He could calculate twenty moves ahead, but he couldn't express his feelings to the woman who loved him.

     

    To describe myself short and sweet: I am fiendish for routine and smitten with simplicity. I always pictured myself  with wild hair following bad decisions after failed promises. Kissed with cigarettes and fantasied by demons. I had dreamt of a life for my self that was an undeniable waltz with misfortune. I wanted something that would break me, turn me into something hideous. But as I get older, I can't help but fall in love with absolute simplicity. I always thought that I wanted something dangerous, but instead I long for the picturesque and not the gruesome. 

                I long for sitting in bed, listening to silence as I drink tea and read my books. I want to go on dates where the goal isn't rebellion but instead to eat sandwiches in an empty Jimmy Johns. I'm happier living in the moment instead of lingering on the idea of freedom dug up from the trash. I love my stability and my simplicity. I don't need to be fantastic, and I don't even need to be someone everyone wants. Really, I'm happy living my life with no guidelines or expectations. The simplicity if my routine and my daily life being slow and undeniably normal, makes me content.

I really am happy. I'm excited for the future, even if for now, I'm living just as I am.

“I’m walking out now into the soft light, the cooling him of evening, and I will love you tonight, and tomorrow, and still many more, so very many tomorrows.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

I am going crazy

    Why do I let my heart run away to insane asylums? I am a fool. An utter lunatic in my devotion. I believe I have been gripped by a madness that I feel comfortable in. My obsession has become almost an a sweet drug, almost like a caramel coffee with the right amount of everything. Love actually feels good when you find someone who wants to be with you. I feel like I'm perpetually in a strawberry field. But I feel like my devotion and obsession can be scary and I'm especially worried that I'll loose him. That'd be a fate that would lead me to full insanity.

God I'm a creep.

 

“I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

Dissonance found in a Rainstorm

 

    I believe I am a good person, though my coarse voice that spills out in fire has a response that will never agree. What am I but a fool with fickle measurements of what a saint is. Because surely I have not reached that. Though I've been told that when I look at myself like I am the other side of the mirror, my questioning results in assurance of morality. I sometimes question if I'm a narcissist, but if I'm questioning it, I'm most likely not a narcissist. Am I delusional or am I really a good person? I don't know, and I think I'm okay with never knowing. 

            I think I'm becoming a mix of worst and best parts of my mother and father. My father is a creative with an interior made of sickly sweet marshmallows, but he's neurotic stressed out man with the nature of pain. When stressed out he becomes entrapped in his rage. My mother is type A worrier, she's a brilliant women, who's educated and a talented poet and writer. But she's an addict of tragedy and drama, with a love for mind numbing chemicals. I am a mix of these unfortunate souls, that produced a honey flavored cake. A mix of their good, wrapped in a bow. Yet I feel scared that soon my flaws will become a copy of theirs. Even though critically, my flaws are nothing like them, the monsters they hide behind shadows. I have the most brilliant kind people as parents, Ive been taken care of and loved. Yet still as I age and become what they fear, an adult, I worry that I will reflect them. They aren't bad people, they've just been handed tea cold as ice with no flavor. It's not their fault, it's how they were raised. I appreciate how they've tried to teach me better and raised me to be someone, unlike how they were. They are great people, but I hate be to compared to my mother, I hate when I'm told I'm just like her. I'm not. I am not a version of my mother, I've worked hard to try and be different from her. For that matter my father to. Though a combination of their talents, I will never be them, I am not my parents, I am me. I think that's much better than being anything like the flaws that entrap them.

     Who knows, life is strange. Who knows who I'll become. All I hope is that I am someone.

“I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.”
― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

I have no want to rot anymore

         When looking out as an observer, you can easily forget your own humanity. I guess sometimes, it's difficult for me to understand myself. I'm not the best at empathy, sometimes it escapes me and the only emotion I can conger is rage. To be blunt, emotional management isn't my strong suit. I've pressed my emotions deep down into myself for the sake of other people and now I am far too sensitive. I want stunted in my emotional maturity so I feel often that I am just a child when I should be grown. I was mature for my age when I was younger, yet now, I am but glass. Either way, no matter how much work it takes, I have a life I want to live for. I have to be the best me I can be, even if that means I have some bad days. 

            It's nice, my abandonment issues have calmed down, I guess being in a relationship where I actually trust the person helps. Along with that, I don't feel my undeniable paranoia all the time, I can shut up those thoughts much easier.

Handling things is getting easier and I'm excited to continue living, no matter how much work it takes sometimes.

