206 i have so many things to say
god, i feel like my heart and my brain are just bursting with words and thoughts and colors and sounds, i have missed writing i have missed having a place to empty myself out and i need to stop caring what everyone thinks about this because it is mine and this is my mind and i have nobody to impress
i feel selfish but i've been told i'm selfless to a fault. i feel mediocre but people think i'm above and beyond. i hate the way i write but some people love to read my words. i don't feel funny but i make people laugh. i rarely feel beautiful but you say i am and sometimes i believe you. it amazes me that anyone can find anything in me worth being awe stricken over, it amazes me that i am apparently so blind that i can't see myself in the right light, but i suppose this isn't anything unusual.
it's kind of like looking in the mirror and saying, this is it. this is who i am and maybe i need to say, fuck what i think i see. have a little faith in people, maybe they're right. maybe that freckle you hate isn't overwhelmingly important because maybe when people look at you they see the way the light hits your cheek, the colored flecks in your eyes and the way even when your lips are chapped they're the perfect shade of rose and your hair is like honey curls.
the people you're comparing yourself to, they have insecurities, too, you know. "bemoaning the fact that you don't measure up to some bikini model is a self-destructive waste of time," i read in a magazine while i was at mirasol. i smiled at that. i put it on the collage i made for the woman i credit with holding my hand and dragging me, kicking and screaming, out of the black hole that was threatening to consume my life. she laughed at the way i read it to her, and god i loved that day. you know what, i loved those three months. december 15th, it will have been a year since my admission. my heart is still in tucson, it will always be in tucson. thank you
i feel selfish but i've been told i'm selfless to a fault. i feel mediocre but people think i'm above and beyond. i hate the way i write but some people love to read my words. i don't feel funny but i make people laugh. i rarely feel beautiful but you say i am and sometimes i believe you. it amazes me that anyone can find anything in me worth being awe stricken over, it amazes me that i am apparently so blind that i can't see myself in the right light, but i suppose this isn't anything unusual.
it's kind of like looking in the mirror and saying, this is it. this is who i am and maybe i need to say, fuck what i think i see. have a little faith in people, maybe they're right. maybe that freckle you hate isn't overwhelmingly important because maybe when people look at you they see the way the light hits your cheek, the colored flecks in your eyes and the way even when your lips are chapped they're the perfect shade of rose and your hair is like honey curls.
the people you're comparing yourself to, they have insecurities, too, you know. "bemoaning the fact that you don't measure up to some bikini model is a self-destructive waste of time," i read in a magazine while i was at mirasol. i smiled at that. i put it on the collage i made for the woman i credit with holding my hand and dragging me, kicking and screaming, out of the black hole that was threatening to consume my life. she laughed at the way i read it to her, and god i loved that day. you know what, i loved those three months. december 15th, it will have been a year since my admission. my heart is still in tucson, it will always be in tucson. thank you
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