What am I counting down the weeks for? For the return home, the glorious, triumphant return home that I've built up in my mind for weeks and weeks on end? The dismal, depressing return home that could never possibly live up to my expectations?
Maybe it would've, if the semester had ended earlier. Maybe I would feel like there was something worth going home to. Maybe there'd be someone waiting there for me when I got there, and a bunch of old friends with drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces, telling me they missed me. I just wanted you to hold out until things could get better for me. I just wanted to you to make good on all the promises I thought you had made. I just wanted to be missed, so I could see you again and be loved. I just wanted the chance, for once in my life, to love. I never wanted this. It's not enough.
I create things to look forward to in my mind, so that I don't feel too bad to get up and face the day. Funny that I write this now, at a time when I'm too depressed to get up and go to class like I'm supposed to. Isn't this the problem I've had since day 1? I don't apply myself to anything. I've only been involved in one thing that I actually felt was worth the effort it took, and it crumbled like it was made of talc. I type nasty, horrible things sometimes, but delete them, afraid that she'll read them and know who I'm talking to. Just the voices in my head, I swear.
There's no escape. Yes, I'll be out of Statesboro soon, but I feel more and more everyday like I'm just jumping right out of the frying pan and right into the fire. Maybe it's precaution, telling me I shouldn't look forward so much to returning home, because I can only be let down by that place. I wish things were the way they were before all of this, before everything started changing again. Yeah, I was terribly unhappy, but I was comfortable with that. It doesn't bother you to lead an unhappy life if you never realize there's greener pastures out there. They say the grass is always greener on the other side, but I don't believe that's true; I used to scoff at the stuff on the other side of the fence, but I must've ate all of mine because now my side is bare.
What if things had never gotten good again? "Can I lay with you?" What if I'd said no? What if I'd held onto all that hate and never welcomed good things back into my life? "Do you mind if I give her your name?" What if I'd said yes, I do mind? You say you hate it when I go soft, that it doesn't suit me, that sugary sweet just ain't my thing. Well, I've been doing it for a long time, and I'm beginning to think you're right.
I shed one problem and gain another. Ain't that the human condition? I don't know why, but somewhere along the line all my Journal posts became personal letters to her, the girl that rarely reads this and would never let me know that anything I wrote affected her in any way. I guess I just want attention. I know I just want attention. Pay attention to me please, pretty please, please please please please OH PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!
I'm sorry, that was childish, this is childish, everything is childish. I need to toughen up, I need to grow up. I need to blacken my soul again. "I couldn't have done it without you." I still can't, I can't I can't I can't. No, I won't. But I should. And I want to. Isn't this the problem I've had since day 1? I don't apply myself to anything.