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current | archives | profile | links | rings | cast | reviews | email | notes | host | image | design Rage Dear Diary, I rage. I have been raging for months. Crying out at the dark against the injustice done to me. I'm a mess. Inwardly I'm a total mess. I don't know where my heart is. I used to be able to feel it, pumping and expanding, aching and loving, but now all I can feel is pain. Pain and a deep dark bitter sorrow. I spend the day smiling, talking, tidying up and I wonder how no-one can see that behind these smiles and these words, that fall meaningessly from my mouth, just how ravaged I feel. So I cry quietly at night, unable to sleep, having memories and regrets tumble around my mind. Thinking of all the things I could have done to change all of this. I just feel so tired and so alone. None of my friends have come through for me on this, which is a bitter pill to swallow. My best friend abandons me because I've become boring, my other friend is so caught up in his own problems that he's forgotten to care. My boyfriend has been amazing, as usual. He made our year anniversary a really special memory. So naturally, he's the one my mind rages at for not doing little things, leaving dirty dishes for days, leads on the floor for me to trip over...etc. It's silly really since without him this last year I don't think I could have had the strength to carry on doing all of this smiling and meaningless conversing in the world. I know so many people have had worse than me, but at this point I have to wonder just how much grief can I endure? Why did I get the short straw? Every day I blink back tears and struggle to breathe because something else has triggered another warm and happy memory of my mother. She was my best friend, my confidant, my sunshine in a cold and weary world and now that she's been torn away from me, I feel empty. I feel alone and I barely see the colours of the world. It never mattered if no-one else understood me, if my female friends just wanted to gossip and the boyfriends didn't read novels, none of that mattered because at the end of the day I had a home and my mother was there. We could talk about physics and philosophy and literature and music and all of the wonders of the world. Now I'm alone. My friends have fucked off, my boyfriend, as wonderful as he is, barely keeps my mind entertained let alone challenged. My home is now non-existant. My mother is dead, my sister is living 30 minutes away. I live in a flat, a very small one-bedroom flat that my boyfriend has gradually moved into. I didn't ask him to, he just doesn't go home, so now he's paying for half of the bills. He decorated my room while I was away as a surprise, and as sweet and touching as it was - it also really irked me. Part of me screams out that this is MY flat. Mine. That I don't want to live with him. That I need my space. That I'm not ready to be this settled, co-habitating, old married couple. That I already feel too old for my age, old and exhausted. In one year I feel like I've aged 30. But if I have my sister over for a day or two, I miss him. I want him there, so I can talk to him in the evening, cuddle up into the nook under his arm, be silly and blow rasberry's at him and enjoy the feeling of his skin against mine in the dark. I miss his face and how beautiful he looks asleep. So soft and young with such a determined jaw. Yes so much about him irritates me, how he thinks he's a man when he's still just a boy. How he's so constricted by his own self-controlled nature. How he has such a narrow mind and hates to be proven wrong - even though I do it constantly. It irriates me how confrontational and defensive he is and instead of letting things go, he holds tightly to it. He reminds me of a wannabe warrior, so desperate to prove that he is one, that it just proves he isn't. And I can't talk to him. It would be so much easier I wasn't helplessly in love with him. Late at night I cuddle up and breathe him in and then I clutch at him tightly because I already mourn our parting. I know it will happen and it will hurt. I don't know when but I know that eventually I will leave. Its my birthday on saturday and all of my friends have forgotten. So have my dad and his side of the family. I don't even know what country my dad is in right now. He hasn't called me in a month or two. Everyone made such a fuss of my sister for her birthday, because she's autistic and 13 and has just lost her mother. But as usual, I'm overlooked. I've never been part of that family and they have always made sure I knew that. Maybe not on purpose, maybe not consciously, but it's always been there on some level. But I suppose none of this matters really. I will carry on. Keep looking for work in the day, keep studying my a-levels at night, keep spending sleepless nights tossing and turning, keep crying and keep smiling, and eventually things will change. They have to. love
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