Hm.
Silently venting. It means what it means, but it amounts to nothing at all.
There are times I feel so fucking ashamed of my anger, it’s hard to come back from outbursts. I haven’t always been a good person. I haven’t always cared.
But does it hurt more now? Am I seeing people with the same limitations I used to have, and having aged through those kinds of things, am I expecting too much by expecting cohesion?
I think I’m so used to being the damaged one in every scenario, it’s hard to stomach the idea that someone else needs me more than I need them. Not in a way that I can entirely explain, but it’s a need just as anything else can be classified as such, and it’s the very sort of need I can meet.
But what if that isn’t who I am anymore?
I’m always treated like I’m fragile, but what if I just need a little understanding? What if it’s not a matter of hurting me, but working with me?
I don’t know what I need to do to get my shit together but I do know it is PAINFUL to be held too close, literally and figuratively.
It’s a long-running joke that I’m the unhappiest person who happens to have the best living scenario, and I am notably lucky but also miserable despite all my luck. I used to laugh it off. Now I think about it and wonder if there is some kind of karmic payout in play. I didn’t ask to be intelligent. I didn’t work hard to be successful. I’ve done a lot of goofing around, much of it being online with people I barely know.
Yet it’s all coming up roses. Why am I so goddamn unhappy? Why am I riding ups and downs in terms of moods? I’m scared to be anyone else, but what if I’m just too fucking unsatisfied with me to keep being me?
All I wanted out of life was to write books. I’m doing it. Now what?