Monday, August 8, 2011


In one of those moods where I feel I can't do anything right.
I'm too loud, too crazy, too intense. Too much of what people don't want, too little of what they do want.
Remember when you were quiet and demure?
I remember that. I think music, high school and my mother conspired to change that.
Remember just acting how people wanted you to?
I do. It was hell, but somehow slightly more desirable to feeling like I'm less of a person for being myself. Like that I am tolerated, not accepted.

It's one of those days where giving up is on my priority list, where my aim is to roll up in the foetal position and do little else but sleep and listen to music.

Having my motives questioned is getting to me. I don't like people assuming I am doing things solely because I want to disrupt or cause attention. More often than not I do it because it would make me happy. In fact, the less attention I am paid all at once, the happier I am. I can't function too well when thrust in front of people and ordered to speak. I will write for you and flee.

I wish, though, that people could just give me one fixed point by which they'll measure me. Not ask me if I'm okay because I'm quiet then get aggravated when I talk. I'm over the majority of everything and I want to run back to childhood, the blissful state where I didn't know people had active opinions about me, so I did what I want no questions asked. I miss living like that.


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