tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13680868.post-1143585146830169842006-03-28T17:15:00.000-05:002006-03-28T17:32:26.843-05:00thoughts. unwanted ones. can't seem to think about anything i'd like to think about, these remembered things keep intruding--scenes from movies, a pathetic story i started writing and wish i hadn't, extrapolations of random events...<br /><br />got into some sort of weird feud with the honors program that ended in me insulting two deans in one email. though, to be fair, it was in response to a childish and condescending email that failed to respond to the email before that, in which i accused the head of the program of lying to my face (which he did). uh, god...i knew i was going to beginning regret what i was doing at some point, but...i really didn't want to be afraid of my inbox again.<br /><br />can't help feeling things have soured. i think i need to stop watching meaningful, ie depressing, movies--fuck people who think that makes me shallow. i'm not shallow, i'm a very, very deep pit of soul-sucking self-loathing, and all i need is for one more person to dump a bin of rubbish in, and i fall apart for days.<br /><br />anyway, i should not--not, not, not--attempt to ascertain the size of the unwanted part of me by feeding it bits and scraps of things. i can't tell you what i mean--without telling you what i mean, i mean. just that...<br /><br />just...every time i lose one secret, i develop another, and i'm running thin on the ones that feel good. i think i should...should...just...start--cutting again...please don't take this as me fighting the urge, i could care less, just that there ISN'T an urge, only me thinking maybe i can train myself not to think in certain ways that upset me by cutting off all my thinking...<br /><br />oh, god, i...it's like part of me is a tape and it just keeps jibbering and jabbering and no matter how many times i hit it it just keeps replaying the same section replaying the same section replaying the same section replaying the same section<br /><br />and even if i stop it, it comes back, and it makes me feel...truly insane. nauseous, sick to my stomach like depression does, with all the desperation of anxiety, only not enough to make me do anything crazy, just...<br /><br />just growing week by week, month by month, it's been growing all my life dear fucking jesus christ since i was a KID and it makes me so afraid. it makes me so afraid.<br /><br />i'm sorry i can't tell you what i mean. i don't know the whole story yet, anyway.<br /><br />i hope i never find out.irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08126052534311148133noreply@blogger.com