Push pins. Little drops of watercolor wasted ink, shimmery gold and murky green. Bottles and bottles and bottles of unfamiliar pink and red and blue. So many colors. So many thoughts in my brain that bring me back to you. I never drew you, but I wanted to. Maybe. in my subconscious. But I was afraid, because I didn't want to accept that you didn't want anything to do with my hands.
These hands are ugly and broken and these hands are what made me.
I'm an angry person and I am bitter. This is why I write.
You'll never see it because you hate me.
I torture myself wondering why you hate me.
I wonder about you constantly and it's sick.
I look at somebody's old pictures and I feel a longing for human connection. When I'm presented with an opportunity, my body rejects it. I float outside myself and I can't speak. My body is so broken. I broke it myself. I broke it with my thoughts about hating you. Hating you, and knowing you hate me too, makes me hate myself.
I have so many complicated relationships. I wake up in the morning and I stress about how I'm going to stay connected to the people who care about me if I don't text back.
I threw a fit about you not loving me. Now that you're trying to love me I am disinterested. I feel done. We have been carrying on a conversation through text messages that, face to face, should only take ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if we had coffee in our hands.
I don't want any more small talk. I want to be understood on a deep level. I want someone to support me through all the crazy that is my brain.
So many words but nothing to say. nothing makes sense. i want to write fiction. i want to write fiction but it's really about me hating you. i wrote a book but it ******. somebody i love reads the book and says i am broken. somebody reads the book and apologizes for treating me like ****. they don't treat me like **** and i tell them so. i make myself a victim. I am ugly. do you wake up early? i don't have to work tomorrow but living and breathing can feel like work sometimes.
nothing makes any sense and I am jealous. I don't want you to love her. i want you to love me, but you don't. you do but not in that way. not in the making out kind of way, unless it is convenient for you. i kind of want to make out with you on country roads again. i remember, we were so close to my house, and i was feeling this weird thing inside like "please don't take me home" and you said, right at that moment, "want to drive around?" and god, i miss driving around, i hope i don't die before we can drive around again. i don't know why i think i would die before that. i am worried more about you coming back than something bad happening to me. i feel like you'll never come back sometimes.
i am lonely. i am so ******* lonely and i want a friend. all of my friends are gone. my partner is so amazing and perfect but i feel like i need more in this life. i don't know what i need. i fantasize about old partners and old *** and i feel so guilty. i even think about the man that abused me. how ****** up is that? my body is broken and will not respond.