Failure is my passion

I'm in a better mood today. I just had to think my thoughts out a lot better and then I started writing and I couldnt stop. I've been listening to Lydia a lot lately and all of their songs are amazing and take me into a whole different world. They make me feel amazing and help me write too. I really want to get all my writings in order and keep them neat and organized.I think this summer I will do a better job of that. I can't believe my birthday is less than a week away and I'm going to be 25 already. Jeez. I get really nostalgic around my birthday and I think back to so many things. Mostly things that involve Jay. Weird I know. I think back to how innocent,silly and naive I was with him. I think back to all the mistakes I made after him and all the non-mistakes I made as well... all the decisions i ultimately made that brought me to wear I am today. I guess the older I get the more I'm going to question my decisions. I know Steve gets pissy when i do this but I love reading my old journals, journals that I've been keeping since I was like 17. It's almost like therapy for me. I'm going to see my therapist tomorrow and I'm not feeling that nervous at all. I know a lot of my friends want me to just tell them what's bothering me and the vent to them but its not that easy. I want someone who can just listen and not judge me and not say that It's just normal stress cause it's not. Its 10 years of problems that have just built up and escalated and just keep making things worse for me it seems. I think i've talked enough and gotten enough out for today. I'll let you know how my session goes on Friday.

-I romanticize his trembling hands, his heart feels like a bad drummer's obsession and my cold chin rests like a paper weight on his shoulder. The act of civilizing someone comes so suddenly, as a violent current and a volt of disbelief. I earnestly follow his words with safe ones of reassurance, telling him I am okay, and plenty of people are sicker than I. He refuses to accept this, and draws me close, every inch of us touching, and I cannot tell who is who. I want to scream, choke his fear, shake him up and describe what I feel: a dead feeling, and a slow change in my perspective. If only I could hold him how he holds me, sound as convincing as he does, wrap it all up and make it mean something. I can only tell him he is funny, and to stop wasting his seriousness on me.

-You can't know how amazing being loved feels unless hate has shredded you to pieces, and made you absolutely nothing, like steam or laughter from another room. Love is just a high. I think it only truly lasts for the luckiest of people. It's unfortunate that people are taught to hate by a stupid televised war and the infinite current of glossy perfection bred by the media. It's also unfortunate that our generation just 'thrives' in our electric, metal, high speed box covered by the bruised lesson that our parents sewed into us when they didn't want to be free and real anymore
I can't do this. I don't know what the "this" I'm referring to is, I just know that I am not able.