Eyes are just tiny little goo balls protected (occasionally) by a thin layer of flesh. Why haven't more people lost them? Are all the people without eyes walking around with glass prosthetics and blending in perfectly?
It feels like I haven't been hugged in years. I'm not sure I miss the feeling, but the fact that I'm thinking about it probably implies something.
My roommate thinks he'll be an actor someday, and that'll probably never happen. It's something, though. I don't have any real talents myself, but maybe if I just believed I did it'd be enough to make me actually put out some effort. Maybe all that'd work even amount to something one day.
Of course, there was a time when I thought I was special. I didn't really have a reason for that. It was just assumed. Maybe I'd have been better off not questioning it.
It's kind of hard to take anything my therapist says seriously when I know she's worried about me killing myself. She's obligated to convince me things are okay, regardless of who I am or what the state of things truly is. Right? I'm not going so far as to say that she's outright deceiving me, but it probably falls short of that by a slim margin.
I wish this was the sort of journal that fills a person with nostalgia when they read it years in the future. I don't even really know why I keep this, or my livejournal. These thoughts and feelings aren't really the kind that merit recording. They aren't even unique. Maybe the random crap that doesn't make sense is, but that's not really anything to be proud of.
It feels like I haven't been hugged in years. I'm not sure I miss the feeling, but the fact that I'm thinking about it probably implies something.
My roommate thinks he'll be an actor someday, and that'll probably never happen. It's something, though. I don't have any real talents myself, but maybe if I just believed I did it'd be enough to make me actually put out some effort. Maybe all that'd work even amount to something one day.
Of course, there was a time when I thought I was special. I didn't really have a reason for that. It was just assumed. Maybe I'd have been better off not questioning it.
It's kind of hard to take anything my therapist says seriously when I know she's worried about me killing myself. She's obligated to convince me things are okay, regardless of who I am or what the state of things truly is. Right? I'm not going so far as to say that she's outright deceiving me, but it probably falls short of that by a slim margin.
I wish this was the sort of journal that fills a person with nostalgia when they read it years in the future. I don't even really know why I keep this, or my livejournal. These thoughts and feelings aren't really the kind that merit recording. They aren't even unique. Maybe the random crap that doesn't make sense is, but that's not really anything to be proud of.
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I would hug you, if I could.
Even though you're not sure that's what you want.
If you email me your address, I'll send you one of those cards with a hug in it. You know, the really really stupid ones.