Ive never felt so incredibly isolated. And no amount of eloquent wording, turns of phrase, or sarcastic pondering, is going to make that dry, dreary feeeling go away anytime soon.
I've got no idea who I am supposed to be. I've forgotten which person these people want me to act out this time, and i've never been able to imrpovise. I'm too tired, bruised, and sunken in, to play another role. But now that i've been all used up, now that i have exhausted every source of dramatic character, or influence into my various masks... I just cant quite figure out what part is left. I'm too spent to even try and take a look for myself, and I don't posses the will to call for a search party.
Let her be, whatever actress is left, let her be for now. I dont care to know her, I just want to be given my stage dirtections, my script. I just want to be told what to do. ******** trying to think for myself, when has that ever been any use? It's much to hard these days anyway. I'm no free lance screen play writer.
I'm apathetic towards any sign of life that she posses, and whats worse, is that I know it. I can feel her begging to be heard, to be understood and all that other cliched teen bull s**t, but i don't care. It might even make some other part of me sad to not care, but i don't have the energy to do anything about it. She doesn't matter. There's not much left of her anyway. Let her fade.
My brain keeps working in these twisted cricles of caring about me not caring, and giving up to my uselessness, before shutting down and blankly looking at someone else for a cue. It'll start up again, sadder, meaner, angrier, more desolate.
I find it hard to be around anyone. I can't relate to anything they say or talk about.
My best friend just got a trip to london for christmas, and I find that I hate her. The way she rambles on about how great her life is right now, the way she brakes off the conversation to talk to her doting father, or when she turns her attention once more upon the amazing, lovely, darling things that I really don't give a flying ******** about.
It's even worse when someone tells me about their problems, personal, or otherwise, even small inconveniances, the cap for the toothpaste is missing, no one can seem to figure out how to drive in the snow.
Oh yeah?
Bet you that I can top that.
Then i'll stop, catch myself before I say anything, and remember that i'm selfish. That whatever I was about to say is insensitive, appaling, heartless.
I end up not saying much.
Ever.
I end up being a sulky, apathatic little waste of a girl, who just doesn't give a rat's a** about anything.
And now, i'll go to sleep. Because that's all I realy like to do now. That's the one thing that I can get away with thinking freely about. Sleep.
Something that so incredibly, completely obliviates any ties I have to this waking world. And as long as i'm asleep, as long as I take my medecine, I can be a part of something I care about, even if it's only to wake to some new nightmare.
It won't matter, because as soon as I hit that dreamworld, nightmare or not, it's not here.
It's not anywhere near here.
Here.
It.
Them.
Her.
Me.
I've got no idea who I am supposed to be. I've forgotten which person these people want me to act out this time, and i've never been able to imrpovise. I'm too tired, bruised, and sunken in, to play another role. But now that i've been all used up, now that i have exhausted every source of dramatic character, or influence into my various masks... I just cant quite figure out what part is left. I'm too spent to even try and take a look for myself, and I don't posses the will to call for a search party.
Let her be, whatever actress is left, let her be for now. I dont care to know her, I just want to be given my stage dirtections, my script. I just want to be told what to do. ******** trying to think for myself, when has that ever been any use? It's much to hard these days anyway. I'm no free lance screen play writer.
I'm apathetic towards any sign of life that she posses, and whats worse, is that I know it. I can feel her begging to be heard, to be understood and all that other cliched teen bull s**t, but i don't care. It might even make some other part of me sad to not care, but i don't have the energy to do anything about it. She doesn't matter. There's not much left of her anyway. Let her fade.
My brain keeps working in these twisted cricles of caring about me not caring, and giving up to my uselessness, before shutting down and blankly looking at someone else for a cue. It'll start up again, sadder, meaner, angrier, more desolate.
I find it hard to be around anyone. I can't relate to anything they say or talk about.
My best friend just got a trip to london for christmas, and I find that I hate her. The way she rambles on about how great her life is right now, the way she brakes off the conversation to talk to her doting father, or when she turns her attention once more upon the amazing, lovely, darling things that I really don't give a flying ******** about.
It's even worse when someone tells me about their problems, personal, or otherwise, even small inconveniances, the cap for the toothpaste is missing, no one can seem to figure out how to drive in the snow.
Oh yeah?
Bet you that I can top that.
Then i'll stop, catch myself before I say anything, and remember that i'm selfish. That whatever I was about to say is insensitive, appaling, heartless.
I end up not saying much.
Ever.
I end up being a sulky, apathatic little waste of a girl, who just doesn't give a rat's a** about anything.
And now, i'll go to sleep. Because that's all I realy like to do now. That's the one thing that I can get away with thinking freely about. Sleep.
Something that so incredibly, completely obliviates any ties I have to this waking world. And as long as i'm asleep, as long as I take my medecine, I can be a part of something I care about, even if it's only to wake to some new nightmare.
It won't matter, because as soon as I hit that dreamworld, nightmare or not, it's not here.
It's not anywhere near here.
Here.
It.
Them.
Her.
Me.
