I'm that girl, plus:
~the 20-something glamazon with the perfect life
~the tortured writer-artsy type
~the heartless bitch who will do anything to get ahead
~the constant flirt
(Because all of those things are mutually exclusive.)
And... there's so much I just want to scream. I just want to let go... let it all out. I'm not far from drowning in the secrets I keep. But I'm swimming and it's getting harder and harder to throw my arms out of the waves as they pound against me. I just need to let them go. Let go of my secrets and finally begin to LIVE. So here goes... I'm in love with a guy that I effectively know nothing about even though we've been together forever. I'm not over Hillary not being the nominee, as much as I deny it. I believe that torture works. I'm not as broken as I come off, but nor am I as happy as I seem. I love money. I love having things. I'm extremely reckless because I'm constantly waiting for someone to tell me that I"m worth fighting for. I'm probably going to be an addict when I grow up (if I'm not already). If given the chance, I'd publish my full memoir and full collection of poetry under my true name, not for the exposure but for the chance to shock the living fuck out of my parents. I revel in being a slut because I love the attention. I get very, very jealous. I know I'm at risk of breaking up Patrick's perfect life, but I'm falling for him in the worst way. I'm bailing on Hood, not because I got into Columbia but because I can't hide there anymore. If I'm not in a constant state of crisis, I start getting panic attacks. I despise pretty people but wont associate with the uglies, unless they're gross enough to make me look amazing. I don't trust anyone anymore. I love playing guys... it makes me feel so powerful. I am a total power trip addict. I live for politics not because I love it, but because it's the ultimate pool of power, sex and scandal. I'm pretty hardcore bulimic. I think I'm going through withdrawal from God and I'm not necessarily upset. I know I'm going to Hell... even though I don't really believe in anything anymore. I do most of what I do just to shock people. I can't go anywhere alone... or even be any place alone without panicking. I want to be Sylvia Plath and have found my Anne Sexton, but she's not as fucked-up as I need her to be, yet. I'm manipulating Patrick... but I really like him so... SHIT. I've found an agent a publisher but am too scared to actually publish in anything other than the anthologies because of the attention I might get. After the election, I plan on running away if we're not together (you can guess who the other half of the equation is... and if you do, tell me... because I don't know).
Wow. I needed that.
No comments:
Post a Comment