Let me apologize to begin with.
Let me apologize for what I’m about to say.
But trying to be genuine was harder than it seemed, and somehow I got caught up in between.
Let me apologize to begin with.
Let me apologize for I’m about to say.
But trying to be someone else was harder than it seemed, and somehow I got caught up in between … between my pride and my promise.
It’s a song by Linkin Park. I like Linkin Park.
This has been one of the strangest weeks I’ve had in a while. I had no access to the net, I got very little sleep, I consumed a lot of chocolate, and I felt cut off from all my support systems. Yes, periods were involved.
Today I thought I’d open the posting window and just type whatever came to mind. But … seeing the thoughts that are running through my mind, it may not have been the best idea.
Ignorance is your new best friend. It’s a line in some song by Paramore. I think the song is called Ignorance. That what Google says. I can’t remember how it goes.
I hadn’t decided to use this tactic, but it seems to lend itself to my current mood. I borrowed it from a dear friend’s blog and I’ve used it once before with Three Days Grace. When I started writing, I was listening to Paramore, but something stopped my train of thought and I lost the band. I have no idea what I’m listening to now, but there’s some guy whispering, and there are very soft bongo drums.
I talked to an old friend last night. I’ve missed him. It’s my fault that we stopped talking. I hurt him and he pulled away. Then he forgave me, but I couldn’t face my guilt, so I pulled away too. It’s been months since we talked. It was good talking to him again.
I punch like a girl, even in tae bo. It makes me run away from fights, unless they involve my baby girl. Nobody messes with my baby girl. But with my friend, I ran. I couldn’t fix the problem, so I just stayed away. Fate made me meet him last night, and he stayed, and we talked. I’m really glad we talked.
The song is called Alibi. It’s by 30 Seconds to Mars. The dude isn’t whispering anymore.
I had breakfast with another friend today. I had frenchtoast, hot chocolate, and a cookie. He had an omelette, well done. I haven’t seen my friend in ages. I kept looking for him, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. In the end, we had breakfast. I’m glad we had breakfast. I’ve missed talking to him. He has the sweetest smile, even though he rarely shows it, and every time I talk with him, I learn something new. Today, he taught me about mind maps. He said I should use a white board, but I used a little A4 thing instead. It’s pretty crowded. It’s also pretty scary.
I like the map because I get to use arrows and cutesy little circles. I like charts. But the results are frightening. Google says when you’re mapping, you instinctively list things by priority. I’ve been doodling for half an hour, yet some stuff is conspicuosly missing. Like my dream car. Interesting.
Perhaps I shouldn’t write about my pal and breakfast. Writing from the heart gets me in trouble. It upsets people and exposes those I care about. I keep saying I’m sorry, but I’m sad each time I say it … because I can’t promise I won’t do it again.
My mind map says I want to be left alone. But why am I upset that I haven’t seen loved ones in months? It says I like being in love … and that I don’t want to get married. That part surprised me. I’m always so wishy washy about nuptials. I change my mind every day. So I’m surprised I wrote it down so easily.
It says I want people to love me for me, but I’m afraid no one ever will. I love to rebel, but I care what people think. I hate undue pressure and I don’t like to be pushed. I hate crowds, and I hate trying to get people to like me, but I do want them to like me. I want them to like me for me … and to leave me alone while they do it, because I hate depending on others. It’s all really confusing, and I think there’s too much junk in here to love.
Yes, it’s a spider made entirely out of junkyard scissors and red paint. Creepy and cool all the same time. Kind of like me, no? My friend called me a conundrum. It made me smile. I like that people think I’m complex. I like that they think I’m hard to understand. It makes it easier to accept being alone. It consoles me to think that no one gets me, and for some reason, that makes a lot of things okay. But everyone thinks of themselves that way. At some point in their lives, everyone feels misunderstood.
I need to stop blogging in the middle of my periods.
In the last one year, a lot of my fears have come true. I’ve learnt stuff about myself that I didn’t know, and a lot of my self-claims got proven wrong. It makes me sad that I’m not what I think I am, and I don’t know where to go from here. I guess it was a lesson I needed to learn.
Now it’s playing Respect by Erasure. It always reminds of Scrubs. I can see the black doctor singing in my head.
I wish I’d had a standard teenage. Then maybe I could make more sense of the ish that’s happening now. But my early rebellion was mild. I pierced my nose at 16, grew dreads at 20, and on my 21st birthday, I had a baby with a boy that no one liked. I wish I’d done some crazy stuff, like driving myself into a ditch or a tree, or even developing a mohawk. Then maybe my life would be less complex.
Rosealia, Better Than Ezra. I wonder how they got that name. I should Google it. The end of the song sounds smoothly calypso.
I like to understand things. I like to know why I feel the way I feel. In my mind, knowing the whys will show me how to fix things. But because I’m so complex, the whys are hard to find, and I lose a lot of time searching for them. I wish I could accept things and just move on. I wish I could accept that I’m a forward introvert with commitment phobia that’s addicted to love and enjoys missionary sex. It’s got to be easier than worrying all the time.
And I really hate it when people lie.
I’ll probably stay up for a while. My little girl is watching Spiderman. I’ll wait for her to doze off. Then I’ll put off the lights, keep the headphones on, and sing, and smile. At least I’ll try to smile. I’m saddened by the commitment phobia. I didn’t think I had that before. I thought I was just really, really fussy … and afraid to get bored of my husband … and concerned over stories like this. Hm.
I felt very alone this week. More alone than I’ve felt in a long time. But two people surprised me. They both texted me last Monday morning. They wanted to see if I was okay. It was just a random gesture, but it came exactly when I needed it, and they’ll both be treasured forever.
I’ve grown up a little bit. I know it’s silly to hold on to things that hurt me. Some parts of me just hold me back. I’m not being untrue if I let them go … and if I am … well … that’s not always bad.
The thing I treasure most in life cannot be taken away.
There will never be a reason why I will surrender to your advice to change myself.
I’d rather die though they will not understand.
I won’t make the greatest sacrifice.
You can’t predict where the outcome lies.
You’ll never take me alive. I’m alive.
This one is by a band called Disturbed. I hadn’t listened to the words before today. They’re beautiful.
I wish I had a car. If I had a car, I would go to Nakumatt or Tuskys for some chocolate. They don’t sell Cashew & Coconut Dairy Milk around here. But if I had a car, I’d have to learn how to drive.
I haven’t been on Twitter for a while. It was mostly because my internet was off, but it was also because I was sad. Sometimes my timeline makes me laugh, but on other days, I simply want to cry. I guess my moods can make Twitter depressing. I think for me, Twitter is a bit like exercise. The longer I avoid it, the harder it is to resume. Scary thought that. *Sigh* In other news, it’s finally raining outside, and the 8 year old baby’s asleep. Good night little one. Time for your mummy to go Goth.
♫ Haemorrhage ♫ Fuel ♫