Letters to Strangers
No.
I am short. My face is round. You have to look really hard to find the nail on my pinky-toe because some weird genetics gave me my mothers' really hideous feet and my dads' really angry face. I've got hair that's killed innocent people - I find that part amusing. To be honest, I'm almost blind in my left eye and I am completely asymmetrical in all aspects.
I am forced to listen to bad soft rock and sometimes I like it. When I'm sick I get whiny, and I hate,
hate ignorance. I would be dead without the people in my life because I am severely insecure and I have moments of such deep depression and low self esteem that my mind tells me to jump off into a canyon and just get it over with because I will be going nowhere.
Strange, because I love my life.
I am imperfect. There I said it.
I am allergic to cats, and probably my birds, too, and if I even get a foots' distance to poison oak I break out in itch. I get hives from being stressed out, and my back goes out often and I collapse. I don't sleep enough. Sometimes I don't eat for two days straight. It's not a physical thing, sometimes I just forget.
It's about ninety degrees in my room right now and I am freezing. I feel like my feet have been stuck permanently in an ice box. And I've been that way since Thanksgiving. My nose is red and raw and it hates me with a passion. I am dehydrated.
I am lonely.
I am listless.
I am wandering through my head and trying to figure out where to go from here.
I can't help but to say that it got pretty dark there. I know it's weird, but the feeling of reading that all over again made me choke and at points I couldn't believe it was me who was writing and it was painful. But I know it's not over.
Given the occasion, though, I just wish I could have a hug when I needed one.
That just never seems to happen.
A few weeks ago I wound up curled up against one of my closest friends, crying into his shoulder in the girls' bathroom. Everyone that walked by ignored it - the fact that I was sobbing noiselessly into his sweater and the fact that he donned a penis. It was sweet and it was terrible and it was scary. Things got pretty bad. I'm not saying they're really any better. I think I'm just ignoring more of it, now, again, like I had been before.
And I can't tell if I'm drifting back towards everyone or farther and farther away. Which is strange because I know for a fact that I'm not in the same place as I was a month ago.
I hope Christmas doesn't end as bad as it did last year.
Stumble!