ranty ranty
I wrote this about two weeks ago and I was so angry:
I need to write; I don't write anymore. Sometimes I get to these extremes, sadness or happiness. Sadness: I write like a mofo. Happiness: I don't. I think I want to keep it all inside and save it for just me.
Jesus, this diary, it's too much to take sometimes. The older entries page is just one huge mood swing after another and I can tell you why. I felt like hell when I wrote the first entry and stayed that way up until recently - the high end of the swings was me, trying to fake it for the sake of not worrying anyone, or maybe an attempt to make myself look inviting to people I wanted to see - nobody wants to hang out with a sourpuss, after all. Unless they love them. And no one did love me.
And then you'll see that I made an entry about a fight in which I hit the roof of my car and injured my hand. And after that, some vague photographs and references to being sad, and I disappear for awhile. I didn't ever say why, not here anyway. Tom told me to stop writing about him here. I cried. He seemed uncomfortable. So I swallowed my tears and did what he told me to do and I never cried in front of him again.
I actually let someone, a man, tell me what to do.
I have always felt bad about that. I don't feel bad about telling things now and using names because NO ONE CARES! No one who reads this knows who the fuck Tom is or even gives a damn. It's a little self-important to think that anyone will care about the affair between
And then Nick came online while I was writing it, and I felt a thousand times beter and decided not to post it just yet, but it feels somewhat necessary to let everyone know that I am not being controlled anymore in any way and it feels really good to be free, to love how I want to, and to say what's on my mind without fear of rejection.
Christmas is coming soon, and so is my love - he'll be here in three weeks. So I am happy. Strange, I know. :D Wooo hooo!!!