Nov. 4th, 2002

fifthdream: (Default)

I don't want to go to bed.

It's reasonably late, and i have nothing i feel like doing, but i still don't want to go to bed. The day feels too short. It feels like if i went to bed, that this day wouldn't count as a day. I don't want to waste days. Something in each day has to count in some small way. I don't know.

I have so many things i want to say. I never say anything. What's the point? I could only offend, or at the minimum, bore, with my words. Why say them? If they accomplish nothing other than having them said, then what's the point? I probably can't say anything new, anyway. I'm probably an open book, heart on my sleeve, name tattoed across my forehead, as cliche'd as all that. What do the words matter? It's already been said, somehow, in some other way.

Isn't it silly that there are things i won't even say here? I have a terrible fear of saying things i'm afraid of. I guess there were a couple of times that worrying about something seemed to have made it happen, and that has put an *incredible* fear in me of giving things power through words.

I have a hard time saying things anyway. Certain subjects literally petrify me into silence. Especially emotionally-charged subjects, especially when i feel those subjects are off limits. Add all those factors, and i can be brought to my knees just thinking about them.

I don't know what i can do when there are three different worlds; the one within my head, the one that is outside of me and my control, and the one i fear, the one i can't know exists, the one i'm scared might exist. I pretend my inside world on the outside, but it's all pretend. Inside i'm wishing and wishing and wishing every moment for my mind to be read.

Ignorance is always bliss. Sometimes i wish there were so many things that i would never know. If i could dream forever... If i could dream *of* forever... If i could sleep and dream in my own world, my happy, made-up world... happy, painless, blissfully unaware forever... i would.

Real sleep eats up time, and i hate eating up time.

I'm begging. Seriously. Make this easy for me. Help me. Give me every opportunity. I'm screaming from the inside, screaming just enough to hope i can be heard, even if the words aren't yet clear. Give me the chance to open up an let it come out. Let me know it's okay. Hand it to me on a silver platter. I'm begging to be begged. I'm on my knees. Take my hand and tell me it's okay.

Please.

I need.

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fifthdream: (Default)
Cristofer

August 2010

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