ndslotesse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Living on my shelf Dear Diary, I haven't hated the world the same and I'll never love it the same. For a moment when I thought I was happy I swear I loved every part of the it's beauty. Now, it's just sad at how much I dislike this place. About how much I can't stand the way it looks and how it acts. About the silly smiles that people have conjured up with some unreachable magic. I wish I had that magic to make me smile because there's no way in hell that I'm going to be happy on my own. I tried that, it never worked. Today my friend wrote a story for me because I was trying to back out of the only last formal dance I'll have with them. I'm just not in the mood. Scott's not making it better either...but whatever, I'll save that for later. My business with Scott is my own, and I don't want the whole world knowing it because having the information out in the public makes me feel some uneasy sort of embarressment(sp?) It feels like the yucky feeling right before you get up on stage to sing or dance when you have stage fright or right before you get up to ask the boy of your dreams out on a date and knowing that rejection is inevitable but your friends are forcing you with some blackmail reasoning. It is all that and more. Maybe that didn't make sense. I am sorry I don't make much sense anymore. The way I write, speak, or move. It's all the same, almost in some robotic sort of way. I konw I am not a robot because if you cut me I will bleed profusely all over the floor. But still. I have nothing much to say. At the same time I just want to sit down and cry, I want to live and I want to die. Every one moment is spent contemplating some sort of awful that is going to occur to me or the world and will have some impact on me. I am tired of being selfish. I am tired of talking about me and getting what I want. I want others to be happy because knowing that I made them happy is the only way for my happiness to come from a good and honest place. And instead of having it be bought by some cheap sort of material possession that will last a forever in a dull shelf collecting dust. That's often how I find myself. A doll stocked up in some sort of closet in the back of some store and I want to be sold, I want someone to admire me. And I can't. I am stuck in the back collecting dust and my eyes slowly start to lose it's luster and my dress slowly starts to lose it's vibrance. I'm right here alive and but not well. Just alive. Living on my shelf. With care, Mayms 3:28 p.m. - 2002-12-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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