4/1/18 -- 4:17 AM
Again I reiterate: what is it about me that attracts people who are dying?
Or is that everybody is this broken?
Nick is having dreams about Taylor. Drunk off his ass, smoking one of my
cigarettes, he asked me why. he said, I'm the one with the Philosophy degree.
I'm supposed to know the answers to these things.
But how do you tell someone you've been dreaming of someone they've never
met for over three years?
How do you help your friends, when you can barely help yourself?
How do you explain that you don't have the answers? I've never had any answers.
I'm still trying to figure out what the question is.
I don't know how to explain these things to people. I don't know how I am
supposed to expose these scars. When you've been working for so long to bury the
memories, how are you supposed to dig them up?
None of these questions are the right fucking question.
Truth is, I don't have the answers. I have never known anything. I have no clue
what any of this is about; I have no goals, no dreams, no hopes, no aspirations.
I have things that I enjoy, and things that I don't.
I do not enjoy this.
I need to stop hiding.
I need to stop hiding.
I need to stop hiding.
I need to stop hiding.
I n e e d t o s t o p h i d i n g.
The fact that I let a nineteen year old girl break my heart means that there is
still hope. There is still something to break.
And that fact is reassuring
when it did not break my heart to leave Elise.
I know that I do not want to be alone.
I have never been good at it.
I have spent so long not alone.
I have spent so much time with people, and they still do not know me.
Do I know me?
Kennedy makes me feel how Julie made me feel. After I broke up with Julie, I had
regular panic attacks. Every day before work, I would die a little as I stood
outside smoking, watching what might be her car driving by.
Every white SUV is Kennedy.
I did not get over Julie.
How do I get over this?
Again, this is the wrong question.
But I don't think I would recognize the right one.
I am a bystander as the lives of the people around me self-destruct. I witness
their pain, their damage, their self harm, their overwhelming sadness.
And I do nothing.
Because I can't do anything for myself.
I am a background character in my own life.
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4/1/18 -- 11:05 PM
I hate my dreams. For years, I would lucid dream. It was remarkable, being able
to have so much control. Able to do so many things I couldn't do normally.
I eventually stopped when the dreams became painful.
Dreams about things that I could not change.
For a month, I had dreams of dying. I heard that if you die in your dreams, you
actually die. I think my experience lets me call bullshit. I have killed myself
in so many ways in my sleep.
I am not dead.
I have had such painful dreams lately. Now, Julie isn't the only one. In my
dreams, we are always back together.
In my dreams about Kennedy, she sends me messages again.
A different kind of together.
In none of these dreams am I substantially happy. I think I know it's agony,
adn I won't let myself enjoy it.
I don't want to have these dreams.
Dreams are why I stopped sleeping.
But I'm so tired. Tired of the shit,
tired of the chaos, tired of the drama,
tired of the pain.
I am just so tired.
When will I get a break? When will it be my time?
When will I get to sleep?
It's been so long since I could sleep. I just want to close my eyes and not hurt
myself.
I'm not safe anywhere.
But at least when I die in my dreams, I don't really die.
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