|Monday, September 9th, 2002|
4:27a - Tongue Rhymes With Young But Is Not Spelled In A Similar Fashion!
I know exactly what I would like to say, but whenever I try to communicate, what comes out sounds as though I do not speak the same language as whoever I am speaking to.
There is no message that I cannot foul up. There are things I long to say and do, but my fear of making a mistake hinders me. This is partially my own fault, being a perfectionist, and is partially the fault of myself, but not in the same sense, seeing as how my self-esteem is too low to jump for anything I want. I wish I was a conceited retard so that being buffed would barely phaze me and seeing something I wanted and actually going for it would be commonplace.
Whatever. The point in all this is that my timing sucks. I am so desperate to top these people that don't even matter to me, dare I say, people who I hate. I have this insane desire to be better than them, and not even in the eyes of others, merely in the eyes of myself, which causes it to be a further sick and twisted bit of self-torture.
Tonight even, I was asked to do something low. A friend of mine, who will doubtless read this later and get mad at me even though I didn't reveal her name, asked me to devirginise a guy that she is interested in because she didn't want the responsibility of him getting sexually attached.
There are several things wrong with this:
1) He's a picky guy. What on Earth makes her think he would drop his pants for me, especially since he is a virgin?
2) One of the reasons she doesn't want to take his cherry is because he is supposedly a violent person, and if he gets obsessed post-coitus, she is afraid he will hurt her. The solution? Pass this violent boy onto your friend, who can brave this web of stolen innocence and then leave her to steer easily through freshly dug canal?
3) He is a Taurus, and so am I. Tauruses do not get along. The friendship I have sustained with Jessica has, at times, been severely damaged by the fact that we both have the same personality traits, though outwardly are like night and day. We share the bond of birthday and therefore would rather butt heads until we are senseless than back down.
4) Say I get attached, because I think he's a great guy. Post-coitus, he being a virgin and all, he might get attached back, cutting her entirely out of the equation. This would make her jealous and possibly ruin the friendship. My telling her that I told her so would further increase the size of this problem. But say the devirginisation backfires, and he ends up becoming some male whore, and ends up sleeping with her, which is what she wants... who will be heart-broken? Who will have been used?
5) Since when do I become the person who you throw your virgins to when you want them broken in so you can use them without responsibility? This isn't the first time someone has asked me to take someone for the first time so they can use them worry free later.
6) I have a boyfriend. That's right, Stefan and I are an item again and no one seems to respect that.
7) She actually thought that this would make me happy. I pointed out all these discrepancies to her, and she countered, "I thought if I slept with him, you would be mad that I've had two virgins, and no one you've ever slept with has been one." How would I even know that a) she had slept with him and b) he had been a virgin if she didn't tell me. Furthermore, why would that make me mad if I don't even know the guy? No amount of shagging virgins now can make up for my giving my innocence to a no-good tainted asshole. Not a literal asshole, mind you, that would be rather difficult seeing as how I have no dick, but someone who deserved it by no means.
8) What do I get out of all of this? Contractors get paid to build canals, but all I get is a mess for breaking someone in sexually?
9) As previously stated, I have dangerously low self-esteem, and this suggestion completely disregards that. Way to be attentive.
10) What makes everyone think that I am so insensitive that I can perform a task that would not only make me into some sort of tool, but would render them broken in and ripe for objectifying and disposing of at one's leisure?
11) The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Never forget that.
Maybe this only makes sense to me because I am cranky. Maybe people should take the fall for behaviour that they know is dangerous rather than pushing their friends to go first through the fire pit, and then proceeding only after they see that either a) the friend has emerged unscathed or b) the friend has sustained serious, possibly fatal, injury in said trek but in doing so has somehow extinguished all danger.
I am not your human sacrifice.
I am not the taker of virginity.
I am not desirable.
Also, if you can spell "morgue" you can spell "tongue". If I see one more person spell it "t-o-u-n-g-e" I will kill myself. Not that I am the supreme master of spelling, but it just bothers me.
I feel angry and abandoned. I am 18 and have the most flexible schedule in the universe and yet no one will hire me. I think I might have ovarian cancer. The thought of cancer doesn't really scare me because in one way or another, I don't want to continue living. This is why I won't quit smoking.
I won't quit smoking because of the health reasons, but the moment it begins fucking with my singing voice or turns my nails or teeth yellow, I will stop. My priorities are all out of order. Words are welling up inside with no place to go. I feel as though people are only on my friends list out of politeness and courtesy rather than actually reading what I write, which is fine by me, because it IS a journal, but I'd rather not go through the daily betrayal of the smiling faces on my friends page. If you do not like me, please delete me.
Out of sight, out of mind. Out of heart, out of head.
I should stop falling for artsy types and ambitious people. When I am in their proximity it only makes me feel aimless, though I have an aim. I want to make a living by writing, but how I am going to accomplish that without tearing each and every manuscript to shreds eludes me. Just because I don't have a job I hate myself. Just because my body does not mirror Salma Hayek's I feel like a waste. Just because my hair will never look like Marisa Tomei's looked in My Cousin Vinny I will think it is hideous.
When I look in the mirror, all I see is hideous, so I try to cover it up. I wear lipstick and glitter and I laugh and smile and hope that I come off as pleasant. But when I smile, I know that what's behind my eyes is dead. It's not genuine. It feels like I'm vomiting when I force a laugh but I do it all the time. I may as well be a personality-bulimic.
I read about how other people are strong, and they think posts like this are self-indulgent and "woe-is-me bullshit" and I envy them. I wish I could agree with them on a higher level than recognising it as pathetic.
I don't think my life is hard by any means, but living my life curled up in my head amidst toxic thoughts and black voices that don't go away is sure as hell a challenge. I live in an upper-middle-class setting and usually get whatever I want without having to work for it. The only things I have to exercise are my out-stretched hands and my whining vocal cords.
One more this, one more that. I don't want pity, and I don't want people to sneer at me or look down on me for feeling like this. A ton of people think I am spoiled, some poor-little-rich-girl. I may not be starving in some third world country with more diseases than interns with whom Clinton has slept, but feelings are feelings. If I feel bad, it's bad. I don't think that you have to feel guilty for feeling shitty in a not-so-bad life.
There are some homeless people, who have pretty much nothing but clothes on their backs who are happy. I've met them. They owe no one anything. And the average homeless joe makes about $12,000 a year. How they spend it is nobody's business but their own, and they don't have to pay taxes. They're not always happy mind you, but for the most part they are. And because of all the unhappy homeless people you've seen, you're going to point the finger at me and say, "How dare you feel bad, look how great you've got it!"?
It is harder to be able to freely feel shitty when you've got it all when you've got nothing. So because I have lots of material possessions, I am not allowed a bit of understanding? I am sure that lots of you with rich mummies and daddies feel awful a lot of the time too. They can't understand that you won't be what they want you to be. It kills you how other things are more important to them than you are. You have to put on a face for your extended family. You have to sneak around to do things you really like because if they find out you'll be in big shit trouble. The fact that the real world is going to kick the shit out of you scares you, and the fact that there are no sympathetic ears, (even of the people in your own situation, who are often too phony to admit they feel the same) makes you feel no less than demolished.
Feelings are feelings, and beliefs are beliefs, and ignorance is a disease from which everyone suffers, some more than others.
I'll try hard not to pass judgment on you if you extend the same courtesy.
current mood: whatever
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