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2016-05-30 01:03:33 (UTC)

Alone On Top Of A Mountain, Is Probably My Future

"Sweet Illusions" by Ryan Adams

Let me go I'm only letting you down
I got nothing to say to you now
Lose the feelings that are weighing me down
When I'm sane

It's turning morning all the birds sing
I'm not complicating anything
I'll have another and then I'll go to bed
And dream of you

Cause it's almost over
Yeah it's almost gone

I can feel the sweet illusion
Sweet confusion
Sweet illusion coming down
And I ain't got nothing but love for you now

You and I used to shine like a jewel
But time's been nothing to us but cruel
So play it out and never play the fool
Cause you'll lose every time

We were nothing,we were only the past
Hard times like that don't last
I've been forgiven,I've been surpassed
By my heart
Have you?

Cause it's almost over
Yeah it's almost gone

I can feel the sweet illusion
Sweet confusion
Sweet illusion coming down
And I ain't got nothing but love

Love for you that I can't use
Lonely nights multiplied by the blues
I can't resolve

You never knew me but you did you're best
I'm just lonely inside I guess
You gave me everything you really tried

If we are nothing and we're only the past
Well I'm just living in a dream I guess
A long black dream that takes me down the river to you

Where it's almost over
And it's almost gone

And I can feel the sweet illusion
Sweet confusion
Sweet illusion coming down

Sweet illusion
Sweet confusion
Sweet illusion coming down
And I ain't got nothing but love for you now

[time, time, time, wow, it's everywhere, and why am I surprised?]

May 30, 2016 Monday 1:05 AM

(Wishin' my circadian rhythm wasn't so fucked, drawn towards this hour)

Charles Bukowski causes me joy. I love the way he writes, so frankly and easily and. He's remarkable and simple and honest even when it hurts.

Last year, I read a poem of his – So You Want To Be a Writer. And it sort of discouraged me. I worried that it wasn't an obsession. Because, like. All genius comes from obsession. I know I'm not a genius. But I'm just saying. From what I've seen and read, real genius comes at least partly from a nonstop dedication to whatever subject.

I am not a genius. But I dunno, I'm pretty damn obsessed with writing. Actually, Liv made me feel nice by bringing attention to this. I've begun doing this thing where I keep a record of everyone I know. I asked Liv if I could interview her for this process, and afterwards she said I looked insane and that she's never seen anyone type that fast in her life. Which. Okay. That made me feel nice.

She was relaying this anecdote, something about a teacher complimenting Birdy (oops, I almost typed his real name), and Liv was like, "Yeah, I thought he was, like. The best writer. Until this year, when Mr. Washington kept raving about you..."

'!!!' was my thought, and I think my actual reply was a little like, "Yeah. I think I'm probably a better writer than Birdy."

Liv smiled at me and was like, "I like this conversation."

Me, "Why?"

"Because you're usually like, 'Birdy does everything I do only better,' but this time you're like. Yeah, I'm definitely better at that. It's nice."

I probably would've flushed, but it was already hot as hell (we were walking around my neighborhood around midnight after having walked a mile to the convenience stores for slushies – I had been rolling and unrolling a twenty dollar bill, so when I finally handed it to the cashier, he smiled and was like, 'You givin' me a joint?' and I wanted to kiss him platonically).

Anyway, I just explained that I am always practicing. Writing, I mean. That's the only reason I think I'm better than Birdy. He is pretty great at... everything. But writing is, for once, my domain. I'm not amazing or anything, but I'm good and this is because I'm either writing or reading most of the time. Mostly writing, though. Even when I've got writer's block, there are things squirming uncomfortably in my head and I've got to purge them somehow. So, yeah. Hi diary. That is why you exist.

(This still counts as writer's block because normally I have a desire to write fiction, too. Bad fiction, but still. It's something.)

Writing is my everything – the reason I'm interested in, my god, most things – and I don't know how I didn't realize it sooner. Again, I'm not particularly talented but hopefully that'll change! I think it probably will. I can't hope to be a genius, but ah. I can sure try.


God, I don't know, people. I am a mix of things right now. I always am.

I'm just.

Afraid that I'll end up alone. Afraid that I won't mind being alone.
Afraid of next year, and the year after that.
Afraid of being really fucking stupid, afraid of being very terrible at the things I love

I'm sort of kind of really fearful of most things at the moment.

And I wish right now that I could banish thought, cause 'like. The brain sure is being a bitch. Go away.


Why can't I stand being around people for very long? Why is this different with my family? Is it because normally we leave each other alone, sort of float in and out of each other's bubbles as we please so no one gets sick of anyone else?

I don't know. But with Liv here. I still love her, and want her here, but I reallly reaaaaaallllly need my space.

I even want to sleep alone, and it makes me sad to think I'm looking forward to that.

She's just. A little selfish sometimes? Which is something I always thought would be MY problem in any relationship. Always worrying I won't give any part of me away.

I'm sort of nice to Liv, though. For, hah, selfish reasons. It makes me feel good when I get her a glass of water or find her stuff for her, etc. etc. etc. Stuff like that. Yeah.

