I feel so tired and drained, it's not even funny anymore. I can feel how everything is beginning to pile up, one after the other, without much pause for one to catch her breath. I suppose that I ought to get used to this, but it's just starting to wear me out. The turnover of each novel, each critical essay, is so fast that I can barely appreciate what I'm reading now: my eyes automatically pass over words and sentences like a laser scanner, absorbing information without question and just hoping that things will inevitably come to a more positive end than this. Plus, there's also all that emo stuff coming from various quarters - this is what I don't like about expectations, because you get yourself so worked up over something and just hope and pray and expect, and yet things inevitably turn into just another one of those days when you wish you didn't get out of bed because universe conspires to bring things down around your shoulders and that's that. And I'm just sick and tired of playing all these games and going in and out of these mazes in my mind and I just wish, for once, things would just simply Fall. Into. Place.
But then, that never happens. I am starting to find myself more and more comfortable in being disappointed. Which isn't exactly the best of outlooks in life, but somehow I figured I might as well get used to it, since it seems that it's the lot I'm getting thrown in this life. And I know that this might turn out to be a destructive self-fulfilling prophecy thing, but HONESTLY lordjesuschrist, just give me a smidgen of good grace, of knowing that I can trust this thing again, that it's not all pain and broken promises and sex without love. And I'm just struggling with trying to be a goldfish in a bowl, not remembering, and maybe that's why I can't write anymore, because to write is to remember, and I can't remember things anymore because it's too hard --
I wish I were a blank slate.
Maybe it's easier to not feel for anyone anymore, because it's just so not worth it. You end up being lashed against the mast in the middle of the storm, and you want to save yourself from drowning but you cant, and the sea just keeps on rising higher and higher...
And I'm being too melodramatic again. Yes, I know.
I look at my friends: those who are in love, who are in the possibility of falling in love, and I wish that I could feel that way again. I wish I could be in their shoes. I am torn between being inordinately happy for them for finding what could be/is already their True Love and being insanely envious that they can experience something like that. I wish they know how lucky they are that they have someone like that in their lives. I mean, no matter how much they complain that their significant other is this-and-that, I can't help but feel that they are still lucky, because they have SOMEONE. I feel like such a charlatan, particularly with my last relationship. That was just really me fooling myself, blinded to the fact that we were so uncompatible it's like chocolate and cheese. It was just something I thought I could work at being better, but realizing in the end that I wasn't strong enough to carry it alone, that it wasn't supposed to be carried alone. And I remember thinking to myself, my first few days here, thinking, "Please God, don't let me be like Anne, I don't want to be like Anne..."
Sometimes the simplest thing in the world is the hardest to find.
And the most difficult thing about this? All I want is a hug. And there's no one around to give it to me.