I am shaking. The thermostat in my room reads eighty degrees, but I am shaking. The Rockstar in my hand isn't helping, but I can't put it down. I want to sleep, though I know nothing good can come of tonight's dreams, or of the night itself. I am hallucinating, I am tired, but I cannot sleep. One more sip, one more plan, one more list to make to complete today. . . I have to feel productive. I have to produce. I have to make today count before it is over and wasted. I can't, I won't let it be wasted.
Too much is outside of my control right now. Too much depends on others; but I am going to start standing up for myself now. I am still shaking. My ribs ache from the concert Wednesday. My legs ache, my heart throbs. I am such a sap for the helpless, such a bleeding heart for the abandoned, it makes me sick.
I see in this little cat something I hate most dearly about myself. He needs others, though he has tried to survive on his own. He needs us because without support he would most assuredly die alone and unloved. I can't let a stray go by because I feel an obligation to the kindred, abandoned soul.
This empathy is overwhelming, I want to break down and forget myself. I want to die; and leave this paradoxical existence behind. Why should someone so helplessly logical be tethered to such strong emotions as empathy and love?
It's a cruel life, and I hate it. But more than that I hate those who take advantage of it.
I hate those petty bitches I call housemates. I hate the thin veneer of friendship they hide behind. I hate their saccharine smiles and fake affection. They make me sick to my stomach. I wish upon them a vacant existence walled in by their insecurities and shallow views of life. It's not my fault if you can't love yourself; it's not the cat's fault if you can't love anyone else either. Stop externalizing your problems.
No, Helena, joking about my job will not make your sad little data entry position seem any cooler. I may be serving food, and I may not be as well off monetarily as you- but at least I manage to live my life with a modicum of dignity. What was that line? I think it said something about people-- miserable little people like you, didn't it? People like you who are 'unhappy with the riches 'cause you're piss poor morally'. I think that's right.
Sorry, Jaime, but no amount of putting me down will reduce the number on the jeans covering that lardy ass of yours. I'm not in the practice of self-elevation, but if I may, I will say that jealousy isn't pretty on a lady- and you- though you are abso-fucking-lutely no lady, should at least fake it, for your sake. Get the fuck over your attitude, take yourself to a fucking gym and stop feeding your ego by tearing everyone else down. Or don't. I can't wait until someone finally decides they're over you and takes you down a peg, by force. I hope I'm there to see it.
And no, Danny, making jokes about Jake's new hobbies will not make your pathetic excuse for a penis seem any bigger, not even to that prude bitch you call a girlfriend.
I hate it too- because they all disgust me and there is really nothing I have been able to do about it. I bound myself from my true desires, held myself back for the flogging because I was so concerned with Jake, and his feelings.
Now that I have his permission to be free of these shackles I don't care who hears or reads, I want the world to know I am no longer granting them my consent to push me around. I will not give approval for my own destruction. I am no longer allowing myself to be bound by these ridiculous rules and insane social customs that I neither agree with, nor find tolerable.
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