Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word, Elton John - or maybe the version Joe McElderry did on X Factor ages ago, that's quite a nice one.
Sorry about the last post. It doesn't even matter. I ranted at mum for ages about it and now I'm calmer.
I feel restrained. It started a few weeks ago, and it's been gradually building up to what it is now - essentially a sense of close, intense, unpleasant confinement. I'm locked in a metaphorical coffin. It makes no sense. The minute the first good thing to really happen to me for ages began, the ropes kicking around my imagination suddenly flexed around my mind and completely robbed me of my freedom. I fucking hate it. Unfortunately, the only way to get it back again is unthinkable. So I'm TRAPPED. I have my options, I know, which I can't put up on here [because I'm TRAPPED by the pressure of knowing who's reading this] but in terms of how they affect me, they basically go:
- Remain uncomfortable and unhappy and irritable and TRAPPED.
- Regain my freedom, but also balls everything up with someone who means the world to me.
- Deliberately turn my back on anything resembling ethics and inevitably carry the guilt for the rest of my life.
So I have options, but no choice.
Quote of the Day: I'm a vindictive little bitch, truth be told. [...] Too many guys think I'm a concept or I complete them or I'm going to make them alive, but I'm just a fucked up girl who is looking for my own peace of mind. Don't assign me yours. [Clementine Kruczynski, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind]
No comments:
Post a Comment