day 198

I write depressing ass shit when I'm half awake, still softly snoring like my mother on her days off. I whimper like I haven't been told secrets and I cry like a waiting ghost. I don't mean to come off as so sad, but sometimes I am. Sometimes. Most of the time I am so sure of myself and the road I've taken. I don't know who I am as a person, but I'm getting there. I am selfish by means of finding my love through other bodies. This is how I've learned to love myself. I wish I didn't, but it isn't that easy anymore. I can't just wish for things to change anymore. I've stopped thinking about the past and how much better I'd be without all the damage. But how whole would I be without it? Sometimes I get sick of disguising how I feel with metaphors and ramblings. I am always talking about my rape. About sleeping with a boy who wants absolutely nothing to do with me. About being held back by an ex boyfriend. I am just trying to find a peace of mind, but it's so fucking hard sometimes to forget.