You know what it is, I think? I think I’m afraid. Afraid that I’m actually dreaming. Afraid that the next day won’t come if I don’t pay attention. Afraid I’ll lose everything if I don’t stay aware constantly. I’m comfortable, well, was comfortable. And now I’m not. I can barely ever get comfortable. I wish I could get a good nights sleep, but something is always keeping me going on and on doing pointless useless things. Things that could be done while feeling relaxed after a good night’s sleep. Things that don’t even need to be done in the first place. I think I’m afraid of my own mind. I’m afraid that I’ll go mad. Convince myself that my nightmares are real and everything I love isn’t true. I’m not quite sure how it has come to this. Maybe its all the loss in this past year.. There have been so many in my life that have gone, left, and passed on. I’m not quite sure where I’m placed in all of this. I’m not quite sure how to handle it all at once. So I forget. And I keep forgetting until I’m forced not to. This is later than usual. By like an hour. Though by the time I post this (Doctor only knows how long that’ll be) it could be much more. I’m considering an all nighter and I don’t even know why. I used to love to sleep. Now not so much. I want to love to sleep, but I don’t really want to bother with it anymore. Oh dear, my head is in jumbles. I hope this doesn’t come out with too many grammatical errors. I’m not sure what’s right and what isn’t. Oy, I can only hope that I pass out soon enough that I don’t have to think about any of this until tomorrow night. If the nightmares stopped I honestly think that things would change around here pretty quickly. I can’t do this anymore. Time to face the pillow. Oh God, please let me sleep in..

I need an old date. One where you get all dressed up and pretty-ed out. Not just to impress your date, but to be the best looking couple while you’re out. I need to wear my black dress with some black heels. I need a shiny shoes, button down top, smooth rider date. Like in the old black and whites. No one does that anymore. Unless they grew up with monochromatic television. All us young folk don’t care about anything but the nookie. We should care about the date. About how it used to be done. It was all so.. swanky. So clean. So passionate. It was about getting to know yourself and in turn showing your date who you are. They allowed each other to fall in love. Creating a deeper relationship. Nookie is nookie. End of story. But a deep relationship is just as tangible. And means even more. Even the pin-up girls of the ’50s got taken out on high-class swankified dates. Even if the dudes were just tryin to hit it. Ladies had respect for themselves. They only went out if it was classy. They wore their pearls and the guys were gentlemen. They didn’t grab rear in public because they weren’t immature. They were raised better than that. They were taught better. They James Bond-ed it up to get the girl intrigued in the man not the… other parts. They wore suits and even did their hair. They held doors and pulled out chairs because us ladies were fine. We handled ourselves. Now we’re so low its common to be called a “skank”, a “whore”, a “bitch”. Gentlemen of old protected every part of a lady. Including their ears. Because we were ladies. I may say I’m not a lady sometimes. But I’m allowed a few unladylike days…. a week. At least I don’t take shit from no guy. Slowly but surely I’m gathering respect for myself. And a classy, dress up, night on the town would sure make it feel like my hard work isn’t all for naught. But then again.. who has shiny shoes anymore? Or a nice button down they only wear to a funeral? My days are filled with dressing people up in my head. But what can I say? I’m a fashion major. And swanky, black and white, steamy, date movie scenes in a smoked out bar or a classy restaurant balcony are quite hard to come by. Meh. I need to have a reason to swank out. Anyone down for a jazz club?

It’s not easy. Sometimes. Sometimes its really quite difficult. Being your own person. Remembering you’re human. A mortal. Fated. But if we don’t accept it, then what are we? Someone else’s person. Not our own. Following someone else’s path. Living someone else’s life. I don’t want to follow footsteps. I want to create my own. Make my own mistakes that others can see not to follow me. But I don’t know how. Because sometimes I’m too tired. Too weak. Too human to keep the machete in my hand. To remove the thicket in my way. I sabotage myself horribly. Everyday. And I know I do it. Because I’m human. I don’t know if I want to remind myself that I am human so I can have an excuse not to be strong enough. Or if it’s a cry for help so I don’t have to muddle through alone. I want to cry. I want to sob. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. But it’s like I don’t know how. Like it locks itself back inside. And swallows the key. I could reach my hand down it’s throat and rip it back out. But I don’t know how to feel that kind of dark passion. And what scares me is that I want to. Because it’s effective. It will give me what I want. But it will change who I am. And that’s the one thing I’m absolutely terrified to lose. If I lose myself it’s like having my soul imprisoned. Becoming a zombie. Walking through someone else’s life. Along another’s path. In another’s shoes. I’m longing for passion. And I feel the dark passion. It’s getting closer and I want it to. But I’m scared to reach back. Scared because I’m human. Because humans are not immune to it. Because the dark passion takes us so easily. Makes us do things we want to so badly. Makes me not want to be human. Not face my reality. Being human is too hard for me sometimes. Knowing that I am not strong. That I can not be a superhero. That I am not like these people I watch on TV or read in my books. There are so many things I want to do. But I’m just a human! I’m only one person! Just a simple PERSON. I’m not spectacular. I’m not awesome. I’m not super. I’m not amazing. I’m not superior. I’m not even mildly heroic. But I’m dying to be. Literally. Dying from the inside out. Choking on my own lungs. Using them for everything but breathing. I’m tearing myself inside out to try and find a part of me that is what I want to be. Better. But it’s backfiring. And I know it. Yet I continue to pull myself apart. Hoping. Hoping that if and when I find what I need that it will all be worth it and I’ll be able to fix myself. But I still haven’t found it. After all these years. And I’m starting to doubt. Starting to give up. Starting to work against myself. I’m going around in circles. Over and over again. Kind of like that mental track meet I have going on. Everything in my life ends up in a vicious circle. There are so many of them that I’m my own personal F6 tornado. And in the eye is everything I’m revolving around. Everything I don’t want to let go of. Everything I’m too afraid to face. My human self. My reality. The truths. If I stop revolving I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough to handle it. Won’t be strong enough to accept it. Because I have to do this by myself I don’t want to stop. I want the help. I want someone else to be there so I can depend on them and not me. I don’t feel strong enough to begin with. So how am I supposed to stop revolving? How am I supposed to slow down? I need to believe in myself, but I don’t know how. Because the dark passion I want makes it easier to block out the truth. That I’m a mere human. That it’s true that I’m not who I’m dying to be. Who I’m ripping myself apart to find. That I’ll never find it alone. Yet I have to do this alone. I don’t want to face that I’m scared. That I’m so scared I hide behind walls and fences and towering self-built protection facilities. But it’s all an illusion. Because what I really want it to demolish it all. Tear down everything blocking my way so I can create my own path right through what I hide behind. I want it even when I believe I’m not strong enough. I search for the superhuman me and hope that I’ll find it even though I know I’m only human. It’s so hard. So supremely torturing being your own person. Being afraid and hoping I’m better than that is what turned me into the dizzying storm in the first place. And I realize that though I must be alone in this endeavor, I desperately need someone who can withstand my 300+ mph gales. Someone with enough faith in me that they are immune to the disasters I am creating within myself. Around myself. Someone who is willing to fight. But then again I may need more than one person. More than one person that I can believe in. I need to believe that they believe in me. Because I don’t believe in me. I hope in me. But that’s only because I won’t let myself stop hoping. I need to hope. If I don’t hope that the other way I’ll follow in another’s footsteps. Another way I know I won’t be my own person. I guess this too is a vicious circle itself. A revolving circle connected to and revolving with another. A vicious infinity. My own personal one-of-a-kind F6 infinity tornado. Interesting story idea…