(no subject)
Oct. 17th, 2002 05:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Too much to say. Not enough words in the world. Funny how all it takes is a dream, to crush the eggshell edges of bravado and spill all that carefully-contained emotion. A single dream, a matter of minutes, and every stifled want and unvoiced wish suddenly seems too large to ever fit back into the little corner I set aside for it.
I'm angry. I'm angry because it seems so unfair right now. Because I have been patient and I have been brave and I have tried to understand. Because I have dampened the frightening things, and tempered the raw, ungentle things, and pursued the lovely things, waiting for words, waiting for thoughts, waiting. Painting careful pictures, laying out the things that matter most in hopes that someone else can see them too. And they have been seen, and they have been -- what? Validated, I suppose. Become more real because I know now that I'm not the only one who feels them. I'm angry at myself for getting back to this point. Angrier because there's no reason for it. No real reason, anyway. What's a dream?
I'm aching -- because for all of that, when I did so well, when I poured out so much that I wanted to hold onto, what's left is this. Why is it always this?
I'm waiting for it to pass, to blow over. Hating myself for being so weak. And I'm so damned tired of waiting. Tired of myself, is what I mean right now, I know. Tired of moodswings and crashes and bouts of the blues that run into each other, with only enough happiness to make me crave what I can't hold onto.
I'm angry. I'm angry because it seems so unfair right now. Because I have been patient and I have been brave and I have tried to understand. Because I have dampened the frightening things, and tempered the raw, ungentle things, and pursued the lovely things, waiting for words, waiting for thoughts, waiting. Painting careful pictures, laying out the things that matter most in hopes that someone else can see them too. And they have been seen, and they have been -- what? Validated, I suppose. Become more real because I know now that I'm not the only one who feels them. I'm angry at myself for getting back to this point. Angrier because there's no reason for it. No real reason, anyway. What's a dream?
I'm aching -- because for all of that, when I did so well, when I poured out so much that I wanted to hold onto, what's left is this. Why is it always this?
I'm waiting for it to pass, to blow over. Hating myself for being so weak. And I'm so damned tired of waiting. Tired of myself, is what I mean right now, I know. Tired of moodswings and crashes and bouts of the blues that run into each other, with only enough happiness to make me crave what I can't hold onto.
Re:
Date: 2002-10-27 03:35 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-10-27 04:16 am (UTC)