Can it possibly not be frustrating in any way when whatever you do just keeps MESSING UP? I mean, who cares about your good intentions. Who cares about the actual point you try to make that is in your head when no one else can see it? Because you are utterly unable to get it across. You just simply FAIL at saying what you mean to say. If you shut up, you're still wrong. If you try to talk, you're still wrong. Can someone please tell me the formula that will ensure at least some of the time things can go smoothly and not get screwed? Just sometimes? Please?
I've been sick all day, and extremely restless, with that distraction-irritable thing in my head that keeps ticking the way a clock does when you keep hearing it so loudly when you don't want to at all. But that was for me. Mine. I exuded positivity all day, as much as I could, without letting the nausea cloud every sense of mine. But still, either way, I will mess up. I cannot stay silent, I cannot talk, I cannot laugh, I cannot cry. I cannot cease to exist. I can spout crap or I can shroud myself in cheeriness; the moment I let someone in a little bit, I lose it. Completely. Have I lost it right now? Yes. I cannot take the presence of a hundred people. Two hundred. Fifty. Ten. I cannot. I cannot bear the constant noise, the background clamor, the constant nudging and poking and the dependence attached to a singular attention-begging object. I'd like to stay quiet. I'd like everyone to be quiet. I can't take it when there is just so much NOISE.
I hadn't realized this would happen, hadn't known that is how my self would react to certain stimuli. I've been keeping myself sheltered and for good reason. How do you explain that to people who know nothing but making noise? I owe you nothing. Please leave. Stop making noise.
On the other hand, when my heart and mind are in harmony, I can believe in dreams, because I know why and I know how and everything is beautiful and possible. But that is private and not for you to know. Who let you in?
I intended to give strength, and all I did was mess up. Stay silent? Is that the way now? And of the restlessness? There is no cure. 24 hours a day do not fill up the gaping holes; I wish the days were longer because I have much more to cram into them, only if I could. I would fill those holes if I could. But you, you are not welcome here. We...we are enough. More than enough.
Us.
I've been sick all day, and extremely restless, with that distraction-irritable thing in my head that keeps ticking the way a clock does when you keep hearing it so loudly when you don't want to at all. But that was for me. Mine. I exuded positivity all day, as much as I could, without letting the nausea cloud every sense of mine. But still, either way, I will mess up. I cannot stay silent, I cannot talk, I cannot laugh, I cannot cry. I cannot cease to exist. I can spout crap or I can shroud myself in cheeriness; the moment I let someone in a little bit, I lose it. Completely. Have I lost it right now? Yes. I cannot take the presence of a hundred people. Two hundred. Fifty. Ten. I cannot. I cannot bear the constant noise, the background clamor, the constant nudging and poking and the dependence attached to a singular attention-begging object. I'd like to stay quiet. I'd like everyone to be quiet. I can't take it when there is just so much NOISE.
I hadn't realized this would happen, hadn't known that is how my self would react to certain stimuli. I've been keeping myself sheltered and for good reason. How do you explain that to people who know nothing but making noise? I owe you nothing. Please leave. Stop making noise.
On the other hand, when my heart and mind are in harmony, I can believe in dreams, because I know why and I know how and everything is beautiful and possible. But that is private and not for you to know. Who let you in?
I intended to give strength, and all I did was mess up. Stay silent? Is that the way now? And of the restlessness? There is no cure. 24 hours a day do not fill up the gaping holes; I wish the days were longer because I have much more to cram into them, only if I could. I would fill those holes if I could. But you, you are not welcome here. We...we are enough. More than enough.
Us.
