5:30 p.m. - 11/22/02
from here to birmingham I got a few friends.
my brother could arrive any minute. it's his birthday, and birthdays in my family tend to not be fun, so I feel inclined to spill any of my unhappy feelings into this journal to keep them from infringing on the celebration. I don't know why I'm feeling what I am; I just know I'm sad in that way that makes your shoulders heavy and your stomach tight. I guess I'm lonely again. I'm lonely and I'm angry that the communities I have found my way into (all online, of course) are more about illness than they are recovery. I'm angry that people won't just get their shit together and try. because right now, online is basically all I have and when I'm constantly talking to people who whine and don't understand how much they're loved and how strong they can truly be, I start to feel crazy. I don't want to be the strongest person in the world, and when thoughts like those I just posted are unique, I feel dangerously close to strong.
I am strong. I just want everyone else to be strong, too. To know they're strength, so we can lean on each other, and let it all be 50/50 give-and-take-like good.
how many diaryland journals can be about what it's like to develop an eating disorder or cut yourself to sleep? how many can be about how little life matters and how crazy we all are? I'm not downplaying it; I'm really not. I can't, as I have written my share of entries, too, but I'm just so *tired*...I'm tired of all the effort I must put into being ok. All the effort into maintaining friendships with people whose lives consist of trying to keep from self-destructing. All the effort of doing so myself. And listening to my parents say things I know are crazy, unhealthy, sometimes even untrue, and having to hear it anyway. I wish I could turn up the music in my head, but I'm trying so hard to stay focused in the moment.
and the moment makes me sad. it makes me angry and hurt and hollow in a way that says I'm real. I'm real, and I have real needs, so why is my world limited to people who can't meet them (no matter how much some of you do try.)
those of you who this does not apply to, who make my day at least ten times a week, feel free to disregard any icky feelings that come up at my words. I just feel alone again, in that way D!@#$%^ is so gifted at drawing up. I'd go to sleep, but lately I have nightmares, and as I said, there's a boy to celebrate.
I'm ever so glad he was born. But how convincing can one be in D!@#$%^, with a head cold, and a heavy heart?
chord
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