2003-02-19 - 12:31 a.m.
'isn't sleep death's cousin?'
No sleep is ever the good sleep, though. No sleep will ever be enough sleep.
And time does not erase all wounds. I'm the walking wounded. The walking dead inside. I'm lost. So fucking lost. And this thing has taken root in me. It's rotting the only good places I may have had left. It�s happening to me right now. I can feel it. As I speak out loud to empty rooms. As I type words unread. As I think these meaningless thoughts. I'm rotting away. Dying on the inside. The outside too. And there's nothing I can do to stop it. There was nothing I could do to change things.
And every single time I think there may be a chance for me out there, somewhere, with someone. That's ripped away. And this time, the damage probably outweighs any future good. Because nothing changes this. Nothing erases it or eases it or takes it's place. Nothing. I'm stuck with it. With my bad decisions and one boy's bad aggression. I'm stuck with him in me for fucking ever.
And I still haven't cried over this. This. This whatever it is. Whatever it was. I can't. And nothing's scarier than when my sister calls me sweetheart. It makes me know that things are probably worse than they seem. Worse than I'm making them out to be. Or letting them be.
All I can think about right now is that he had to have seen it in me. This vulnerability. This thing in me that makes me so weak. This thing in me that let me overlook the things I should have seen before, but somehow just didn't. He had to have seen it there. Lying inside me like so many journals left open for prying eyes. Like the open book I never thought I was. He looked in and saw. And used it. He used it against me.
And it's too much. And I just want to say, 'Fuck you,' to school and responsibility and life in general and just sleep. I want to bring my bed downstairs. I want to build a fort. I want to feel safe and protected. I want darkness. And comfort. And blankets. And sleep. Beautiful sleep without the ugliness of dreams. Without the threat of morning or waking up. I just want sleep. Blissful, unattainable, unrealistic, never-ending sleep. But no. That's not in the cards.
Tomorrow's German class and there are movies to take back and bills to be paid. There's garbage to take out and caffeine to be had. There's no sleep. Just the monotony of every day life after today. After yesterday. After tomorrow. All lined up and no amount of ticking one off makes the list any shorter. There's always something to be done tomorrow. There's always life to be lived. Even when I don't want to. Even when it seems just far too unfair and cruel for anyone to expect me to. Today wasn't the end. And either will tomorrow be.
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