i am the only person i know who can spend the summer in florida and still be pale. one red bull and a cup of coffee and i'm still exhausted. this place wears me out. i wonder when i last wrote how i felt. i wonder when someone actually read what i wrote. i wonder a lot of things, but answers never come easy. sometimes i think about laying on my back in that room, with the itchy carpet biting my shoulders, playing "tell me something." other times i think about when our words meant something to each other. i miss my friends. i miss being able to hear without hearing aids. does that qualify me as disabled? when did i forget how to have fun? was i happier with him? why can't i draw anymore? nothing inspires me. i lost my muse without ever realizing it. why am i complaining? i am neither poor nor hungry nor homeless. i am spoiled. rotten. useless. i am lonely. i am going to quit smoking when i return to new york. i am a smoker. i was...something. i feel like screaming. my tattoo spells "wander," but here i am. stuck, trapped, smothered. i am a hypocrite. it is written on my skin. i will read it one day and gather the courage to walk away. i miss the freedom life used to grant. i miss being able to open my arms to endless possibilities. this is not the life for me. i miss feeling empowered by music. now i resent it. new york is calling me back, and i'm resisting. i miss my cat. i am so sick of feeling sick by this. this wasn't my choice. it was his. i miss the days when i was a stronger person. i was defiant, independent, untouchable, infinite.
how did i end up here?