hate.

12/27/2009

Laura bought me beautiful journals for Christmas. Every year, you can guarantee someone will. It shows the kind of image they have of me, but the truth is, I'm no longer a writer. My ideologies and perfectionism make it almost impossible to write without slipping further into self disgust. Is it the same for all artists? Orwell hated 1984, and strongly believed it would be the death of him. Van Gogh's letters made me stand in the museum in tears... how could he doubt his work so much?

So. I'm going to use them. For now, as planners - I'll plan, I'll write quotes, I'll put stickers in and doodles, and hopefully... eventually... I'll learn to write again.

I want to move out again. It's harder to go insane when it's not in private. I've always been one to paint a smile on, and now the cracks are starting to show.

Richey wasn't on drugs. I never did get a full explanation, but I'm used to that now. Sometimes, I think I might be worse than him. I think if I had been lucky enough to have been born a girl we'd be a lovely couple. As it is, it consists of him practically abusing me - it's not rape, it's not even abuse really, because I always give in, I always submit. I think I'm too scared not to, sometimes, because he wouldn't stop anyway. And then I'd have to deal with that as well. It's not that I don't want him, just... not like this. Constantly reminding me that he's not gay, as if I give a shit, as if it makes a fucking difference. And all I want to do is scream. I'm sorry. I'm SORRY I couldn't have been female for you, but it wasn't exactly my choice. I didn't stick myself in this disgusting body just to irritate you. And I can dress up as much as you want, but it won't change a fucking thing, because even if you're not gay, it just makes you a straight man who fucks another man - and is that really so much easier for you to accept? Fuck you.

I sound like a teenage drama queen and I don't even have youth as an excuse any longer.