2000-10-16 Perhaps it's slightly stupid to read ash on these computers. I don't know. I'm constantly reminded of the fact that anyone can look at my screen to see what I'm doing. I haven't started the literary essay yet. I'm not surprised, but I'm already stressed out because of it. I never seem to be able to do anything if I don't o.d. on stress first. Otherwise I'm... useless. "What to do... I'll tell you what I do. I kill a little bit of myself, or a bit of me is killed, but one way or the other I end up a little bit diminished, a little bit less human. I find myself a little bit more firm in my beliefs that no one could ever care about me, love me. I'm a little closer to death." I've found myself quoting others a whole lot lately. Been quoting even myself when there's nothing new to tell, and I've used the words so many times already. So I wonder... why do I bother? There is nothing to be said, and nothing to be read. I have these endless files on my computer, and when I think of leaving them behind when I die, I feel ill and disgusted and I want to erase every trace of what exists of me now. Yet I can't do it. I can't because I'm here now and I need my files to tell me that I haven't completely lost all of those things yet, I need them to remind me of what has been and what could be, and I need them to keep me sane (or insane, depending on your point of view). I need them to remind me that I exist. When I was a kid I found out that forgetting is the most sensible way of fighting things you can't dea with. And lately those supressed memories have been coming back. They always do, and I blame the chance of athmosphere for it this time (I can't remember what I called it the last time). There just are so many things that I desperately need to forget, things I can't stand living with, and I don't know what to do with them now. I just can't remember. I can't. Nothing ever happened. For fuck's sake... I just can't handle this. |
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