always turns you blue

i stopped writing in my creative writing journal.

i don't know why i feel the need to say that, except that i started this semester with optimism, with the firm idea that by writing every day i'd eventually be able to break through the wall and be... well again. what is it? if you do something for 23 or so days straight, then you've created a set routine and you'll always be able to do it. write every day and soon it won't be a challenge to write every day.

it's nothing anymore. i was so tired two weeks ago that i decided not to write one night. and then the next. and then the next. to a point where i don't even think about the possibility of writing daily. well, obviously. i haven't posted in over a week. and i remember when not posting for a week was such a hard thing to do.

it really hit me hard on friday. you write a line, i write a line, but every single word of mine seemed to defile the words that you wrote. and i thought why do you keep doing this, you're just holding him back. i thought there was a time when i could write like that, and now i can just read him and be totally amazed and overwhelmed. in a good way. and at the exact same time think i've lost it for good.

and i think, i'm just walking around in a totally grey being. you know, i'm not here like i was before. like every time when something really good happens, blue moments are followed by a stream of tears. i have my theories, and my beliefs, and at the same time it's just... futile. why do i bother with school? why did i ever bother with school? it's come to the point that now, now that i'm just done, i can't let go of it at all. i can't go from getting A's to getting a D.

and all of this isn't making sense anymore.

i realized last week that my vocabulary has gotten horribly horrible. and it disgusted me. when the only things that come out of my mouth are "that's hard core!" and "holy shit" and "awesome". it made me so disappointed. that i've come to a point in my life where i feel the need to answer people, to fill silence with stupidity. there's a reason to not talk much, so that when i do say something, it means more.

and now, ever since i wrote the story, the last thing that was decent, i can't do it anymore. i waited three months to be able to cut again. three whole months of telling myself that i had to be scar free on stage. that it would be unprofessional to compromise a production like that, 'cause it's a team, it's bigger than you. and i had it planned, the whole week before, when it was almost unbearable, that the last night i would give myself the release. but it just wouldn't happen. i was too grey that night. and it didn't happen that saturday. and i was so fed up with myself, that i didn't feel the need to do it, not because i was ok but because i was too grey, i was so fed up that i decided to write about it. i never intended other people to know. i never intended anything out of it. and i certainly as fuck didn't intend that i'd never be able to do it again.

it's what, a month later? and what's the excuse now. prom. and why? because this time, it's going to mean something. setting myself up for disappointment.

disappointment. i'm disappointed that i don't have any scars. every cut and scrape that was made unintentionally, the one on my ankle from where they put the iv when i was born, the long cuts on my knees from just being a kid, the ones on my hands from burns and cat scratches, the second surgery iv line on my left hand, the two separate scars that look like i got a c-section (that the doctor made so they/it can't be seen in a bikini... not that that's a problem). all those are now unwanted. the increasing idea was that, with a tattoo, with that tattoo, i'd have the visible scar. the visible modification on my body, more than metal those can always be taken out. with this visible symbol, i wouldn't feel the need to cut anymore. that i'd be past that lifetime. and now... now i want the scars. scarification vs. tattoos, it's a weird contrast. and it's hard to explain, since in my head it doesn't get explained, just understood without words.

and... i don't want to force myself on the people i love. i don't want to feel that they're listening to me out of courtesy, that i'm this thing that they're forced to deal with.

and i just want to be able to be myself again. i want to write.