All in all I'm happy. Though I'm stressed about my AP Art portfolio, It's due in 14 days! I'm beyond nervous, I hope I can get it all in on time. :) 

But then you give me ten CC's of something super sweet
Yeah, you put me to sleep, I'm getting drowsy
My eyelids are getting heavy, kiss me on the cheek
Then you're telling me count down from ten
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one
When you rip my heart out
Please put it back when you're done
I'm too young for this open-heart surgery
There's stuffing in the place where my heart's meant to be
Why me?    (I thought about this song again, I'm obsessed)

Following a dream I had three years ago....

         

   I find it difficult to start writing, the words don't flow like water but instead flow like mud. I can get stuck in my own brain, I can be delusional, my own brain filled with promises and betrayals that don't exist. I have been gripped with acute illness for most of my life, and it's developed into delusions that grip me and turn me into mush. I have driven myself insane with the possibilities of abandonment and failure.  I hold them close to my chest until they spill out of me, at that point it's no longer a delusion it becomes a sicking worry. I convince myself of things that are undeniably false, however I still worry about things that play the part of falsity. I'm a neurotic nutcase with worries in every suitcase.

                            I've never been good at controlling my worries, I find myself becoming yet another performer on a stage set with pins and needles once again. I play the part of a fool with the inclination of insanity, in the end, drowned in a sea of delusions. Feeling free from my own self is a fleeting dream that wraps me in it's arms, I need it like I need air. I find myself unbearable, I don't understand how he finds my insanity normal. My worries are just something to brush off, I am not a beast made of rotten ideas, for once I feel close enough to the stars. Like nothing will hurt me. Maybe I am crazy, I've been told that I shouldn't count on one person to love me until I die, but I can't help but place my heart in a guillotine. All I care about is that this moment is unforgettable and I will follow him until I am engulfed by earth. 

    I feel unjustified to worry about him, though my fear is crippling. How can one bear to loose the love of their life? I think I'd be institutionalized if I did. My heart is no longer mine, it hasn't been for months. But I worry that I set my table too quickly and the food will never arrive. However, I will put my trust tied into a bow into his hands and gladly let him take me away. I can be so stupid and far too worried.

 

“I am a very boring and unpleasant man, drowned in literature... But I love you.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

 

I’m thinking only of my illness and my health, though both, the first as well as the second, are you.

     Sometimes I think I'm dying. The moments when my bones are undeniable heavy are the moments when I feel the devil trying to take me again. When I feel nothing but a cruel symphony that sings only of my unreasonable expectations, I feel as if I finally have crooked.  Aren't I dramatic, with my prose made of raven calls and mourning flowers? I can be so emotional, that really is my hubris, my fluctuation of sensations that infects me. I can be so aggressive one moment, then lost in hysteria and finally hopeless. I am a frequent visitor of the anxiety hotel on worry street and one day I hope that my punch card for the stress market will burn away. 

                Back to the point, my health has always been rough, I have a frail body that seeks to perish. Keeping it running is almost a chore, why can't I eat or sleep properly? Some days, I am starving, with the desire to rip and tear through flesh, and other days I see food as a burden to consume. I blame the antibiotics for this, they limited my appetite when I was taking them to the point of only eating yogurt. Unfortunately, that sensation still stays and I still have the desire to eat yogurt most mornings and nights (to be frank at this moment, I the writer of this wretched diary went down stairs to get a yogurt(I am not joking.)) However to contend with my oscillation of being ravenous or empty, I also have the issue of my constant drowsiness that become anxiety filled terror when I try to rest. This I have no excuse, I stay awake most nights just thinking. It can be incredibly difficult to relax, I have found only a few things that bring me calm: A nice cup of tea and a good book, drawing or creating art, and being with my sparrow or even my cat for that matter. Other than that, people and school with their unpredictable and uncontrollable yet stupid natures frustrate me and stress me out. Maybe that's why some nights I can only see my worries instead of dreams.

    I just need to sleep for a while, I need to lay down somewhere comfortable and rest, without my stress chasing me down . Or maybe a hot shower would do me some good, a real long one too. Perhaps everyone I know and talk to ion a daily basis not being idiots would be beneficial too, that is something that would be a luxury.

I'll be fine, I always find the time to recharge and to get healthy, some days, the low periods just feel so low when in reality, they are just ripples on a pond.

“Milena, if a million loved you, I am one of them, and if one loved you, it was me, if no one loved you then know that I am dead.”
― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena 

“Without you I wouldn’t have moved this way, to speak the language of flowers.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera 

 

Isn't it funny how my two favorite writers wrote letters to their lovers which were later compiled. Maybe someone will do this when I am dead.