pretty when you cry

You get sick. You get sad.

What scares me is the loss of control. I'm realising more and more that control is a real issue here. I only want to smoke because I don't like the thought of it being unknown to me. I want to experience things just to prove that I can.

I'm more confident with my hair short. When I was twelve I just looked like a boy. Now I look like a girl, and that is good.

I hate to be defeated by an empty screen, but I genuinely don't know what to write.

Yesterday we discovered our broken kitchen window opens wide enough that we can smoke out of it. Est, cigarette in hand, told me to come and yell out of the window, let it all out.

I screamed. Pigeons upped and flew away.

I feel like just screaming, over and over again, I want to scream away 19 years of emotion until I'm actually clean.

I want to scream at myself for wanting to scream. I feel like smacking myself in the face, on behalf of everyone who suffers worse than I do and doesn't complain half as much as I do.

I feel like smacking myself from thinking that emotions can be compared. For thinking that that matters.

But I can't do those things.

So I'm blogging instead. I'm always fucking doing that.

Fucking difficult to express things sometimes.

I feel like... like I'm going to keep typing until something comes of this.

The other night I said that what scares me about life is that there's no end to the pressure, there's always this to deal with and this to deal with, thing after thing until you die, and no one expects anything of you anymore. I tell him that's why death seems so appealing sometimes.

He said he agreed, and he was surprised to hear someone else say out loud what he'd always thought.

What hope I took from that conversation.

I don't want to write about breaking up. I don't want to write about depression, or pain, or misery, or hopelessness. That seems to be all I write about sometimes.

Sometimes you look at people and they seem so fucking unaffected by it. You get people who look like they've never had a bad day in their lives, people whose misery is only a temporary response to an unpleasant situation, rather than a constant. A pimple rather than a birthmark.

And then you listen to something beautiful and sad, or read something ancient, or just get that feeling in your gut, that knowledge that the strongest emotions are the most universal. More poems, more books, more songs to love and sadness than to anything else because they are the two, I think, that hit you hardest.

And they're the two that hit everyone.

Everyone wants to be loved. And everyone gets sad.

Does everyone find it shocking that someone can look at the most important emotions in life and think of joy only as an afterthought?

It only just occurred to me that happiness should be on that list.

Is that pessimistic or am I just low tonight?

I'll end this now, because I'm low tonight, and writing this barely seems worth the effort anymore.

Ugh.