Sometimes, I just feel like she doesn't think about me the way I think about her, though? It's stupid and petty, but time together magnifies it. There are just times when she doesn't return the favor. That's fine, but like. Sometimes I just ask her to do something and she won't and I'm like. Unbelievably irked, 'cause I'd do it for her.

But then. She wants me to get a job so I can pay for a Y membership so I can swim with her over the summer. And I was like, "No," and she just groaned a crapload, and like. What did she expect??? I want a job, but I'm not going to spend money to go to the Y once a week to do something I don't even particularly enjoy. I feel guilty because she's like, doo it for meee but. I don't know. Is it bad that I just don't want to?

Also, sometimes, she makes me feel like a bad daughter. Not on purpose. Liv just gets excited about things that I do not get excited about. Like church. And pool parties. Stuff like that. Normally, I don't care for my parent's social functions.

Liv actually enjoys them, though, and I feel all guilty when I opt to stay home even when she's signed up to go with 'em.

Another thing: she's blunt, and I love this, but sometimes her honesty comes swerving 'round a blind corner and just. Slams me in the balls.

I don't know how to get pissed off at her. I've always been bad at getting mad at people. Actually, I'm like really pissed at her right now, but this anger is the gross kind (well, all anger is kind of gross, but this – this especially). It's jealousy because jesus christ, why is she so beautiful??? She looks so nice in my clothes. She should just keep them.

I think if I had a day or so to chill by myself, I'd be... better. Because it just gets me depressed sometimes. So much time and very little to myself. I dry out, and get this peculiar urge to draw my eyes back into my body like that'll be enough.

I want to hide out in my body. I want some time to think, and to understand this leftover frustration, and just. What?

God. I haven't been to therapy in so long. I mentioned that to Liv, and she told me this whole story about my therapist and how Liv's family had tried seeing her but it didn't work out. I had heard it before.

Sometimes I get. Bitter. Like, Jesus, let me talk the way I imagined I would. But I'd never have the guts to say the words anyway. It's hard to taste them like that. Ugh. Besides. I always get that, "What reason do I have to justify these negative feelings?" thought and can't spit out the words.

I think to myself, if it turns out someone cares enough to notice, I'll tell them.

But that's so stupid. No one's gonna notice. That's not how people ARE. Whenever they suspect there's something a little off with me, it's usually at the wrong time and I skirt around their questions or I'm just completely bewildered because they're so, so wrong.

Besides. I don't even care about people in the proper way. I don't know what this simulation in my chest is. Sometimes it is real. But, like. I feel like mostly, I've grown numb to guilt and all that.

Liv's feeling all guilty that we haven't talked or hung out with Brennan in ages. Me? I'm not the slightest bit concerned. Why don't I care? I know he was depressed. This means I should be understanding, not... I don't know. Dismissive?

But, no. I AM dismissive. And, yeah. I know it's probably because of the harsh way I'm used to treating my own feelings, beating back their reasonless fucking existence until I'm pretty okay... But it doesn't work that way with other people. Shouldn't I be able to control this?

I don't care about Brennan. He is a kid with a strange-but-nice face that I met years ago, and reconnected with in October. He is a kid who I thought would complete a trio. Me, Liv, Brennan.

This was an idealistic fantasy, though, and the fact of its existence sort of ruined the reality for me. Which is just what happens with me. I hate it. I don't know how to go about changing it, though...

Ugh. I will probably end up alone. And I will probably be okay with it. I will probably be content living with myself and only myself.

And that makes me sad. I want to desire another person. I want this shared life people talk about. It's... interesting. But all I have is an imagination that I try to twist towards the negative (it's boring, otherwise). I don't really WANT more than the idea of a boyfriend. The possibility. I don't want anything like that.

I am wondering if I can pull an Emily Dickinson. Spend my days in my house and the backyard, writing writing writing about the things I know very well. And the things I know nothing about. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

These are concerns, yes.

On top of that, my crippling fear of Growing Up. I don't want to leave high school. Live elsewhere. Become an adult. I don't want that. I don't even want this school year to end, because every end is... It's like. You lose something. One way or another. Something has to go. In this case, that will be John. And Paul. Mary and Jeff have been gone for awhile. I hate it when things deteriorate...

I will just. Lose a lot. Of daily contact with folks that I like.

The end of high school in general will be even worse. I will no longer have a reason to be around Mr. Sandwich. I could contact him myself, but I know it won't be the same and I wonder if there's any point in trying. (This is why I suck at Friendship)

Just. There's a lot of things I'm scared of. Mostly, I can't stand that these relationships get cut short. Every year.

And it's confusing, because I also want to move on. Somehow live everywhere at once. God! I hate this, I've always hated this, and the people around me seem totally fine with it. Probably because, y'know. You can't force time to go backwards anymore than you can imagine a fourth, fifth, sixth spatial dimension. Unless that IS possible. In which case. Ignore me.

But like. Point is, you can't go back in time. Obviously. Everyone knows that. So why am I STILL struggling to come to terms with that? Whatever.

I would go more into more detail but it's almost 2 AM and I have to pee.

Also, I feel pretty nice. Just in case you couldn't tell. Not sure how angsty this entry turned out, but I think I'm okay. I don't feel particularly good or bad.