|
|
Monday, June 9th, 2003
|
12:40a
It's like I don't even want to say the words anymore.
Because I know that it doesn't even matter to let them out. It's like I'm revealing something, but I'm not. In the end, what matters is who sees it, who reads it, who gives a half shit.
I just feel like I can't do that right now. I don't have anything worth saying, worth reading, worth anything.
No, I'm not depressed. Lately I'm just normal. And therefore boring.
I continue to feel like an entirely different person when I'm here in Syracuse. And everything changes back "home" in Buffalo. I change. It's all different. I can't help reacting and adapting. It's practically involuntary. A simple reflex. Then I return here to find myself putting on makeup every single time I leave the house and worrying about making my hair look perfect. I don't do that. I just don't do that. I grew up and away. So when I'm not away, I regress?
I don't mean to.
It doesn't help that I don't even really get to go out. Oh, I'm invited. That is, until everyone remembers that I'm underage. When all your friends are older than you and you're twenty years old - you're helpless, unless everyone's edge. I can't even go out just to go out (and not even drink) with them. And of course, no one wants to hang out anywhere other than the bars with their newfound legality.
Leaving me with more time to do nothing else but think of what the hell might be wrong.
Am I trying to make up for something? Is there something I'm missing? Am I doing this to myself?
Maybe. Not. Maybe. Not. Maybe. Not.
Not that I expect anyone to have the answers.
Fucking pointless.
I don't know, I really don't. This isn't the end, I just don't have any substance right now.
Better luck tomorrow.
(2 comments |comment on this)
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
turnsmileshift's journal