19.12.02 | 3:20 pm
drowning soundlessly in thoughts and words
So this is my third entry for today. In case you haven't guessed well I've been at home doing virtually sweet fuck all apart from a slightly busy morning after the doctors. And this blame goes squarely to atlas, but I cannot get this diary out of my head. It's all I've been able to think of. All day. All I can think about is writing, all the things I can say, all the things I want to say, all the things I do say and all the things I daren't say. Its driving me mad. I must have release. So I sit here on the brink of possibly the most painful headache I'm ever about to experience and all I can think about it where to start and how to start it.
I have this itch in my fingers. Something very much akin to physical pain. The pressure of my brain against my skull is intense. Tightening. My throat rises in anticipation to speak with words, my mind leaping with joy and both are sulkenly disappointed every time my tongue fails to move. I try and fail everytime, every single bitter sweet time, God. I try to sort through my head, I try to rearrange things so they are ordered, neatly like I wish my underwear draw was. (Painfully adding another cliché) Conceiving order from chaos. And I cannot fucking do it, I don't have the power. Not yet, God, not yet.
I'm a bittersweet person. If one word could describe me it would be that. (And yes, bittersweet.diaryland.com is already taken). I'm about as bitter as they come, sharp, vindictive, spiteful. Like rousing a rattlesnake from the cane basket its been trapped in, much to its discontent. Few people see this side of me. It is the passion that drives me. Anger. Resentment. Hurt. Pain. Unfairness. Dishonesty. And the taste of hatred is bitter, bitter on my tongue. And then given the right day, in the right mood and right circumstances I can be gorgeous, completely and utterly adorable, cute, silly and girlish. Romantic, sensitive, compassionate, oozing with love.
As a friend once said to me, "I think of myself as the most complex sane person on Earth." Tribute to Joe.
I'm dramatic, given. Since year 8 I've attracted drama, complicated issues and complicated people. I was always so serious. So mature. So ready and willing to grow up. God I used to be a bitch as well. I was like a younger version of Kelly Boyd. Outspoken, righteous, strong minded and opinionated. And if anyone didn't like what I had to say or they disagreed with me I told them to get fucked, this was who I was so deal with it. And I loved it. I always had the guys. I reckon it was my confidence. A confident woman is sexy. But I was never trashy. I was never a slut. Somewhat of a tart maybe, the girls talked about me but I didn't care. I loved the attention, the fun, the chase. That was all it was. All for the chase. And once the chase was over and I got what I wanted, it didn't take long for me to find something else to chase. Thank goodness that was something I grew out of. It could have proved to be very troublesome in my later teenage years.
I have a way of complicating things, most in particular - relationships. Friendships, intimate relationships, any sort of relationship. I don't know how. These things just sort of developed. And I, and the other person involved, would be the center of attention for however long the issue took to resolve. There were, as you can imagine, many who disliked it. Many who were resentful, bitchy and full of generally bad remarks. Didn't phase me. And that's just the way it was for quite a few years. During the end of highschool things were decidedly more settled. I'd done a bit of growing up and much to my dismay I had realised the world did not necessarily want to be involved in me and all my problems.
All my problems. My parents. That's been a problem since as long as I can remember. And I'm only now starting to come to terms with the full depth of our relationship over the years and it's effect on me. My romance. Whoever the flavour of the month was. There was always some drama. Usually I wanted more than they were willing to give. Serious, monogamous commitment. Every girl wants to be treated like a princess. But some girls want more than to be put on a pedestal. 15, 16 year old guys just aren't ready for that. Evidently, neither are some 18 year old guys. And then there's me. I am my own problem. I have this cursed gift of being able to, no, of having to speak and write my mind. To think or know something and not be able to communicate that thought somehow, be it through speaking, through music or art, through song or vision or written word. To me that is a fate worse than death. To be trapped, totally consumed by your own thoughts, drowning soundlessly in them. In Layman's terms - I just can't keep my mouth shut.
In all honesty I can say that often I don't make an attempt to. I feel that I'm betraying someone if I don't tell them what's really wrong or what I think about something. It just gnaws at me until I can't sleep and I can't function. Even if I know its going to hurt someone. That seldom stops me. I do possess a certain tact however, I'm not completely cold hearted and callous. But I figured its dishonest to hide any part of yourself from another person, especially someone you love. And if you hurt them with your thoughts or opinions and they can't look past that... then its just not meant to be. And no amount of trying can change that. They must accept you for who you are, 100%, completely and wholely, for better or for worse.
And yet, for the love of God, I cannot take my own advice. I love him. I love him so much. I care about him more than anything. But I'm not sure that I'm happy. And I don't feel complete. It doesn't have that feeling that says this is IT. This is THE love you were born to experience. This is what you will feel for the rest of your life. Maybe I'm being over-imaginative. Maybe life isn't a happy ever after. But what if it is? What if I wind up married after another 5 years and we spend 10 years being polite, keeping up surface features. All because we're too scared to realise we need to be alone. What if I miss my chance? And then to complicate matters further, on the same token, what if this is my chance? What if this IS the one but I just can't see it yet? And so I keep trying. I can't risk losing something like that. And I'll keep trying and keep fighting until he tells me to stop.
What have you gone and done Melinda? He'll read this and it may very well be the beginning of the end. You just can't stop yourself can you? You and your big mouth, your exulted opinions and unstoppable feelings. They're gonna kill you. They'll be the end of you. You watch and see. You'll be sorry.