So much for that empty feeling.
Last night I finished my short story. It didn't turn out the way I expected it to. It was focused on love and, of course, the inevitable heartbreak, instead of on what I had planned it to be focused on. I really didn't expect myself to write a love story. Odd too, because I woke up to read Linda Strawberry's blog on her own love and heartbreak (my story was based on her).
I don't know how much I like my story and last night it got me thinking about myself and falling in love. This is never good. Me thinking about how I am incapable of the romantic sort of love. I hate it, too, because I yearn to again feel the warmth of another's heart, but instead I avoid it at all costs by choosing the wrong people to fall for and empty, usually drunken, affairs of the physical kind. I wish I could turn off this inability to love, but instead I get more comfortable in it's familiarity everyday. Blah blah blah...
Today in class, we discussed this girl's story about a severely depressed, self destructive girl. Finally, a story that had some depth. She was a cutter and didn't understand her own depression. The writer seemed to really grasp this concept, but I swear that it went above the head's of the rest of the class. I, of course, said nothing. I've dealt with my own depression for that past 8 or so years and I don't understand much better than I did way back when. And apparently ALL cutters have a history of sexual abuse. There is this older woman in the class and she said something about how a parent would know if their child was cutting--that the kid wouldnt be able to hide it and it seemed as if all the class came together in saying: "yes, they could." They are all experts on the subject apparently. I have done my share of self-destructive things (thank god I had my sleeves rolled down in class today)and I couldn't claim to understand it better than anyone else. I wish I did, but I don't. I've never understood my own depression or what has motivated me in much of the things I've done. I swear I was going somewhere with this...oh well. Babble babble.
I think it has been too long since I have been home. I miss my puppies and my mommy. God, do I ever. I am excited to go back this weekend (never thought I'd feel that way). I plan on spending lots of time at home and going to my grandma's. I want to fall asleep with Bear snuggled up as close to me as he can possibly get, instead of curled up in myself shivering the night away, fighting to fall asleep. Also, I am hanging out with Mark. It has been way too fucking long since I have seen that boy. I am pretty happy about seeing him. Also, Kelly said he would play with me. Yay!
So, in 12 days I turn 21 and I have pretty mixed feelings about that. That getting older thing is a change I am having a hard time grasping. At least Angela may be back for my birthday, which pretty much completes my life.
Also, I started thinking about school and what I am planning to do with my life and how can I possibly make it through graduating at WMU and then going on to grad school? Am I really capable of that? And I have all this fear and maybe it is rational to question one's self and the future they have planned. It figures that the one thing I would be rational about would be fear and insecurity.
God, I can't wait to be in Vegas. In the warm sun with Angela and my mom. Could there be any better way to celebrate turning 21?
I hate putting my thoughts into words. I never express them quite right. Yeah yeah. And now for the expected...I wonder how many people actually read all that nonsense.