Handling. Coping. Neither of these things are on my list of fortes. I hide my tears away from the world, hoping that someday I won't have to feel like this. Hoping that now is when I pay such a tolling price in suffering so that later I may be able to be some shade of happiness. She walked in here. I had already been crying and did not want her to see my tears, so I pretended to stretch and discreetly wiped away the liquid gushing from my eyes; praying that she wouldn't notice or ask any questions. She went on to talk about something or another; paying attention in this state is very much a chore, but she left, having not noticed my swollen, glassy eyes. I'm often overwhelmed by the crushing feeling that I'm going to end up alone and meloncholy for most of my life. I feel invisible and disabled; like my emotions have been stomped into the ground and torn and stretched for a thousand miles. I live in my room, between these 4 walls; it's like a prison with nice furnishing. This is my safe haven away from all of those things outside that make me come to grips with the falsities in which I'm cocooned. All of the lies that I accept, and all of the truths that I denounce. The hours of self-hate and self-medication, only to dissipate temporarily and come back with avengeance.
Between the dots
5:18 p.m.//05.12.05
Mood: Depressed
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