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10 January 2003 - 5:14 am
the traditional self-hate entry.
there's something intimately horrible about the word "alone".
again, one of those suicidal non-sleep nights. where the world seems inverted. where everyone is against you and there is ... well, nothing.
what do i want? i want to know that there is someone who cares regardless of what i do or who i am. there might be people who do that already, but i don't know it. or i don't trust it. or something. i feel betrayed on every front, but no one has done anything to betray me. i feel torn apart and ripped to shreds by some vast machine of mechanical, grinding explosions. one after the other. i'm tearing at my fingernails as if they were a substitute for my wrists, which i couldn't do anything about tonight. i laid in front of the door with a bottle of pills and sighed. again. couldn't do it.
i think my heart is blackened. like an overcooked meat. i would rather not feel anything anymore. i sound dark, bleak, and melodramatic and I DON'T CARE. in one day matt cary will be leaving. i'm not sure how i feel about that. i think that ... it's one of my last refuges to play on his attention, to play on anyone's attention. maybe because i know that he cares. or because he pays attention to me.
i hate you people. i hate you all. why won't you accept me. why can't i just be who i am without having to worry about changing my opinions or holding fast to my thoughts or anything? why can't i just live for living, and .. in the nighttime, talk about ... i don't fucking know, emile zola, gustave flaubert, oprah fucking winfrey ... i don't give a shit, but no more. i can't take this anymore.
//
i had a ... conversation with josh mcvay tonight. he was mostly drunk but lucid enough to talk about philip glass, salvador dali, jean-paul sartre, and the meaning of life on a whole. fascinating. "i think we have to create as much as we can, as much as will fill the void that we leave behind when we die"
i think i said that. i don't think i believe it, but it's ... interesting to consider.
i live my life through hypothesis. (i imagine writing a play with two people playing cards on the stage and the set is two large transparent glass panels meant to represent the eyes of someone looking out and the two are inside the head)
"talking doesn't accomplish anything"
and do you know why? because we all can't solve any of our problems. i feel hollow and empty after i talk to anyone. as if i've said everything but all you can get is commisseration or "i know how you feel" or some sort of empathy. is it cold of me to say "I DON'T CARE, JUST FIX IT" or to want that sheltering protection ..
god. i broke down last week, when i was drunk on vodka, out in the hallway, and started shuddering, and matt hugged me "there's nothing homoerotic about this" he said and hugged me and i was so trapped ... i needed the reassurance and at the same time all i could think about was eric fuller, eric fuller, how near it all was, and the strains of (pachelbel's canon in d) playing through my head and hands everywhere, hands ..
i thought i'd gotten over it, but apparently i didn't. apparently. apparently.
intimacy is a strange, cold word. i don't care for anything right now. i think i want to talk but at the same time it helps nothing, it does nothing, so i'm just bitter & acerbic and hateful to everyone i know, and that hate translates .. -- "so much hostility ... // what're you thinking?"
i don't think. there is nothing there, it's a jumble of thoughts, i don't have an inner monologue that just stops that i can pick something out of (i feel as though time is running out and that i don't have much left, i'm going to be stranded after saturday, left to my own devices and isolation, again ... i refuse, i refuse .. )
what else can i do? hide out? uncare? die? i tried that. it doesn't work.
this is a crossroads, a stalemate, an angry rush of words that make no sense to me or anyone else. and yeah, i'm crying again. i fucking hate crying, i hate tears and i hate feeling anything because it all leads back to this, to this, to this.
"i can't wait to go out to LA / i'll ride your coattails to fame / i've got an agent / i've got an audition / you've got that model look, you could get so much work / you have a couch, right / you have a couch, right / road-trip / nevada mountains, desert road and then just up / just up / just up / it's about 2000 feet above sea level"
and here i am drowning. in a flood of my own anger, jealousy, hatred. perfectly formed human beings should not exist, who give glances and little half-turned looks of ..
"does it inspire great sadness in you to see us all self-destruct like this?" i ask, half-lolling in and out of the chair, my eyes must be so glazed over by now (if they do) and i stare, waiting for the responce :
a little inhalation, he starts to shake his head, and then says .. "no, just mediocre sadness."
great. well, great. well - wonderful. you go be the perfect thing that everyone worships adores and looks up to. inspire your freedom across the land. start a fucking religious revolution, i don't give a damn.
ha, ironic.
//
i wonder if i have brain-fever. i think matt crashed in the quad with casey tonight. everyone always goes to the quad. in two days when school begins again i'm sure this will be the Haven of Isolation once more. as per fucking usual. i can't decide if i like it like that. i can't decide anything. i feel twisted and mangled out of shape so much now that any semblance of hope i had is gone.
i don't know if i can face the sunrise. i'm sure as hell not going to be sleeping tonight. i don't know what to do.
i feel like screaming out for help but i know it wouldn't do anything.
i think i've gone beyond the point of no return. (oh. tonight i came out of the movie store and sat in rachel's van silent while he played with the stations. "let it be" came on. he turned it up. i sat there. it was silent. it reminded me of when i used to sit in the car with my stepdad and neither of us would say anything to each other, because there was so much to say and we didn't know where to begin - or ... we hated each other ... or god knows)
i think i can't be reached. i wish someone would try, though. as much as i say i don't want it. i tried to throw myself out the fucking window for chrissake
what more can i possibly do
to communicate
how much
i want
to die?
(thanks. bye.)