February 16, 2011
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I was more creative when I had lower lows, you know. I stayed up late for a reason. Because I was sad and crazy and forgetting my name and crying because I can’t make the folded clothes look right. Stayed up late because I was writing on my wall. Stayed up late because I was writing on myself. Stayed up late because I was painting. Fuck this balance. Fuck this even shit. I hate my excuses and I hate my loss of creativity.
Being happy is boring.
I hate this xanga now. I should delete it like I did the others. I’m such a teenager with nothing to say.
Do you know I’ll never be a writer? Do you know I’ll never do anything? I like feeling sorry for myself too much to make any real changes.
I keep saying I’ll see someone, but I won’t because then everyone will find out my secret that I’m fine, absolutely fine. Absolutely strong and intelligent and sorta cute and quirky and fine except for that attention whore thing.
