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I'm not used to this... I'm a pen on paper kind of chick. I'm a little scraps of paper strewn all over the room kinda chick. I'm a phone call at 3 am because I just remembered a cool story about something I did one time and needed to share kinda chick.
I hate that little picture up there.
It's from the trip to texas. And, while texas was good (very very good). Texas was also the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning of so so much. I just can't feel okay about it.
Not yet.


I really wonder who I'm writing this for. I already talk to the people who might read this.
I'm already moody and truculent enough with them.
The people who would benefit from this are people who would never pay attention.


I was going through yesterday and matching up a lot of my interests with people.
The people who have the most in common with me, listed interest wise, are the self injuring, depressed, eating disorder ridden, broken poor little hurting people out there.
The screaming, crying, forgotten children of the world.
It scared me. It horrified me. I couldn't breath. I didn't want to be in league with them. For the first time in my life, I was scared of being abnormal. I was scared to point of panic at the prospect of being just ... one of them.
How fucking egotistical can you get?
How gaddamn narrow minded, closed off and well... ASSHOLISH of me.
I've ALWAYS been a basketcase, born and bred.
Neurotic and strange to the core.
Incomprehensible. Difficult. hardheaded. A pain in the ass, dammit!


How dare me.
I realized that. I'm so glad that I realized that. So, I went back and I read those journals. I was horrified all over again.
And I was reborn.

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(Anonymous)
Jun. 8th, 2001 01:38 pm (UTC)
Jesus Built My Hotrod = Ministry

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