Lin's Journal
1-25-11
Tuesday
Eleven-ish
I... haven't had a moment in a long time but this... is definitely one to be reckoned with.
I think my soul has been slowly flattening out over the past few weeks. They've been so draining and stressful and crushing and horrible. I feel as though the life's being sucked out of me.
I'd say I couldn't bring myself to smile, but if you could see the grin on my face at the... I'd like to say predictability of this whole situation. I hate this smile. It's broken, it's a horrible smile.
I just... what am I doing? I think I may have lost all respect for myself in just a moment. What the hell am I doing? Who do I think I am? What gives me the right to do anything that I do? Pretending that I'm an adult, getting in way over my head in things I shouldn't even know about... what the hell am I doing?
Ah, maybe this is why I like playing fool. If I'm an ignorant, happy little girl, everyone will like me and be nice to me and nobody will hurt me because I'll be ignorant and foolish. Who would like someone like this, a bitter girl who hates herself and everyone and everything..? Ah, it hurts, but just a little. Maybe I'm getting used to this, in a way.
Getting used to mental breakdowns? Yes, isn't that wonderful?
And funny, how these always seem to happen late at night or when I'm alone. I'm too crazy when left to my own devices. I hate my mind. Maybe I'm twisted, maybe I'm not. Either way, I guess I couldn't really bring myself to care. No... I can, and I do, but I shouldn't.
It's a horrible thing for my health.
Love... love is worthless too. Together again, apart again... none of it amounts to anything. None of this amounts to anything either. Nobody will read this until my paranoia takes physical form and becomes the ultimate snoop.
I try and deter trackers on the way home ever since I started walking along railroad tracks. I write it off as a silly game, but there must be some dark corner of my mind that actually believes in it as a cautionary measure. Oh, it doesn't matter if I nearly get run over by cars as long as they can't find me. Paranoia is a horrible thing to live with.
It's no ghostly voice in my head, just a constant thought of people picking through my things, uncovering all the "dark secrets" that I only label so jokingly... They are dark and secret things, though. They're like... a part of me. There are things that make no sense to an outsider, things an outsider would misinterpret or perhaps be stumped as to how to attempt to interpret at all.
It's my mind, my tiny chunk of heart and soul. Stay out of it.
Or course, my journal is different. That's just the ramblings of my delusional mind, thinking that telling everything to a book will get my confessions "off my chest" and make everything better. Thinking that there's some imaginary person listening, caring.
My paranoia has been so kind as to gift me with the cruel vision of a stranger reading this and laughing. I think that's probably my biggest fear, being laughed at. Being laughed at when I'm totally serious. I'm such a hypocrite, though, because I do it to other people all the time. The oblivious me just pretends not to notice and srugs it off as another spectacular feat of idiocy.
I can't say I'm tired of being oblivious. I wouldn't know any other way to live. I might be scared of trying to live any other way. They oblivious can at least enjoy their superficial lives while they last. Oblivious, laid-back, anti-conflict... sounds like a person who would simply blend into the background well, huh?
One of the main things that crushed my pride this week: my role in a certain spring musical is nothing. I was an idiot for getting my hopes up. Of course, you can guess who got the main roles: Miku got the cute girl, Meiko got the sexy one, and Kaito got the male lead. I told myself I wouldn't hope for anything, wouldn't count on anything, but subconsciously I just kept feeding my ego, weeding out those whom I thought I was better than. I've told three people about how nobody cares about the ensemble.
Sure, they're invaluable, but nobody really notices them. Nobody gets famous off of being in the background. Nobody can see talent when it rushes on stage for two seconds and rushes back off. I mean... Miku's famous enough. She had the lead role in the fall play, too, and that wasn't even supposed to be a girl. She made them change the name of the character to be girlier. I'm thinking of just dropping it to satisfy my cracked pride. I've already skipped out on every rehearsal we've had, and tomorrow I'm going to skip out on another. Acting was just fun for me at auditions, but then it was a competition and I lost. Now it's work and the bitter taste of humiliation is still fresh in my mind. My forehead is heavy with rage.
God, I've had such a headache. I hate Tuesdays.
Of course, I've got exams tomorrow, for the rest of the week as well, and yet I feel compelled to be up at all hours of the night writing this. I don't think I care much if I fail miserably. I can't bring myself to care much about anything lately.
By "lately," of course I don't mean the past few days. I mean the past twenty minutes I've been writing this in. Tomorrow I'll be back to the same ignorant, blissful me. I'll push down all the rage and depression, swallow all the hurt and sit on my problems until they build up enough to topple me down once again.
I just don't know. I hate my life lately. I've been drawn into something I despise being in, an accursed daily routine that's feeding off me and my illusion of happiness.
There it is, the line that screams "I'm a teenager and I'm depressed!"
I hate my life. I hate it, I really do.
I'd go so far as to say I hate your life, and you hate your life. You didn't ask to be a book. I'd hate to be a book. I'm pretty sure books can't hate, though, or really do anything of their own free will.
Either way, life is still pretty hateable. I've taken to blaming the universe for everything, because that's just how my mind works lately. Everyone's life is like their own little universe. You can make it up yourself, or you can believe what you're told about it and have it made for you.
Philosophical, huh?
Guess I found my muse after all. owo;
Also, about the story status... it's always set on complete because it has no real definite plot and I never know if I'm going to continue it at all. =w=; It is a journal, after all, and I have always been horrible at keeping up with journals.