i love you, i love you, i love you. no i don’t. i don’t know you. but i love you. i love i love i love. who are you? who am i? why does this keep happening, this awful emptiness? i don’t love it. maybe just a little.
FOLLOWING:
Kenny Powers meets the Glass family.i love you, i love you, i love you. no i don’t. i don’t know you. but i love you. i love i love i love. who are you? who am i? why does this keep happening, this awful emptiness? i don’t love it. maybe just a little.
the words i utter are as empty as i am and i love you is the emptiest phrase i know.
I want to die. I want to be dead. I want to jump out the window, slit my wrists, anything- something. Curled up in a ball with the radiator on, the window open (hoping cold air will numb some of this nonsense) in the fetal position on my bed. alone, alone, alone.
that my tendency towards addictive behaviors will turn towards you. i don’t want this relationship to end like all of my relationships do, with dependency and anger. i’m too scared to open up to you because i worry that, when i do, i will be leaning too heavily on another person again. i want to be able to stand on my own, but right now i feel most compelled to curl up in bed, let your limbs mix with mine and forget.
tracing the veins in my wrist (they form an “M”) with a sharp edge, just barely splitting skin and drawing blood. i needed to feel something.
then later on getting fixer in the scratches, the burn, the feeling of flesh being consumed.
this is what being alive feels like.
it’s winter, now, and the tears are coming back to me like they do every year. loneliness clouds all of my judgments.
what i have been doing is destroying me.
i have been trying to fill in a gap in my mind, the heart of my memory. it is a person-shaped hole where someone (the most significant character in the past four years of my life) used to be.
when i am close, too close, to someone else (yourskinonmyskin), all i think of is his absence, the gap, its edges cracks in my construction. while the rhythm of your body on mine is one of the most therapeutic things i have known, it does nothing to fill in this gap. i am not creating memories, but keeping myself from remembering.
Coming home again has been one long traumatic mindfuck. It feels like we’re in a Todd Solondz movie where everything is falling apart and the characters are so awkward they can’t make eye contact with one another.
All I want is to see Tommy again, to be held entirely, to feel protected, to feel that genuine affection he once had for me. But that moment in time has passed and I will never have it back, no matter how long I hold onto the memory. He kept kissing me and it fucked with my head. Seeing him destroyed what little progress I had made in learning to love him less. I know it’s impossible, to be together when we’re so far apart. I know he doesn’t want what I want anymore. I am a rational person and yet I cannot accept the distance that has grown (is growing, even now) between us.
DK is waiting for me back home, to hurt me in all the ways I want him to, but it’s not what I need, not really. He is a distraction, a new coping mechanism I have developed to replace my more destructive habits. I felt so terrible today, sending him pictures of my distended stomach. Longing for the responses soon to follow, but still sick deep down in my insides that I would do such a thing. (All I think about is you. Even now).
My father has started drinking again like he used to. My grandmother yelled at him tonight in front of everyone, poured the rest of his glass of wine in the sink. He wouldn’t stop shouting about all the ways my mother is ruining his life. He publicly mentioned my suicide attempts with me sitting a dozen or so feet away. I sat there, drinking, realizing I am becoming him, with my addictions. I realized I am ‘that girl’ now, the one with “daddy issues” who uses sex to cope with the fact that she feels unloved. He drunkenly tried to propose to his girlfriend while her son was opening his birthday presents. Four rolls of film shot and none of them show any of what’s going on underneath the smiling faces.
I feel dangerously close to the edge again, but this time, not in a bad way (Tell myself that I have to remember this) . This edge- it isn’t death, not yet. But mania, raw and gritty and oh, if i never slept again that would be fine. It’s taunting me, more seductive this time than ever before and all i want to do is give into it. Pour myself into my art until, exhausted, I collapse. And then I can sleep when i’m dead. I’ve been holding myself back too much, too scared, holding myself in and I’m set and ready to overflow out of myself all over again.
— Sylvia Plath (via adales)
Wilco - Jesus, Etc.
SONGS THAT REMIND ME OF AUTUMN #29.
“Your voice is smoking. Last cigarette’s all you can get, turning your orbit around.”
Ah Wilco, you make Autumn either more sweet or depressing. Time for Seasonal Affect Disorder to start.
you put this on a mix cd for me, once upon a time. I remember listening over and over in bed on cold nights, thinking of you, your bloody ankles where the plastic skates cut into them and trembling fingers from myskinonyourskin. I feel as if those memories are drifting further and further away from me. It is terrifying.
