I feel nothing but sadness and numbness.
I feel like I'm hanging ever so lightly on a thin string and I'm waiting...
waiting for someone to cut it.
But, I'm scared.
Scared about who will cut the string and who will catch me if I fall.
Well, I wish I could tell you that the highlight of my day was that I lived to see another day.
I should be ecstatic... I have my face back. I'm not a burn victim.
I should be thrilled... my left eye looks pretty good, considering I recently tried to give myself a black eye.
I should be celebratory... it's about to be my
but I'm not!
I feel like nothing inside. I feel nothing but pain.
The back of my head is throbbing in pain, like someone shot me from behind and it's bleeding oh-so gruesomely.
I need sleep.
I don't want to wake up. I don't want to be 25. I don't want to think about my car, that needs to be fixed in several areas: the brakes, the front bumper, and now the rear left-side of the bumper.
I don't want to think about how I have no one. I don't want to think about the pain. I don't want to be numb. I don't want to live.
--
In all honesty, here's my day in a summary...
Some absolute dolt, whom my father knows, came over to my house with his "oh-so-prissy-perfect" 24-year-old daughter, Jane, and he tells me absolute bilge (rubbish) about how I can't have a profession that I'm passionate about. I need not focus on my passion for fashion, art, and writing... rather I should have a "profession" (a solid job that streams revenue, or creates funds) instead of a "passion" (something that this dolt views as a "hobby"). Keep in mind, this is coming from a man who has three children--two of which he sent to India for four to five years, in order for his children to be "brainwashed" (as I like to call it) or molded into the specimen that he wants to be proud of.
So, I have decided to Dictionary.com the definitions of both "passion" and "profession":
Passion is an emotion or feeling of which there is a great amorous desire.
Profession is any vocation or business requiring knowledge of some department of learning.
Why can't I have both?
I'm not taking advice from some incapacitating old guy that's an immigrant who jumps from one job to another to provide for his family.
Anyways, after the dolt and his daughter left, I went to Holy Family Catholic Church to confess. My confession list basically had four main articles: 1.) I haven't been to church in a few months, 2.) I spoke and thought ill of others, including myself, 3.) I've been contemplating suicide as well as violence to others, and 4.) I've lied to others and myself.
[Keep in mind that this is one of the most honest confessions of my lifetime, that I can remember.]
I got off with "thank the Lord each day for his blessings, go to church every Sunday (or as often as everyday) since we need the grace of God, confess at least once every two months, and pray three Hail Marys" to absolve of my sins.
I guess I'm now an empty vessel, waiting to be filled up with goodness.
I wanted to see Marc-Antony, but I decided to let him go solo to the NHPO gala at the Omni Hotel, since he was more stoked to go to that than see me. I sometimes wonder why he even wants to spend time with me... not that he does that much anyway. I was hoping so badly that he would want to see me over the gala, that he would want to spend time with me instead of schmooze with the NHPO crowd.. but I was sadly mistaken and heartbroken.
Afterwards, I just gave up.
I went to watch the film "Looper" with my mother in the evening. Matthew was with his friends and Avis went to see his at their usual drunkard haunt.
It was raining--perfect weather for my mood.
Unfortunately, I didn't have much good fortune today. As I was parking my car, at AMC First Colony's parking lot, in the heavy rain and hoping to not hit the pick-up truck in the next parking spot, I ended up hitting a car that was parked behind me in the lot. I quickly parked my car and saw that the car I suspect I hit had no scratches. Yet, my car ("Rosemary," as I like to call her), the rear left-side bumper was starting to fall off and there was dirt smudges as well as car paint smudged off.
All I could think, as my mom and I were trying to watch the already-begun film from separate seating areas, was about Rosemary. I couldn't enjoy the film for quite a while... mostly it was due to the thoughts of my car, although it was also due to thoughts of Marc-Antony, thoughts of humanity as a whole, thoughts of how crowded it was in the movie theater on a Saturday night, and thoughts about how I don't see any point in living life anymore (it only gets worse with age).
I couldn't enjoy the film much, as I was completely numb inside from my emotional pain.
The majority of the film didn't help with my numbness,...
although the ending of the film was quite amazing and full of depth!
Even then, I still couldn't enjoy it since I wasn't in the proper mindset.
After the movie, I pumped gas with my mom's credit card at Kroger. Then, we went home.
The drive to and from the theaters was hellish.
Awkward silences followed by strange inquiries from my mom, such as "what class are you taking," "when are you going to finish your classes so you can get your associate's degree," "when are you going to get a job related to your field," "when are you getting married," "do you have a boyfriend," among other absurd topics that make me question as to why I should continue living.
Please, oh please, someone please shoot me!
Until then, goodnight.
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