Happy Alone.

(Title is a song by Earlimart, really good. Thanks to a friend for the recommendation)

So, I'm sitting in this cold basement, nursing my split elbow, trying to remember not to lean on it. I hit it on a lightswitch of all things, but it happened to be a really old dimmer switch with the knob ripped off, so there's a big sharp piece of plastic there instead. Just so happened to hit it directly with my right elbow while coming downstairs. Ouch.

So, I'm going to post honestly. This is, as my teacher said, basically a window into my head. Only a select few know about this, unless people happen upon it. Which I don't mind, usually, because I don't know them personally.

Here goes.

I haven't been eating enough, apparently, because my parents keep commenting on how I never eat. Which, I think I do. Usually. But people keep saying how skinny I've become (which I mean, I'm not, but I guess it's skinnier than I was). Trying to be less self-conscious though. It's working, somewhat.
----
(continued the next day, at school)
Yesterday, I made a terrible mistake. I keep reverting back to my old ways.
I tell myself, and everyone that I'm trying to change. Yet there is still one consistent stabbing feeling in the back of my mind. It's tiring. Overwhelming, sometimes.
Everybody always forgives me somehow. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I wonder how they can keep being so nice to me. I hope they don't ever give up on me. I don't know what I would do, then.

I keep telling myself everything's going to be fine. I keep telling myself all this waiting will be worth it. That's the only reason I'm really even still here, able to write this, able to breathe and blink.

I have found, however, I've become even more aware of things. I do not know whether it is a gift or a plague at this particular point.

Trying to make this book last, Just Kids. It's become my safe haven, where I transport myself when I am feeling like giving up. But sometimes it makes things worse; there are so many parallels between my life and Patti's. Some of them are more abstract translations, but some are startlingly similar to some of the experiences I have had, and it seems to line up as I read. The story progresses, and is matched in my progression through the days, slightly slower, but more concentrated into short amounts of days, where the skips and jumps of her paragraphs sometimes span weeks, months, years. Mine span minutes, hours, days.

Woke up in so much pain. I've already taken three doses of tylenol-ish things, since waking up, to the end of first period this morning. My eyes are seeing slower than the timing at which they turn. It's making me dizzy, and flustered. It isn't from the medicine, I know that. I'm not trying for pity. I'm trying to be completely honest with myself and the rest of the world. It's just me and my messed up mind.
I've filled pages and pages of lined paper in my composition book, writing panic attacks on paper. Do you know what they look like? Illegible nonsense, and a hand of writing that I cannot duplicate under normal circumstances. The candle light helps me to focus on just getting out all the bad things quickly, onto the pages and out of my head. Consider it a sort of cleansing. Consider it therapy.

No pain, no gain, right?