vagueness

Sometimes all it takes is a song.  I just really hate people today, and remembering.  I know I wouldn't want it to have played out differently than it did, but sometimes one can't help but wonder.  Security.  Something I crave but have never really found.  It only seems to get worse really, despite the effort.  I don't need help, I just need somebody to be there for me for real just to listen.  When I can't pinpoint the reason, that's when it makes me nervous.  I always like to be aware and have it all figured out, but now I just don't know.  I've been thinking about this a lot lately, about who I relate to, who I'm really drawn to. All people who have had difficult lives, experienced pain and sadness, were different, misunderstood, mistreated, etc.  Sylvia Plath, Ernest Hemingway, Virginia Woolf, Kurt Vonnegut, Jack Kerouac, Henrik Ibsen, Pablo Picasso, Marilyn Monroe, the list goes on.  Too many of them killed themselves though.  I can't really put it into words, but I can feel it.  The pain they must have felt.  The lack of support maybe.  I need to read more.


I just have too much on my mind as usual.  I just want to get it all out somehow.  I keep writing in my five or so various journals.  The art one I can't just write in or I will mess it up.  The scripture one, well that's for scriptures.  The others...I don' t know, it all just sounds pathetic.  And why I turn to my blog when random people are reading it...the risk I guess.  I miss writing like I used to. I hate how it still tries to haunt me sometimes.  That voice telling me that I failed.  I know I didn't.  I guess that's why he says I'm "squashed" here and need to get out of this place.  I just don't see how though.  I know it was not for naught however; now I know that I am in control.  That's a start anyway.  Again the lesson I taught in Relief Society was for me more than anybody else in the room.  Kind of a slap in the face.  I guess I just need to let go more.  And yeah. blah blah blah.