I treat you worse than I treat anyone else because I'm still angry at you. I could choose to be grateful, but I am not that strong, not that forgiving. Sometimes I want to be a good person, and for the most part I manage to be an OK one, but you just bring out the worst in me. The scars we've given each other are open wounds and they light the flames of my ire when we fight, making me harsher with you than I am with others. I hate you because I need you, you are so bad for me but you are so much a part of my life. Sometimes I like you more than I hate you, or enough to forget I do. I want to love you, or at least the idea of you. You can't give me what I want but I don't know who I'd be without you.
I hate the me that I am around you. The unloved me, the angry me. I am both the most honest and eccentric me, and the least caring me. You are my honest hatred, my contemptuous guilt. I like the me I am around them; beloved me, silly me, playful me. My mind may be brilliant but I am a child and tenderness is dear to me. I don't trust you; my honesty is belittlement, a release of my foulest thoughts. But I am not purged but incensed by you.
I'm so closed so much of the time that I didn't realize I was hiding. Until the cloak of secrecy was gone. Now I'm here and I'm exposed, vulnerable and open to the world. I talk to her, she talks to me, we give ourselves and look at who we are, honestly. But once it's over I can't remember how I felt before, I am just dealing with it, hiding myself once more. I don't which is better, but this is my habit. Is this who I really am or does she know me better?
I'm so sick of being angry at you, I just can't take it. I don't want to fight with you, but everything you say makes me wanna scream. You can't stop aggravating me, irritating, adding insult... to injury. I'm tired of this and I'm tired of you. It's not this house, it's everything that you do. It's all the all wounds, the battle scars; they're still tender, a strait line to my heart. And I'm tired... of you being able to bruise me with your words. I don't love you; at least, I don't mean to. I can't hate you; no matter how much I need to. And I can't leave you. I've got nowhere else to go.
I like to sing, it calms me down. Simplifies and turns things around. I can see, a little bit more clearly now. Little things they bother me, the way they cling and strangle me. I don't mean to get it wrong but I'm tired of this. You say just keep holding on... that we will weather the coming storm. But maybe I'll just let myself be blown away. I'm tired of clutching to this life raft, can't we just let go? We're not heroes anymore. Things aren't so bright and certain as they once were. And I know I still love you... but I'm tired of being a martyr. Just give up the cause, please for me. This war zone has taken too much from me. I don't believe anymore. So don't make me lose you too.
Bitterness and me are old friends. He holds me when my idealism bends... but doesn't break.
He tucks me into bed at night, and makes sure to leave on the leave, just in case the doubts give me nightmares.
He doesn't cheat, he doesn't lie, bitterness he treats me right. Not like love, who played me for a fool.
So tell me should I play it safe, or risk it all, give away my heart again... Or clutch it to my chest so tight, and try to sleep alone tonight, because bitterness he's a cold comfort in the storm.
So I cry him out in salty tears, and make myself confront my fears. And I feel the walls come crumbling in, tumbling down as I'm fumbling... for a hand.
Fragile hope's still lingering here.
I could be someone. Someone real and warm and beautiful. I see her in my head sometimes, the girl I want to be. Wild and crazy but so loving. And I want to be that way. I feel like I could do it sometimes, become her. Sometimes when I'm with my friends I do crazy things and I tell them I love them and for a few moments I feel happy and safe and beautiful. But then those moments end, and I feel as worthless as ever. I'm nothing special, I think I could be, if I became that girl. But right now I'm just lonely and selfish and defensive. I'm not mean, I don't think, I'm just so angry and scared that I take it out on the people I should love. People who were supposed to love me betrayed me once, a long time ago. It still hurts and I feel like every relationship I've been in has been unhealthy and abusive, on both sides. I just really hope I get to be that girl someday.
I hate you. And I hate you even more for making me feel like I should be ashamed of it. Because you deserve it. All this fucked up shit started with you. You're the one that made me this way. I'm so fucking angry and selfish because you made me feel like I deserved nothing. And I still feel that way inside. I still feel like I'm not worth anything. I'm afraid to try and make anything of myself because if I fail it'll prove you right. And I can't love anyone, not properly. I hate you for that the most of all.
