this morning, i found that i was crying when i got out of the shower. and that scared me, so i cried some more. for about ten years, i had this overwhleming feeling of doom i couldn't shake. for the past year, it's been absent, and i haven't missed it, but it seems that it's back. i was thinking about my parents, and about trust. having a revelation, really. i was taking note of my tendency to screw things up, always.

i'm mad at myself. really, truly angry. mad enough that i had to wear the black sweatshirt today, and that's not just a piece of clothing, in my life. this is me hiding, hiding today because i can't stand myself.

i don't think it used to be this bad, but if i look back, i see the pattern has always been there. i get too comfortable, too happy with something, and then i start plotting against it. i find an excuse to fight, or i do something intentional only as far as my subconscious is concerned and watch as the other person disappears. it's fucking stupid.

god forbid that anyone should ever win over that part of me i don't even have a name for. i've been in love, but there's something i've had to hold back, and i don't know what it is or why. truthfully, i fall in love easier than most, because i've adapted to the short time span of most of my relationships. i guess it's about control, and this is where my parents fit in and why i made a self-pitying ass of myself this morning. once you turn over the secrets of what you really are, you cannot just get up and go if a situation gets dangerous. you may not be able to go at all. i don't know, because i've never done it, but this is what i theorize.

when i was younger, i had a backpack, because i had to go to school and needed a place for books, etc. but everything that meant anything to me - and my possesions often hold more significance than they ought to - was in that backpack. i was a teenager then, and had decided the whole idea of running away was mostly self-defeating, so that wasn't the reason. i just realized that i was not in control of my life. i could be sent anywhere, pulled away from the familiar at any moment. but i had the important things in my life, and my black sweatshirt to hide me, so i was ready to go.

fiction gets me in trouble. because i rarely tell the truth about my feelings. i just don't, and see above. but they always come out when i write something, projected onto someone else as allegory or metaphor. i figure they're safe there. but..

i took a creative writing course and got about two chapters into the text before i decided it had no relevance to my grade. but in the first chapter, the guy talked about using people you know as the templates for characters, and how many friends he'd lost in doing so.

maybe all the introspective egotists want to be writers, because we always know that we see the truth in people no one else sees. but i, at least, spend too much fucking time examining and exaggerating things to see what i find, and i miss what's really there, in me. i miss reality, what's going on, the obvious consequences of my actions. the hypocrisy, the pretense of apathy, the self-righteous cruelty, the overanalyzing, and the concealment of the emotion that runs through me like molten regret. and the last is worst, because i show the rest, confess to them, but never specify the nature of what i really feel. that's giving too much away. and it could be used to hurt me, and i can't allow that.

that's the doom. i can stay safe, or i can learn to trust people. and if i stay safe, i won't get hurt, but i'll always be running, because that's what you do when you're ready to go anyway. but that's what i know how to do, what i'm good at, the skill i've been trained in. the other thing, honesty, that's something i don't know. it seems that for it to work right (which is, not to work at all but simply to be), you can't work at it. if it takes effort, you've perverted its purpose. the truth shouldn't be a gift i battle with myself to give, it should be the first, natural reaction.

you see what i mean about self-indulgence. anyway, the point was, i'm a fucking genius.