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and what do i do when i’m depressed? i waste time!
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sometimes i think i’m not quite in control anymore… not in the ‘i’d like to take something and smash things up sense’ but the ‘i don’t think i shall care anymore, let the water go over my head like a clear cellophane i cannot crack.’ there’s a strange motiveless melancholy that haunts me and rids me of any appetite to eat and any motivation to do anything. i want to sit in the cold with the wind blowing and close my eyes and breathe and let everything go.
(your photo is on my wall, but it’s not one with me and you, because we never took those. and now we never shall. the nights are unsettling and the slip of the digits of birthdays scares me. maybe it means something, most likely it means nothing. i love you, dude. and i’ve been missing you.)
Older Chests
Damien Rice
Older chests reveal themselves
Like a crack in a wall
Starting small, and grow in time
And we (always) seem to need the help
Of someone else
To mend that shelf
(of) Too many books
Read me your favourite line
Papa went to other lands
And he found someone who understands
The ticking, and the western man’s need to cry
He came back the other day, yeah you know
Some things in life may change
And some things
They stay the same
Like time, there’s always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I’ll be fine
Just give me time
am feeling better after a strange mix of praying, reading, crying and drawing.
and thanks, pak. -laughs-
silly girl,
you shouldn’t test people like that, because when you do,
they always fail.
(that feeling is back again… the monster inside is clawing it’s way out up my gullet slowly slowly and i can feel the hurt and the pain and i don’t think i can swallow it down anymore–
or maybe, i don’t want to.)
it’s 3:50am in the morning here and i’ve been staying furiously, desperately trying to finish reading Ptolemy’s Gate (the last book in the bartimaeus trilogy by jonathan stroud) and ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
i don’t know what to say. i feel like screaming and crying and yet being absolutely still and quiet and hushed and oh arrgh. >_____
i think nathaniel ranks pretty high up on my list of all-time favourite literary characters. bizarrely, i never much cared for bartimaeus until his relationship with ptolemy was more fully fleshed out. nathaniel, on the other hand, is so painfully human. i think there’s a lot of nate in me, in that odd mix of overwhelming hubris and crushingly low self-esteem. in that strange self-loathing feeling one gets when one is caught preening and preforming for a crowd one quite acutely despises, (though the person one ultimately despises is one’s self.) but i felt so bad for nathaniel in this book… ;___; he needs a mother figure. and possibly a great big hug. or two.
-hugs nathaniel-
just to let y’all know– i’m alive in york now, trying to clear all my housekeeping thingies and errands AND finish my last essay. (oh dearie me…) my timetable’s shaping up to be extremely full and painful (even if i get to watch at least one free movie per week) so– sigh. we shall see, then.
