i_bleed_life

The mediocrity that is me
2001-12-04 07:09:38 (UTC)

A ring of pure and endless light....

Have you ever read a book that was just so incredibly real
to you? God, but I love when that happens. I just finished
reading A Ring of Pure and Endless Light (or something to
that effect) by Madeline L'Engle. I love her books. They
totally make me feel as if there were others there with me,
ya know? And this girl, Vicky, I can totally relate to her
in a lot of ways. It makes me wish she was real so I could
talk to her and say "I understand you."
She is me. Madeline L'Engle is such an awesome writer. She
makes me want to go run to the nearest bookstore and buy a
hardcover book of Shakespeare or John Donne, and just read
it aloud to myself. I don't know how anyone out there could
just so totally manage to pin down my dreams, my wishes,
me...and just put it on paper. I mean, I know that wasn't
the whole point of the book..but thats just how it makes me
feel. I want to go out and love, and live, and read, and
exist...
But enough of that.
Ummm...life is good, surprisingly enough. The only problem
is, I'm stuck wondering if it's doing pretty good because
of me...or if its because of the damn Paxil.
Am I dependent on a drug to function normally and live
happily? Do you know how that feels? I feel like one of
those little kids on a leash. Yeah. And I don't like the
way that feels...I hate having to depend on other people,
and I absolutely abhore depending on a drug. A drug. A
DRUG, of all things.
I want to be beautiful. Not pretty. Not sexy or hot.
Beautiful. Do you know what that means? I don't want to
look anything like those stupid models....all sex appeal,
and nothing behind the empty-dull eyes. I want to have a
light in my eyes. I want to be special....I want to be
loved.
My friend broke up with his girlfriend. How should I feel?
Upset. How do I feel? Betrayed. Confused. Deserted. Alone.
Do you know what it feels like to be the hand-me-down red
sweater in the back of the closet that no one wants?
I do.
I know the pain of being second best. Second loved. Second.
Last. Nothing. No one. Alone.
I am me, what more can I be?
Is it so hard to love...

We are the dreamers of dreams
We are the singers of the melody
and all the world is contained
in a sparkling dewdrop of ocean.

Even the light may burn.