shared Katie.
I don't want to face her after sharing Katie. Katie was mine and I just gave her up. I have nothing that is mine anymore.
I want to create something that is mine.
I want everyone to stop fucking talking to me.
I don't want them to know.
Take me back to when no one knew. Please.

There is no difference between night and day anymore. It's all life. It's all existence.

--Andria.

She's dating this boy.

red.

It's lifeless without
the sun.
Dead and
motionless,
nothing more than
kindling
and a catalyst.

But when the light
catches
it moves
with delight.
Spitting out
with agility and
grace.

The fire, it
dances
on her shoulders
half-consuming her
face.
The burn not felt,
she issues no scream.

"And the clouds embraced the sun with such need it suffocated its warmth, so all the people in the street could feel the icy adoration." 

 

One of the truest things I've ever heard (a certain lyric from a certain song -A Letter- by a certain band -La Dispute).

I've never spent a lot on finding a remedy.
I guess I figured that it hurt for a reason.

Once I heard that, I knew it. Really knew what this meant. Some people I know -some sad, sad people- spend their days finding their triggers, whether that trigger be for happiness or sadness. They collect what they have and attempt to avoid the things that sadden them. There was once a time that I myself attempted that, but I stopped. Because I realised that I don't want to mould my life and my actions around these things that I feel. If I get worse, then I get worse and I deal with that. I don't want to know if there's a way to stop it. I don't want drugs to make me numb. As even this, this excruciating silence in my head and this ringing that seems to surface from beneath my very bones, and the hurt that echos in my mind and collapses through my form -that's something, and that's better than being numb.

The lyrics then go onto;

I guess that's why I always turned to writing it down.

And even though I might complain, and get upset and scream and yell about how writing it out doesn't work -I can't deny the fact that, the weight seems to lift off of my chest -even if it's only slightly, even if it's only a small amount. I can breathe just a littly easier. I can survive one more day.

Things have become even more of an endurance. Like a pattern. It hurts, but I'm too tired to hurt myself in response.

--Andria.

I think the thing is that I shut off from everything.
From friends and family and my own ambitions.
From having fun.
I just shut off from everything.

Before I'm 39.

1. First and foremost, I'd like to finish my novels. Because, they are honestly the one thing in my life that I've done to be proud of. They have plot and character development and I feel if I were to finish them -I could really make something of them. It doesn't matter if they are popular or not, I want to properly finish something entirely in my life.
2. Perhaps it's not great that my second achievment involves another person, but I don't care because this person is incredible. Her name is Regina and she lives in The Phillipines. And before I'm 39 I want to meet her, in The Phillipines, with Oreos and ice-cream. And music.
3. See La Dispute live, in concert, and dance to The Last Continent. I want to scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs, jump and yell against people I don't know but that won't matter -because if you like La Dispute, with all your heart then there's a reason for it. A real reason.
4. Work in a book store. They're actually my passion -books and music. But, I think if it came down to it books are much better. Because books are written by the author and for the author. People talk all the time about the context, and who the audience is -but books are written for the people who write them. And that's it. Good books have the author's inner-most thoughts and feelings threaded into their pages, for the reader's to move through and un-stitch.
5. Live in London, with a flat that has the view of the city. So I can sit out there and smoke as the sun sets.
6. Be hugged in the rain. When I'm wrapped up nicely and they rest their forehead on my shoulder. It's cold, and we're both shiverring and there's a paved street beneath out feet. Then there's the build up, when they pull back just slightly and I look up to meet their gaze. Then slowly (that's important) they'll run my hand up my neck until they reach my jaw line, they'll tip up my chin as they step impossibly closer. The build up is what I like the most, the pounding hearts and the panting breath. When you don't speak and you just look at each other. That's the best.

I have deep moments in my head at odd times. This was today's;

Sometimes I feel people don't truly realise the momentum of it. It's not an occasional thing, and no amount of laughter means you're happy. People find out, and they care at first but slowly -very slowly, it goes away. Because people do that -they forget about things that don't effect them. They don't feel it. It leaves them. But it doesn't leave us, and that's what people don't see. They don't see how we endure it. Because you can talk about it and write about it and cry to your therapist about how much it hurts. But no matter how much you do that and no matter how much you try, it doesn't make it go away.
At the end of the day, you're left with it. And the tears and the screaming and the talking at the internal begging for people to understand leaves you so hollow and finished. You're finished, and you want to make it finished too.

Slowly, I'm beginning to realise it. That others don't, and will maybe never understand. The professionals, they know the facts and the science but they don't know how it feels.
It kills.
It's killing me.

--Andria.

She is going to date this boy, I know it. I can feel it coming, and I'm going to have to hear about how funny he is and how sweet he is and how much she likes being with him.
If it makes her happy, I'm ok.
I'm ok, I'm ok, I'm ok.
No. I'm not.
But if it makes her happy, then it's worth it.

--Andria.

I want to have 10 minutes of truth with her. That's all.
If I did, this is what I'd say.

"I like you. I really like you. I like you more than I've liked anyone before, in my entire life. I like you longer than I've liked anyone before, in my entire life. I like everything about you. Because everything about you is perfect. I like your cheeks and I like your eyes and I like your hair and I like your laugh and I like how pretentious you are because it gives you character and I like your character.
But I hate how much I like you and sometimes that makes me hate you. I hate that, even though nothing has happened with us I truly think I couldn't survive without you in my life. I feel that the world --my world-- should not exist without you in it. I couldn't do it. I'd need you --even if it's just to see you in the hallway, or ask you how work was or to tell you a terrible joke in the hopes you'd laugh. I need it to live and without it would not be living.
I'm not saying I want anything to happen, because I know how you feel about me and it's not the same for how I do you. But I want acknowledgement. I don't want you to think that I'm not hurt by what you say or what you do --because your opinion affects me more than anyone else's. But, at the same time I never want you to think I'd hate you or be angry by what makes you happy. Because Rach, your happiness is the most important thing in the world. It's everything. It's all that matters to me.
If you're happy, then I'm ok. I promise.
If you were ever happy with me, it'd be a miracle. But I'd never let you go, not ever. You mean too much and I want you too much and I need you too much."

--Andria.

I'm steadily falling back into my old habits and I'm stubborn. I don't think it's a problem and I don't want to stop it. I don't want to eat anything.
I don't want to be hungry.

This post had no point.

--Andria.

I don't think I know how to have a successful relationship with someone. I don't know what I'm meant to do, how much I'm meant to talk to them, how much I'm meant to tell them. Because, anything and everything seems far too much to share. I see people all the time being so open about their thoughts and feelings, and it just seems so ridiculous to me.
There's a part of me that's jealous --a small part at that-- about how able they are to just share what they're going through, what they've been through. But most of me is simply angry, because it's a personal thing. You shouldn't bring other people into your issues. It's selfish. It's rude.

So, if I were ever to be "intimate" with someone, I couldn't have something deeper. Because that requires telling, and I really can't do that. It's mine.
Telling would make it someone else's.

I wonder how long I'll last like this. 

--Andria.