not myself

I am not myself today. Nor was I yesterday, or the day before. I wrote 1,613 words yesterday. Words that I began here… and decided I didn’t want you to read them. I decided I didn’t want anyone to read them. Strange that I would keep something from my own diary. My own readers. My own best friends. I hate the entry. I hate it with all of my being. But I had to write it. And I have to talk about it with someone. But not here. And not with my mom or my sister. I don’t know… I don’t know if I want to talk.

I feel tired and restless. Confused… utterly confused. And yet I think I was just being stupid. I’m back to normalness… only the memories of my confusion remain. Those memories, however, will not leave me. I’m dwelling on what I thought yesterday and the day before so much that I overlook the fact that I’m different today. I feel cornered when people mention anything surrounding it… as if they know my thoughts… as if they were there every second. And of course that’s not true. It’s my subconscious telling me I’m somehow related to Raskolnikov, though I did not kill anyone or do anything remotely like that.

I’m ending this entry here. I will write more, but not here.

@~>~>-dreamergrrl