False Reality
<< 2:52 p.m. - Sunday, Aug. 29, 2004 >>
�I know that starting over is not what life's about.
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud.�

-Modest Mouse

I�ve entered a world where everything has begun to feel desperate. Where I cannot trust my head, and all the chemicals are fabricating my emotional instability. It�s all desperately unimportant and desperately closing in on my end. I can�t find myself anymore. I can�t figure out if my fears are founded in reality or something I have created in the noise of my room.

I want people to understand where I am coming from so I don�t seem and feel so much like a bitch. I�M SORRY. You see, my paranoia has a voice now. It speaks. Well, not really, but I�m always worried about something. I�m afraid that� (the list doesn�t seem to end.) I�m afraid of my friends and the things I believe they say when I am not there. The more I talk about it, the more I write about it, somehow the worse it gets. My fears are multiplying in a horrible way. Like: �What if none of my suspisions and fears are true and by acting as if they are, I am simultaniously creating them?�

Deeper in, there is the rational me. She�s getting so lost. I have to dig to reach her. I can�t wear the patch anymore. Far far too many hormones are making me feel so panicked and lost.

So I�m sorry if you are angry with me. I have to fix this myself. And I will.