If I could tear you from the ceiling...
03/11/2007 04:03 p.m.
This day is eerie, dreadful, trying. Frought with self deprication and unanswered questions.

I am impure.
I am a contradiction.
The touch of another is so comforting, but I recoil. Arms around my waist or back completely terrify me. Yet they're all I yearn for. Over the years, I've taught myself to fear that which elates me. Wether it be a touch, or a person, or whatever. It's almost impossible to describe. Such a wonderful feeling tarnished with emotions of fear and anger. I wait for people to fail. I wait for them to fall. I trust no one, because I cannot be trusted. While the sensation of someone's arm around my back might feel spectacular, I know it will not last long. My worried mind jumbles thoughts. I wait for the great to decline. I cannot just let go and enjoy anything. People cannot be trusted. Ever. With anything. Let alone a body. A heart.

I'm terrified of letting my gaurd down, even for a moment. Because that's when you're fucked. You become comfortable with someone, you form some sort of trust in them, you let your guard down, and that's when they get inside of you. That's when they infect you. That's when they tear you down to nothing and rape your mind, your heart. But if they can't get inside, they can't shatter your world.

I want to scream. I want to smoke. I want to destroy. I want to cut. I want to eat. I want to destroy. I want to scream. I want to understand self worth. I want to obliterate. I want to cuddle. I want to sleep. I want to sleep forfuckingever. I want to never have sex again. I want to skin him alive. I want to put these cigarettes out on my hips.

I want to know why everybody leaves. People I care about, people I could give a shit about. I want to know why nobody ever sticks around. I want to know why this paragraph only applies to males in my life. I want to know why my brother left. Why, exactly, that the one male that I respect and love in this world can't give me the fucking time of day. I could give a shit why my father left, but I would like to understand his psychological disposition. I would like to know, in detail, how his thought process works. If he was an alcoholic. Or an addict of any sort. What psychological diseases he had. And how many of them he'd passed on to me.

I would like to know why the lines between being myself and acting so as to please those around me are so fucking blurred in my head. I would like to know why I can't tell the two apart anymore. I would like to know why I cannot simply answer a question. Why I must first consider what the person asking it might want to hear. I suppose that's a defense mechanism, too. Give them an honest answer, they have the opportunity to peer inside of you. Perhaps my selflessness is really selfishness. Perhaps I do not give dishonest answers to please others, but rather to divert attention from my own feelings. Vunerability isn't an option.

Fuck.

I am listening to Placebo - Blind