What's my story? What happened to me? I think if I make it up in my head, and make it hurt enough, it can be my excuse. Because that's all I can ever remember being, a long list of excuses. So I lie, because why be honest about the little things when you're fooling yourself about everything that matters. I am so typical, I am just me, my stereotype but even less than that. I'm just deluding myself by blaming the madness. I am this and that, I can be labelled. I am nothing special. That's what's killing me. The fact that the world doesn't really revolve around me is killing me. Am I really that shallow? That plastic? That nothing?! I want to lie to myself some more, act like I have a reason, but no reason could ever possibly be good enough! Who the fuck am I kidding. I am just this. I am only this. I have to make THIS enough! I need to fucking grow up and face reality. I do not have a million years, I am not immortal. There is nothing outrageously special going on in my head. Until I realise that undeniable truths, my biggest fears, I will never go anywhere or do anything that matters. All I have is now. So what do real people do then, in their real lives?
I want your simple "Yes" or "No". I'm sick of all of the mind games, of feeling as if I'm to blame. And all the world should be ashamed. Cos we're fucked up people, a product of society. A society that likes shiny things and money. But their plastic smiles make me wanna throw up, honey. Baby, we're so fucked up, wish I didn't care. Prepared to kill ourselves, but not to take real chances. And I'm so sick of all of the glitter, the pink paint's peeling off the walls. Do you wanna see me fall?
So back off, or push me, just take it all away. Cos I'm too scared to jump, but I'm got no words to say, "Hold me back." Cos I need someone to hold me, and tell me that I matter. Cos I'm a shallow person, I do no good for no'one, I'm a good-for-nothing liar and I'm broken. My love's barely a token.
And I know I shouldn't say these stupid things, you'd tell me to shut-up. But there are nightmares all around me and I'm losing faith in us. Cos your ghost is fading quickly, and I feel I've had enough.
No, I can't believe in this world...
But what else do I have?
"It doesn't do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." That quote keeps coming back to me lately. I fear I've not been heeding it's advice. My dreams are my solace in a world gone mad. Or perhaps it's only me that's mad. But, if the latter is true, I think I am justified in my madness. There are indeed many broken things in this world. And even if I dwell for a thousand years, I'll barely have scraped the surface...
Fear makes monsters of the best of us. It's the fight or flight response. When we've got nowhere to run we get angry, because we're scared. Most of us fear the unknown, the world we've yet to master, or even find our feet in. That's why I'm so angry at you. Not because you did anything wrong but because I'm afraid that if it's not your fault the world's so screwed up, it must be mine.
I usually come here with something to say but it all turns to mush in my head. Because I'm never sure of myself. My opinions, my creations. Everything I do and am is insecure. I know the world isn't watching because the world doesn't care. I am only accountable to myself. People can't hurt you if you don't let them. But it's not that easy. It's not that easy to just stop caring. I want to make people happy. Or do I? Do I hate people, do I love them? Even my thoughts and feelings are unsure. I can't answer the question because I don't know what the question is. Which question will make me happy? Because that's what I'm supposed to want to be, isn't it?
It was just little things at first. But little things are a big deal to me. I'd do better with a schedule. I know I would. But I'm afraid of time. So afraid to waste it that I end up wasting it all. I shouldn't do that. I don't want my life to be wasted. I feel like I'm choking with the pressure of it all, and nothing will make it go away. Not counting, not sitting and staring at the wall for hours. Because anytime I'm not watching the clock... It's watching me.
She wonders why I'm sad. She wonders why I'm bitter. When I was promised the skies. They told me of laughter, and people that sang. But they never spoke of goodbyes. And they never told me of lies.
And she asks why I cry?
I just wanted angels. And kisses and dreams. I was told of all of these wonderful things. But I have had nightmares, and seen darkness win. Seen saints and sinner, but they may as well have been twins. You told me of heaven, you told me of hell. You never said my soul wasn't mine to sell...