cramps cramps cramps.
It feels like my uterus is polluting my whole body. Blood shed has travelled to my mind, polluted it, left me dehydrated and weak. The tendens in my legs are stretched from dancing. They inflict pain with every step. Dancing dancing like crazy on Wednesday. Sincere because my body needed to move but every smile felt plastic. Where's the seretonin? My body is moving but my brain chemicals refuse to change this discontenment, disconcernment, detachement that has been pulling me and pushing me for so long. I want my body to be stretched far and wide, all over the map. But it can't. Everything seems so scattered, so energy required and high-speed chase and at the end of the day i'm too weak, i'm too scared, I feel 5 years old. The components of my contentment seem so superficial but when have I ever been not fucking superficial? I can only unweave this tangled mess of disappointment thread by thread. Learn how to enjoy simple things: a hot day, a genuine customer, a compliment. But I can't do that when I feel like I can't get anything right. I've failed failed failed and I hate hate hate myself for it. Fuck, I can't even move out properly. What makes me smile is how i'm the 'together' girl, the advice supplier to my drunk friends who hate themselves for their ability to love other people and forgive over and over. I'm the bitch who nags about not having a job, going nowhere when in all honesty, i'm scared to fucking death of my potential failure. I'm the person who greedily steals the conversation by diverting it to my problems. I analyze a boyfriend's email intentions when my love life is a event of scandelous flings because i'm shallow, i'm too scared to care about anyone so. Australia, Britian, the fucking television is where I concentrate on crushes instead of opening my eyes to Nova Scotia. Oh yea, i'm too good for Nova Scotia. And loving someone here is aknowledging that, my attitude of superiority which seems almost innate, exists. It confines me, stuffs me in a room of people that appaul me. Diverts possibility to permanent placement. I don't' want anything to chain me to this place, these stripmalls, tanning beds and industrial wastelands. I'm scared of change but more of consistency. Here is my failure, and I have done so until i'm gone.
It feels like my uterus is polluting my whole body. Blood shed has travelled to my mind, polluted it, left me dehydrated and weak. The tendens in my legs are stretched from dancing. They inflict pain with every step. Dancing dancing like crazy on Wednesday. Sincere because my body needed to move but every smile felt plastic. Where's the seretonin? My body is moving but my brain chemicals refuse to change this discontenment, disconcernment, detachement that has been pulling me and pushing me for so long. I want my body to be stretched far and wide, all over the map. But it can't. Everything seems so scattered, so energy required and high-speed chase and at the end of the day i'm too weak, i'm too scared, I feel 5 years old. The components of my contentment seem so superficial but when have I ever been not fucking superficial? I can only unweave this tangled mess of disappointment thread by thread. Learn how to enjoy simple things: a hot day, a genuine customer, a compliment. But I can't do that when I feel like I can't get anything right. I've failed failed failed and I hate hate hate myself for it. Fuck, I can't even move out properly. What makes me smile is how i'm the 'together' girl, the advice supplier to my drunk friends who hate themselves for their ability to love other people and forgive over and over. I'm the bitch who nags about not having a job, going nowhere when in all honesty, i'm scared to fucking death of my potential failure. I'm the person who greedily steals the conversation by diverting it to my problems. I analyze a boyfriend's email intentions when my love life is a event of scandelous flings because i'm shallow, i'm too scared to care about anyone so. Australia, Britian, the fucking television is where I concentrate on crushes instead of opening my eyes to Nova Scotia. Oh yea, i'm too good for Nova Scotia. And loving someone here is aknowledging that, my attitude of superiority which seems almost innate, exists. It confines me, stuffs me in a room of people that appaul me. Diverts possibility to permanent placement. I don't' want anything to chain me to this place, these stripmalls, tanning beds and industrial wastelands. I'm scared of change but more of consistency. Here is my failure, and I have done so until i'm gone.
3 Comments:
At 6:03 PM,
Big Nikki said…
sarah you're not a failure.
here is all the things you are to me:
beautiful, one of my best and longest dartmouth friends, loyal, fun, someone i can always rely on, no matter how much time has passed or how much i haven't been there for you,stylish, among so many other things...you do console us drunken heart broken silly girls and you will get out of here...no matter where you end up or what you do i know that there is something amazing and wonderful and better than this that is just waiting to find you...you have a will and you'll find a way, as they say.
i love you bitch.
At 6:41 PM,
Anonymous said…
i'll write you a real email later.
this one's just to say "me too" to a lot of that.
i can see our shared history so clearly in that rant.
i'd say "no you're not" and "don't beat yourself up" but i think your truly honest sort of self reflection is ultimately very good.
sar, i feel close to you right now but far away.
i'll write later
love
jillian
At 6:24 AM,
Saraiu01 said…
aww you girls are amazing. Thank you for such warm, open responces. You girls have made my day.
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