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I can't talk
Scribbled down on Saturday, 1 October 2005 15:32:38 PM |
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Dearest diary, Everytime I come here I don't have anything to say while I do. I always do. Guess I couldn't talk openly about everything as I thought in the beginning. I consider myself better in the written word when there aren't any readers (someone would find this place sooner or later, privacy I don't really have) than the spoken word. Facial expressions distract me of the voice in my head, to dictate what it is saying. I'm not spontaneous even I come out as one. It was all said and done in my head firstly, before you heard me saying it. What bothers me the most is the way I talk. Sometimes I think I have a brain defect too for being unable to get the right words or as I said, 'to repeat the voice that spoke inside' so others would understand me. I had a lot to say but when I spoke, I had to face the horror of a few lousy, not well formulated sentences coming out which didn't capture most of what I was planning or had to say. It made me appear as someone stupid or uneducated. I simply can't formulate words well when I talk to someone. It worsened when I was nervous. I can't talk... and the idea I'm writing on the net is also stealing my writing skills. Alive I've lost a lot for my unability to express myself verbally. It cost me a lot of money too as I don't or can't defend myself. I'm a retarted coward. Sad. T. mailed me back. I wonder what she's saying. I emailed her yesterday on B.'s laptop. It was an impulsive deed. I was asking her a favor. Now a day has passed, I see there's no need to. I'll just write back and say that. Ever since he told me he washes his gorgeous hair with zwitsal *smiles* I couldn't help remembering it to either enter the stores and smell any zwitsal products or to buy one. I bought a showergel today because I had time. B. had sent me out to get him some fries. I used a bit of his money to buy it. I'm a stealer and not ashamed of it. He does the same with me. We're even steven. It smells nice, sort of soapy but soft. I was giggling the whole way home. If he knew, he'd surely think I was obsessed (I am) and a sort of a stalker (I'm not). How would I feel if someone I didn't like.. or didn't know got obsessed with me and bought everything or anything to be able to feel me...? I'd be very flattered and honoured. If he ever reads this... Well,... I don't know. I'm having some paranoia attacks here. He wouldn't be so happy, I think. Or he may be.. but would wave it away with one hand and forget it as I'm nowhere close to special. The more I spend my time online the angrier I get. There are so many people who have a journal... So I read them, whatever I find. I'm so much in a conflict, you have no idea. Others make me... basically hate myself tonnes of times more. And then, I had this perfect diary in my head... and all that doesn't matches it, is bad. I need to get over this as I'm no God. And if there was a God, he would still not tell anyone what to do. I know what this was. It wasn't hatred 'because you're doing something wrong', it was envy. I secretly wish I was talented with anything (but I am not) and could stay in touch with people (naturally). Instead I run anyway, that's really funny. I think I don't like commitments. I can't have anyone relying on me... it pressures me. Like these hamsters I used to have. You hold them in your hands or tightly, they keep moving around, trying their utmost best to escape the grip. I was exactly the same. The reality is always going to be... 'I'm not them nor will I ever be'. I'm growing older, I won't ever be a child again or a teen. I either make things comfortable for me in my own unique way or everything continues as they were before with me depressed. M. was gone for two months now. Death or alive, he wasn't here. I'm trying to cut his name from my tongue but I was always saying his name unnoticed. I miss him... With him things would've been less lonely, dark. I'd be in company. I can't forgive myself as I believe I was just lied to. It all sounded very honest... and he kept telling me he wouldn't do it alone and worse, I swallowed his words like this sweet candy. He made a promise. He made me promises. Promises don't mean anything. In both ways I will keep blaming myself, for being naive and for letting him travel instead of visiting me right away. That's what happens when you want to play the good samaritan. Now he was gone. Disappeared. His phone continued to be dead. Both of them. I may not have credits, I know if I had to phone, nothing would answer at the other side, just some random voice telling me that the number was currently unavailable. It started with ray of light and together everything died in Hung Up. I mean it. I used to be a Madonna fan, now she's not. Her upcoming single was not only remembering of the way I got 'dumped', it was extremely annoying. I don't like dance songs with no meaning (she said so) despite the meaning I gave to it. Everything was changing. It's good that my bag was emptying itself by itself. In no way would I feel I lost something or went away, leaving something behind. |