dammit.

I did it.

It makes it all more real, and more strange, and makes me cry. But I did it. I feel like this is all some sort of weird, cruel psychological experiment that I’m participating in. At the end they’ll compensate me with a prescription for clonzapan and a lifetime subscription for psychoanalysis.

My background makes this all more screwed up. People say all the time that the one’s with the biggest problems are psychologists. That’s bull, but makes the people saying it feel better. People also say that the kids with the most problems are the children of psychologists, that may have some validity. I should have a brilliant explaination, a label for it all. Labels make me feel better, safer in their confines.

You don’t sound the way you used to. There’s a tinge, but it’s apparant you’ve grown up. I have too. Do I sound different, did it feel as fucked up to you as it did to me.

ha.

I’m trying to work it all in my head. What was I trying to acheive. Did I want to take this there? It’s safe to be one dimensional.

fuck it. all of my four letter words escape when I think about this. fuck. fuck. fuck. I hate this. I hate that I’m not what you need. I hate that you’ve attatcher yourself to me the way you have. I’m not wonderful. I’m not a great person, I dont’ deserve it. I fucking don’t want it!!!!!

dammit.