He doesn't know. Maybe he might know but he just doesn't care. I wish I knew, but I don't. I can't. Not my policy. It just really hurts to be like this. To boil mortally in a stew of classic sadness and remember all the times when I thought he cared. My insides keep saying he does, but I always second think that's what my body wants to say intead of what needs to be said. I don't trust my body, let alone a boy's feelings. I want to trust his feelings, to honestly just believe that he liked me and I liked him back and just be in 'the like'. To be in that blissful whirlwind of like and happiness. To feel like I meant something.

You see, that's why I feel I can't trust my body. Is it just hormones, or really my heart saying yes? Is it a honest quest for 'like' rather than an ego boost? I'm afraid that's my conclusion. To realize I'm not even in 'like' or on the road to love, but readying to set myself for hurt. And that's so selfish to think like that.

He is beautiful, of course. He's very pretty, so pretty. Not like a girl, but in the way of a model. Bless him for his good looks. That's not the only thing he has. He has his smarts, in favorite fields of his choice he's a genius in the crowd. He's wonderful. I couldn't say any less of him. If I tried, it would be impossible. I adore him.

His eyes glow when he laughs, green gray is my favorite color as of now. That smile is so golden. He charms, he's clever. What a dedication. I don't want him to see this, despite spending hours on writing a completely different outline and then having it wiped clean again. Its very annoying. But if I can write about him, then its worth my anger.

Even when his temper flares, it's charming. He has a bad temper, but I still like him. He wanted to hurt his friend once in that anger, but he didn't. He's strong like that.

Please don't be reading this.

I want you to care about me. I really want you to. But I can't make you do that. It's your choice whether you like me or not. I feel different from before. When did we change? Why did we change? Was the shift that said 'I care too'? I want so selfishly, and miserably for you to be in the like with me. It almost hurts to care so much. Remember those days when I was sad? That was you.
That day when I didn't talk to you and acted like I was mad? You, again. And today when we stood beside each other and didn't say a thing at all? I liked that. I did. It was nice to have you stand next to me. I wanted to touch your foot with mine, I wanted to break the barrier. I didn't. I like you so much. Do you even know how awesome you are? I don't believe you do. You make me sad in ways I shouldn't. I don't like it. You made me cry and you didn't even know.

The scariest part is that if you actually know. And you don't like me back. I don't want that. If you hurt me, you're the last. I won't ever care about another person again. I swear. Never.

Well, that's drastic. Sure.

When I see you smile, I feel better instantly, like a cure for cancer. It makes me feel alive. It makes things hurt less bad. It almost makes me think that I really care a lot. I'm afraid to say it though sometimes. But I know you're different from the other two. When I say I like you aloud, I don't automatically lose feelings. They're just there, stronger than ever. They're there when you aren't.

I want you there. But not sexually. That's the strangest thing. I can't think of a time when I did think of you that way. Honest and always.

Do you feel that way too? Do I put a crack in your heart when I avoid your eyes? When I act angry with you? When we don't talk?

If only, if only. <3

I want to love you.

9/19/08
 

(Because that's not me.)

I'm not a rhymer for the masses, only a writer who can just write.

This is personal, and therefore might attract possible criticism. "This is ridiculous. This is crazy. This sounds soooo whiny. This isn't something you should post. This is something you need to show to your therapist."

Well then...

Bring it on.

Lately my head feels like it's been inside a bag. A sticky, plastic, un-recyclable bag. It's filled with a hazy fog that curdles every thought or task I try to complete. It's never done. My body is tired all the time. The gears inside are clogged with gunk that's coming out of nowhere. I'm withdrawing because I'm tired. I'm tired because my head has a cloudy forecast with a chance of crazy. My head is cloudy because-

I have no clue.

But it feels more than that. My brain feels so heavy inside its cavity. It sort of feels like that. A cavity that's rotted through and its destroying its neighboring teeth. A nuisance that's starting to affect everything around me. Ma gets irritated when I'm in my head and she's talking. I don't like making her upset. I can't help it.

I can't help to say how much of my fault it is.

And how much it isn't.

The battle I've fought with my head goes back to the diaper era. Of course I knew nothing was wrong. How could I? I was a baby. Babies don't understand things like bandaged thoughts and rippled tides also known as concentration. I guess they do, subconsciously, like we all understand physics that way. We know what it is, but we don't add up the math behind it. We just know.

I digress, as thoughts always do up here.

I remember knowing that I was wrong inside. And no. I'm not talking about how a girl feels inside that they're actually a boy. NO. Ment-ally. I'm talking mentally. How my brain felt squeezed into a tiny compartment aka my skull. Not like I have much intelligence that's pushing my brain out my ears. Not like that. It just feels...stuffed. Like a turkey. Or a moose. Amazing thing taxidermy is, ain't it? Everything is detached and hazy. I'm scared. A kid with no clue what's making her frustrated and cry. A kid who hid in a coat closet to get away from the world. From problems.

I still wish I could do that.

People give the worst criticism nowadays, don't you think? So, no. Couldn't possibly go through that. Outrageous. Petty. Scandalous. What would people think of an eighteen year old girl huddling herself in a closet.

Probably more than very much.

I know now what's wrong, but what I thought was so wrong, was so right. I used to hate myself for acting like that, and I still wince at the past when it comes around. It's hard running away when you can't really run away from it. How can you run from a thought? It's always there. In your head. Waiting for the opportunity to jump you in your mind's dark alley.

This is more than a bearing of a secret that isn't so secret to me. It's the smallest peephole I've created, so I can let someone inside my head, and somehow find a connection that could possibly make me feel less alone. And give someone the feeling they aren't alone too. People have told me I'm not. But that doesn't stop me from feeling it. And writing here has made it a little more bearable.

So thanks.

<3 IndiTell