Sometimes when I reread something I've written I cannot recognize myself in it. I always feel like I am a teenager again reading posts by Kate Gervais and sometimes feeling better, always feeling understood, being two of the same person just to have somebody else to talk to.

I feel these blues happening and trying to drown me but I forget how to do that by myself--- which I think is good. Still don't know how to talk about it which is not as good. Everything was good except for me. If Peter lets me through the gates, I think I will just hug God and tell him how sorry I am for not loving myself. I thought about that in the car when everyone was worrying about somebody else's problem... but the difference is I've never had anyone else to pretend to blame, maybe.

I'm talking in circles because I need to talk to somebody and I'm realizing the only person I really know how to talk to is myself. Where does that put me?

I'm always talking about myself, even when it has nothing to do with me.

Nothing more than moving my bed and the purr of Cat Power's vocals matching my sadnesses, all it takes for me to cry you a river. I'm worried over nothing. Starting to get bored because I'm not moving any mountains. And this damn song has played like four times in an hour and I just feel like you're all following me in a dream and we're holding hands screaming insecurities and crying together. I've been with one man for nearly 8 months and haven't seen him cry once and to me this resonates as failure. I don't know where I am right now... I was just sitting here so mad that my room smelled bad and I ended up pushing everything around and shoving my bed and crying over nothing and maybe a lot of things and remembering that for the last week how heavy I've felt and how I don't know who to talk to that would be appropriate. I feel like I'm crushing myself with concern and I tried to tell you without saying anything and I remember how that never works. And I kill myself wondering why they never read my writing or why the cat decided to pee on the only thing I feel like I wanted to save forever (even though it was under a bunch of other stuff in my room. I feel like I can't keep doing this kind of crying because I am always alone and I feel like that's not what this is for. I don't know what my problem is.

If I'm being honest, I'm not unhappy. I'm just so overwhelmed of never telling people things that actually matter. Even when I was playing therapist, I don't feel like I was telling you anything. I just wonder if it is me indeed or if people don't want to know me that way? I know its not anyone else's fault. It just feels like I've really written my whole story so wrong. And I just want to feel like I'm really loved for being the person I am and not for being this half person all the time.

I just don't know what I'm supposed to do about it.

I feel sad, and like there isn't much I can say.

Jibba Jabba

These are last year's songs. These don't have the same words anymore, though it feels like they do maybe.

At some point, he looked at me and told me not to look at him like that. I asked "like what?" even though he knew. And he told me that I already knew, but he knew I was going to ask when he said it. He said he'd been good. I knew what he meant, but I didn't say anything. I am two people on one swing. I am three people scared of how to talk to one other person. I am a small child screaming into the sky wondering why I was born alone. I am staring into you and reading your heartbreak. I am your number one believer. I am sure we'd fall back in love if you came too close. I am a million years away from being loved. I am scared of good people. I am happy when I don't have time to complicate my life. I feel good dancing in your shadow, but feel embarrassed and unoriginal. There are different versions of me crying myself to sleep. I am sitting in the back of the Oldsmobile writing poetry and wishing you would miss me. I am smelling something I hate talking about. I am getting out of jail free with this orange or green card, but I can't remember which one. I am older. I am dreaming that I am having a lucid dream where I am forcing myself to write down this one dream I had last night in the dream. It didn't remind me of the word inception until I told someone else about it outloud and felt unoriginal. I think about Matt Sherling every time I'm grooving on poetic wavelengths. I write that down. I am praying to God. I am scratching my arms. I am yelling in sync with orphans and circus clowns. I am laughing. I might still be crying. I am learning differences. I am worried about passionate love and dutiful love and named my cat Clarissa because I am justifying my life. I am offended. I am smarter than these girls so I tell you I may come around in time, even though I am just watching three hours of tv I don't even think I like. I am dreaming of naked girls. I am listening to time pass, in case it has a good soundtrack. I am singing along to this Justin Bieber song while Neil Young reminds me of independence. I am loving the sound of fingers on keyboard. I never meant to betray you. I'm still not sure if I have. This is the first I've thought of you during this moment. I still feel guilty for things you did wrong. I am not sure what that says about me. I want to have homework. I wouldn't know how to be a wife. There are ghosts in my hair whispering on my neck about beauty and disgrace. This is coming home. This is terror or glamour. Man made divinity.

I could do more.