Be careful what you ask for because you may just get it. More self disclosure than you can shake a stick at to follow.

I Feel So

by

Boxcar Racer Lyrics

Sometimes

I wish I was brave

I wish I was stronger

I wish I could feel no pain

I wish I was young

I wish I would shy

I wish I was honest

I wish I was you not I

'Cause

I feel so mad

I feel so angry

I feel so callused

So lost, confused, again

I feel so cheap

So used, unfaithful

Let's start over

Let's start over

Sometimes

I wish I was smart

I wish I made cures for

How people are

I wish I had power

I wish I could lead

I wish I could change the world

For you and me

'Cause

I feel so mad

I feel so angry

I feel so callused

So lost, confused, again

I feel so cheap

So used, unfaithful

Let's start over

Let's start over

'Cause

I feel so mad

I feel so angry

I feel so callused

So lost, confused, again

I feel so cheap

So used, unfaithful

Let's start over

Let's start over

I feel so mad

I feel so angry

I feel so callused

So lost, confused, again

I feel so cheap

So used, unfaithful

Let's start over

Let's start over

from one of my locked entries, January 31st 2003

Dear ***,

Just writing your name still gives me that flutter and sickening twist in my stomach. It's been a year and a half since we were tight. Long enough to get over things you would think (hope). I don't know how you feel about anything and I think I've focused too much attention on that in the hopes of turning the focus away from how I feel.

I'm not sure why I'm still so hung up. I'm not used to people drifting out of my life but yet still vaguely on the periphery.

Justin had said in his journal that if you really love someone when the love changes, you should still want the best things for them, even if it doesn't include you anymore.

Forgiveness is something we all should have. But yet . . . for something that used to come so easily, I choke on my own bitterness and pain. I am candied in my hardness and demands.

I think having everything pooling in my stomach isn't doing me any good anymore. I think I needed to be angry with you for a long time. Maybe sometimes I still do. But I don't want to think of you and have nothing but bile rise up.

I am mad at you for not being able to be who I needed you to be. I needed you to have the strength you hide from and you couldn't. I'm mad at you because you can have a man take care of you and you never seem to get penalized no matter what you do. No matter how carelessly you hurt someone or fuck up, someone is always there to pick you up or clean up or you can run away and purge it from your brain forever. Maybe that's not true. Maybe that's why you need so much xanax because it's not really purged. I wish I was you. I wish I had a man with money and my only responsibilities were to make him happy and to do well in school to keep my parents happy. It seems so easy. But yet you drink like you're dying so maybe it isn't.

I miss you. I still do. And it hurts so much when I had loved you so much that you couldn't love me the way I loved you. I miss that we were partners in crime and naughtiness. I miss the charge I got from never knowing what was going to happen. Part of me . . .most of me . . .wanted the thrill of the unknown and then I reacted very badly when I got what I wanted from it.

I used to think I needed forgiveness from you . . .I don't think I do anymore. Part of learning to be gentle with myself is to understand that I was being human. I got caught up. It happens.

It's so much easier to hate you than to try to love you. It's easier to be angry, bitter, and hurt than to try to understand.

I'm not perfect. I think sometimes I still will be angry, bitter and hurt. But I don't want that to be my default anymore. I can't understand how you felt or how you feel and I don't think I should try anymore. I want to be able to greet you like an aquaintance when I run into you. I know you're hurting. But I need to let go. Still, even now, anger is the first emotion to rush up when I think about you.

I could never be as cool as you. I wish I could be. I wish I could make everything look easy and tell people fuck off when I don't care. I wish I didn't care so much what other people think. I need to be clearer on that. I want to try to really start the process of healing.

You hurt me. You toyed with me and did a lot of things to me that weren't cool. And I let you. I wanted to win. I wanted to be right. I wanted to prove everyone wrong and that you wouldn't do me wrong. And you did. And I hated to be wrong and feeling humiliated by it. So I'm going to start doing my best to let go.

- d.

Today, Monday Aug. 8th

Dear ***,

I had kept reading your journal . . .initially it was because I wanted to see something happen to you. Something to wake you up or at least give me the satisfaction of feeling like justice had been served. I think deep down though I read it to try to find some kind of clue to understanding you. Something I must have missed when we were still close. Something I missed that caused the break down of us.

Out of almost nowhere several days ago, you decided to write about the trip we all took after college and how you were putting together a scrapbook and throwing away any picture that had any of us in it. It�s funny . . .how we keep doing our own little rituals to try to cleanse our brains of each other. How we feel free in the minute but it creeps back in to the sad parts of our brains that we both try to pretend so hard is not there because to acknowledge it is to acknowledge our own faults, our own wrong doings, missteps, and mortality. To acknowledge these parts is to open the door that we may start crying. And if we start crying, we may never stop. �Hate is never the opposite of love; apathy is,� my freshman psych professor had said once. And it�s true. And it was so much *easier* to hate/resent each other than to be sad. Being sad accepts fault. Being sad accepts that maybe this will always be a hole in our hearts that we�ll never talk to each other about. Because we probably won�t talk to each other again. And that sucks. At least if I were dead or you were dead, there would be that sense of finality instead of the vague possibilities of what ifs. And even if we did see each other, we would always think the other hates/resents us. It would be funny if it wasn�t so tragic. And it is. Our own quiet tragedies. I�ve accepted today that it will always hurt. I�ve accepted today that you knew you were faulted in it too. I�ve accepted today that I should feel the grief and the pain that was so easy to ignore wrapped up in white hot rage and indignation.

Both of us were always on the wrong foot at the wrong time, alternately trying to make things better or worse at exactly the wrong times. It�s easier to be spiteful. To want to be vindictive and play stupid girl games with you the few times I saw you. But I choke. I choke on the sadness and I choke on wanting to make things better. I choke because I can�t pretend to smile at you because I care too much. The last time I saw you several months ago I knew that you had cared too much as well. Because you have always been more skilled at the stupid games than me and if you had really not cared you would have done the girl equivalent of lacrosse checking me. But you didn�t. You did what I usually do. You drank and pretended like you could believe I wasn�t there and pretended to believe yourself when you told yourself I don�t matter. Made sure to have an even better time than you would have. But yet you don�t go there anymore. And it�s because of me. Just like a tiny part of me goes there because of you. And I�m going to take this moment to sit with my sadness and grief. Because I still love you. And I always will. Regardless to how right or wrong it was or is.

Amesbury, UK

When you woke up you said that you dreamed

Not one of your nightmares that kept you popping xanax

But a real dream

You said

You were a tree and you were dying

So I put my hands on you and I saved you

I smiled

and kissed you in the rumpled bed

Because I would always be able to save you

These are the pieces of ourselves I will always miss most

Feeling: Sad

Rumblebug song: The Beauty of the Rain album, Dar Williams

What should I be when I grow up? Burlesque Dancer Midwife Personal Shopper Wedding Planner Stepford Wife

Too Soon Known | Known Too Late

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