I feel such anxiety building up in me and I wonder how long it's been there. Jenny talks about how she puts on a happy front, and it makes me wonder how I cope. I suppose I deal with it by writing. I don't make any change in my daily appearance, and so my writing reflects my torment. I am so tired of caring. I am so tired of looking at myself and wondering what other people see, of wondering if they're going to judge me. I wish I could say that I'm tired of it, and so I'm just not going to do it anymore. But no matter how much I hate it, it doesn't go away. I know it doesn't do any good to care what others think, or to worry that they're judging me because no matter what I do, they're always going to judge me. You can't please everybody, right? So you should just stop trying. Right now, someone doesn't like me. Right now, I'm pissing someone off. Probably a lot of people, with a post like this. But since I don't have to see your face or read your ugly thoughts, I just don't care enough to stop. Don't you know that's why I write everything down? Somehow, I am able to separate my written life from my real one. It's so easy to pretend that you've forgotten what you wrote, to act like you're not still feeling exactly the same as when you wrote it. Maybe it's like being drunk or impaired. You have some excuse for not acting the way you normally do.
As I write this, I realize that I'm so Goddamned needy. I am so fucking dependent on others that I want to just throw away my friendship with them just to force myself into independence. I can see myself going wrong, and still I do these things. I call your number a thousand times, I sit here alone and wait for you to get back so that I can go out and shrug off my concerns. And I know that you're sick of me a lot of the time. I know that. And that's why I've been so deadset on finding things to do, ways to fill my time. Like maybe if I can just be a little bit less pathetic, maybe you'd actually have a chance to miss me, want to do things with me. I'm so desperate for attention, for love that I'll just ignore all the little things you do or say that let me know you'd rather be anywhere else. I don't care that I'm making you miserable because even though you sometimes make me feel like shit, I'd rather have bad company than be alone. That's the whole, sad truth. I want to stop doing it. I want to be different. But I guess I'm just too much of a coward. Wait for change. I wait for change to force me into new situations. Until then, I will sit on my ass and let everything come at me, passive as can be.
