It feels like we're already flying but the air is too thin and we're dying. The clouds all around take us higher, the world far below is on fire. I hold out my hand just to touch you. A reason for being forever. You're just a whisper away.


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Am I pathetic being home on a saturday night? Alone?

I guess so. But sometimes I think I am better off this way. There is nobody to harm my oh so sensitive mood. It's pathetic. I cry while watching Teenage-Soaps about break-ups and first kisses. And I fucking cry like a baby while sipping wine and some strange liquor and coffee and eating espresso chocolate, getting fatter and fatter. 

Yes, I do feel ugly. Sometimes. I don't know. I am longing for somebody to tell me that I am beautiful and intelligent (who would? I even wrote "intellegant" at first, so what am I). Not my mom or my friend, but a lover. Oh screw that. I don't really want a lover. I don't like to be touched. At all. 

I am so confused that I cry all the time. Without reasons. I even thought about seeing a therapist because I feel like I have nobody to talk to. My friend has other problems and doesn't really take anything serioulsy in her so-called bad condition. And her boyfriend - the psycho- doesn't talk to me. So why should I? My parents are fighting, my brother is struggling with university, too. So who is there? I don't like burdening people. As I said before, I guess. 

But I need advice. How can I handle this or that and how do I get over this and that. And well...I grieve daily. And cry daily. And listen to the Smiths. Wallowing in self-pity.

Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head. 

What is more obvious than that? But I got ya, Morrissey, I got ya!


27.3.11 03:15


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