I had a dream that this guy finally invested in me; his emotions and feelings and self. It felt really awesome. God, I wish that happened in real life.
I’m afraid that I terrify people, that no one will ever want to get close to me, that I am too intense, that I am too absorbed with ideas and not reality.
I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being—not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace.
Life trickles in from the outside, and you’re forced to react. No one asks if it is true or false, if you’re genuine or just a sham. Such things matter only in the theatre, and hardly there either. I understand why you don’t speak, why you don’t move, why you’ve created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you’ve left your other parts one by one.
Maybe - 4/17/14
I get angry at people closest to me easily, I think it’s my biggest flaw. I am optimistic about those that I don’t know, and there is no reason behind it. I’m afraid I scare people away. I have accepted that I will be alone for a long time. Maybe a really long time. Sometimes I get scared I’ll be alone forever. I’m very bitter yet I see so much beauty. I don’t understand myself and I am annoyed because of it. Maybe I’ll figure out what makes me happy, maybe I won’t get jealous.
Sleepy becky is sleepy