Real Horrorshow Alright
July 25th 2008 13:26
It’s late and I’m tired. Everyone else is asleep and I am awake. I can’t let myself sleep; it is still too early for that. I am tired though. I’m sick and easily exhausted. In the mornings I am always sleepy, having not got enough sleep and also being the kind to wake slowly. In the afternoons sometimes I feel I could not possibly stay awake any longer and have even on occasion fallen asleep at this time. Night however is when I stay up. I am usually not tired and even when my eyelids grow heavy I cannot bear the thought of sleeping…no, not just yet.
Tonight I am thinking. I had an information session at uni today and that’s not what I want. I don’t want that part of my degree. My friends are great, but there is a bunch of that crowd that make me ill. They see nothing. They strike me as empty and smiling and scheming. Oh how much they all know and can see, they tell themselves and they will tell you if you’ll listen. It’s not friendly and not at all fun. I don’t like it.
Then there’s every other area of my life that won’t make sense. I don’t want any of it. I don’t want the friends who keep you only when it suits them. Those I want left behind. Purge, purge, purge me of all who make me ill. I smile at you disloyal ones as one smiles at the mean girl you remember from school days, or an animal you pity in the zoo.
What are you all doing? I spent years thinking I was wrong, I was mistaken, I was failing. Why are you still hurting me? I might not be strong, and I might deal with things in a way that prevents me from healing, but you and all your kind are making me bleed.
Tonight I am thinking. I had an information session at uni today and that’s not what I want. I don’t want that part of my degree. My friends are great, but there is a bunch of that crowd that make me ill. They see nothing. They strike me as empty and smiling and scheming. Oh how much they all know and can see, they tell themselves and they will tell you if you’ll listen. It’s not friendly and not at all fun. I don’t like it.
Then there’s every other area of my life that won’t make sense. I don’t want any of it. I don’t want the friends who keep you only when it suits them. Those I want left behind. Purge, purge, purge me of all who make me ill. I smile at you disloyal ones as one smiles at the mean girl you remember from school days, or an animal you pity in the zoo.
What are you all doing? I spent years thinking I was wrong, I was mistaken, I was failing. Why are you still hurting me? I might not be strong, and I might deal with things in a way that prevents me from healing, but you and all your kind are making me bleed.
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