If sleep is for the weak I’d much love to be weak indeed and yet though I feel so fragile and tiny I have little sleep. To be weak and still have little sleep: such is the curse of the college life.
Classes haven’t even started yet and here I find myself with a heart that has sunk to the bottom of the sea because it was filled with rocks. Rocks which I put into it in the first place.
It wasn’t like I didn’t expect it. In fact, I anticipated it. So why did I still continue?
Because I’m a drug addict who feeds on emotions rather than the pharmaceuticals to blast enough hormones inside me to still let me feel alive. Because otherwise I feel like nothing more than a machine which calculates peoples actions and uses it to its advantage.
There are times when I think about how you kissed me when we returned to that place which i swore never again to enter.
I want to do that again but I fear that what I may be feeling is list rather than an actual affection. No, I am fond of you. Truly and honestly and mind numbingly fond of you. I could even say that I love you. The feelings you stir up in my chest is like an amalgam of breathtaking emotions and it’s scary because I’ve never been this way when I’m with someone. It’s like everything ceases to exist and I care about only what you think and what you want us to do and I struggle against it because I refuse to be that way. I refuse to be some helpless schmuck who just follows without their own mind and disregarding their own thoughts.
This is possibly why I’m not with you; because I’m afraid.
I’ve had dreams that I’m on the altar in a wedding gown and I say “I don’t”
And I wake up scared shitless.
It comes as a shocking thought that no one in this family trusts the other.
Scratch that, about 2/3 persons in this family of three don’t trust the other two. Mom’s the golden exception.
I have my secrets. I prefer to have my school life and my house life very separate. I curse, I drink, I’ve done intimate shit with people, and I talk about sex as if its nothing else but a pile of hormones specially bundled to give you the best high one can get. None of these would be particularly understood by either of them. Shit, I don’t even think they’ve had sex after they had me.
My father keeps his phone and tablet with him at all times. Much like me. He has passwords on everything and doesn’t give it out to anyone, not even his wife. I don’t have a quarrel with it as long as he keeps his nose out of my business.
As for my mom? She’s the most open one. No passwords on anything except her computer and we know the password to that.
It’s tiring having to hide your true self all the time. And recently I realise this really isn’t home for me.
Home isn’t home without a “me” anyway. Hahaha. God that was lame.