a turn to the dramatics

Am I trying to have issues? Maybe I don’t feel myself unless I’m experiencing some angst. I assume this is not normal. People don’t seem to walk around with perpetual knots in their stomachs.

Maybe I like it? Maybe it gives my life some meaning? And now that I’m pretty angst free, I don’t know what to do with myself? Frankly I could find things to be all upset about but I can’t be bothered to care. Life really doesn’t inspire much for me anymore. Okay, that sounds wrong but – I don’t feel a whole lot. I guess I’m used to being gut-wrenching in love –it seemed once I stopped once crush I developed another. And then jumped from one relationship to another. And it was usually very dramatic.

And now of course I like Him but it seems mostly for show. When I dig down deep I’m not sure if I really have any feelings on the subject. It’s more that I’m acting the way I should – the way people expect. At work I feel the same way maybe – really that I’m some sort of an empty shell that has an incredible acting talent. I laugh and I make weird jokes because that is “me”. I like incredibly hot boys who are way out of my reach but not so that I can’t touch them in some way.

I said today that I could easily be crazy if I let myself. I feel that way all the time. The people around me raised eyebrows and nervously laughed it off as one of my weird jokes that no one ever got. But I didn’t care. It’s true. And it’s been stated.

Maybe I’m just going through one of my rapid mood swings.

Have I ever developed past my teenage years? So much seems similar. Of course I’ve matured but maybe in only a way to hide my reactions rather than my reactions being mature. I make sense to myself.

Maybe it’s because I’m not exercising my demons through acting like I used to. The last time I quit acting was one of the most mind-splitting horrible periods of my life. Is it because I need it to stay sane and once I stop I become too introspective and let my craziness out unchecked? I used to stay busy to keep from being crazy. It was easy because I simply didn’t have time for it. Now I have all the time in the world – and I could become busy again you know – but I really just can’t be bothered. Lazy.

I wonder if I really do become a successful writer if I will hole myself up away from the world like some part of myself desires desperately. I fear being alone and embrace it at the same time. How can that be sane? How can those two desires coexist in my body? I am a walking contradiction. L just wishes he was because he thinks it’s cool or something but he has no idea of the pain that comes with it. “I’m a walking contradiction” – it’s a line to him. All designed to make him more mysterious and desirable. Everyone loves a male who’s fucked up. Because women want to fix him. It doesn’t work the opposite way. Men can’t be bothered to try to fix anything that doesn’t have a manual which they can ignore.

Is this how I really feel? Sometimes I scare myself. Maybe it’s what I’m listening to. Maybe I really do have multiple personalities. I just haven’t gone so far as to name them yet. It sure feels that way sometimes. I don’t like this line of thinking. I can express this better but again I can’t be bothered.

I can’t be bothered a lot. I do manage to write my novel. It’s a dream really and it keeps me going. It helps me think that some day I will escape from this somehow… I can escape into nothingness or embrace civilization. I will have the option because I will be rich and loved and everyone will understand if I buy a house over some cliffs which have interesting stories about lovers dying and was it a suicide or not? And everyone will murmur about how interesting I am that I would choose to live in such a haunting place where lovers fought and died possibly from each other and possibly through suicide. And everyone will wonder what will happen to me if I ever should take a lover and step too closely to the cliffs… But it would have to be suicide because really, what person would want to be with this?

Ah the underlying problem. Oh I’m not worthy, blah. I bore myself with this. It’s so juvenile and pointless. Either I will be loved or I won’t. Either there’s some great love of my life out there that I will met in the perfect way or there isn’t. Or I won’t meet them. Or something.

I’m freaking 27 years old. Is this the diary of 17 year old or what? Maybe that’s my teen other personality coming out. Perhaps I should de-age myself a few years so I can be juvenile and angsty without guilt. And then I can lust after teenagers without feeling like a dirty old woman too. Ah sounds perfect. So from now on I’ll be 18. With a fake ID. So I can still drink you know.

Sounds like a plan.

before . after