No more books.
This is written inside a pocketbook that was always in my left pants pocket.
29 November, 2007. Tagged as Normal Blog Stuff
I have always known what I want, and I know that this is not who I want to be. It was probably a lie I made to myself, thinking that I was bipolar and that was the reason I had dramatic mood swings. Borne out of, I suppose, shame, and a certain cowardice, and I can accept that and say yes, I am a coward, and I am afraid of what I do not know and of events whose results are vague and uncertain. I can say that yes, my mood swings are for attention and maybe someone will care, but this is a selfish hope, and I know that if someone truly loves me they would not care at all, would tell me to pull my head out, call me names, because they would know it too.
I can say that now because I know that this is not me, and I have always known, and now this years-long lie must be exposed.
This book is the sum of all my doubts, my mistrusts, anxieties and fears, and I will burn it beside the girl I love, and I will never need another book like this again. I will not make space for such a thing in my world. What I wrote is no longer important to me — wasted ink on cheap paper — and all I can say is that I hope the ink has alcohol or thinner in it, so that the flame takes it all.