Malice in Wonderland.

I want the deepest, darkest, sickest parts of you that you are afraid to share with anyone because I love you that much. And now I'm showing you mine. I'm but an average, untalented girl living in suburbia attempting self-discovery. I am ordinary. I live an easy life and yet I'm still unhappy; I'm hoping keeping track of my thoughts will make this easier to understand. I care little for other people's emotions. I lie to others to make my own life easier, but not ever to ease their suffering. I will not lie to you. My thoughts are my own, not easy words fed to me by my parents or my government. I am part of no church, and I believe in no god. The only thing I need to be saved from is my own mental unrest. I ate his heart then I swallowed his brain. If you don't love me back, I'll do it again.

Posted on 24th January 2012

January 24 - Sort of like a priest. Ish.

A lot of times it’s difficult for me to accept truths that most people live with their whole lives. That life is beautiful, that it’s possible to work for what you want and actually get it, that you will be okay. I used to think I was afraid I’d never fall in love. But I recently realized I was actually afraid no one would ever fall in love with me. Which is a whole different idea altogether.

I’m kind of sort of not so afraid of that anymore. Honestly, I’ve only made any progress with that because I know that realistically, it’s quite unlikely that if I live to be around seventy years old that no one out of six billion people will ever fall in love with me. You meet so many people in your life, and humans fall in love so easily. The statistics are on my side, and that’s really the only reason I don’t feel so scared anymore. How funny that the only thing that could make me hopeful would be a simple fact.

I want to remember how I feel sometimes when I’m hopeful. I want to remember how it feels to be motivated or excited or just not so scared all the time. But it’s so easy to forget the good. I don’t know why.

Once, I thought I was in love. At the time I was very much sure I was. It wasn’t returned of course, not in a magnitude that would have mattered, but now I’m not so sure that what I was feeling was what I thought it was. That’s the worst part of love lost, isn’t it? How when it’s over you can’t really remember how it felt. The same way when someone’s been gone too long you can’t recall the precise sound of their laugh, or exactly what their face looked like. I once had a teacher who taught us that each pain we feel is unique and can only be felt once. Every pain you feel is different than the last and cannot be replicated, you can only feel something new. You can’t exactly recall what the pain of a particular burn felt like, and you can’t replicate it. It happens once and once only. Maybe love is like that as well. Unique but fleeting.

Sometimes it’s difficult to be alone. I never used to be a lonely person, but as time goes by I feel more and more so. I see people around me who are seemingly so in sync with others and have found incredible people to share with. It has a way of making you feel alone when you’re not.

It’s hard to imagine that someday someone will look at my erratic, evasive and dishonest behavior and become interested, or that someone will be willing to wait the unsettlingly long time I’ll need to grow to trust them and share with them. I know firsthand how difficult it is to feel so deeply about someone who’s ill, physically or mentally, whichever. It’s a constant struggle and at times can feel like it’s more work than it’s worth. The idea that someone will be willing to put in that time with me seems unbearably unlikely, and the chances that they’ll be no more ill than myself seem downright impossible. It’s hard not to think that anyone who would be willing to put up with my issues would be anything less than crazy or just plain stupid.

It would just be nice to be able to recall what it feels like to have any sort of hope or bravery or excitement, because once it’s gone I can never remember it at all.