Days in the Life of Emily

Just keep swimming...

14 October 2009

October 14, 2009

Written by emie289 ( Contact the author of this post )
Published on October 14th, 2009 @ 05:35:38 pm, using 805 words, 2775 views
Categories: emie289

I'm writing as a last resort to sanity. A secret blog for all the secrets that I keep. Actually, keeping secrets in one of my secrets. I pretend I don't have any. I even kept that secret from myself for a long time-- I thought I didn't have any. But, you guessed it, I do.

Everyone needs someone to tell the truth. The random internet void is my silent confessor.

I'm trying not to kill myself tonight. I've been thinking about it for a while now, and not really doing anything. God, I don't know. At least since school started. So, a month, maybe. It's weird, though. Classes aren't that bad-- I think they're interesting. Not too stressful. I'm doing my best not to be stressed. I'm taking a yoga class, I'm trying.... I've been trying to be happy for years. I'm sick of trying.

And, I hate sex. Who hates sex? Seriously. I didn't used to. That's the weird thing. I used to be the "guy" in the relationship--always pushing for sex, always into it, always wanting to be closer. Then one day-- I don't know when-- it all shut off. I don't like it anymore.

My poor boyfriend. I told him today that he should find someone else. His name, let's pretend his name is Paul. He could be a Paul. He loves me. I don't know why, but I find it highly suspect. He's suffering. Trying to be the perfect boyfriend. Trying not to care that I don't want to have sex. Sometimes it seems like everyone's trying so hard it seems incredibly that nothing ever changes.

He pushed me on it tonight. We were walking out of the pizza place and he was going off to work. He was annoyed because he hit on me today and I pretended not to understand him. He's hurt. I'm a cruel person. I don't even know why I'm cruel. "I'm your boyfriend, Emily" He said to me. Not in a threatening way, but in a "you should be able to trust me--I'm the person you're supposed to want to have sex with" sort of way. "I just wanted to explore you sexually." He talks like that sometimes. He says it cute-like, as if the explicitness makes it sweet. I shuddered and turned away. I couldn't help it, but he was really hurt. Then, he tried to push me on that-- why it was so disgusting. But I couldn't answer him. WHY IS IT SO DISGUSTING TO ME? There's nothing wrong with him. He's a cute guy. It's not really him that disgusts me, it's me. The image of ME, there, on the bed--spread.... It's just... ugh.

I came home fighting off tears. Storm upstairs and shut myself in my room. I live in a house with six other people. None of them noticed me. I'm not really close to any of them except Paul. "I need to just do it" I tell myself as I shut the door, "I need to just get it over with." But I told myself I'd write the blog first.

The truth is, I don't really want to kill myself. I mean, I do in that it is a solution to everything, but it is not the preferred solution. I would prefer a pill. Wouldn't it be a great if the doctor could hand me a pill and say, take this-- everything in your life will be happy? Or, not even everything. Maybe just-- take this, you will have the energy to make happy things in your life and the self-confidence to persevere through the unhappy ones. Or even, not a pill. Better than that-- I wish I could just wake up one day and my life was completely different. I don't live in a crappy house with seven other people who only know me as their roommate's girlfriend. I'm not a junior in college, but out of school. I have a job-- I'm a writer. I HAVE FRIENDS. Wouldn't it be great if other people weren't complete pricks? That's the bitterness talking. The truth is, and I know it, other people are great. They just don't think I am.

Anyways, I'm a writer at heart. So, writing a blog to get through a suicidal breakdown seems to make sense. Sometimes it feels like writing is the only thing that makes sense. One day I'm going to go off and be a big-shot screenwriter. I know I can do it. Kind of weird that I'm convinced no one in the world gives a crap about me, but I have enough ego to believe that I can write movies everyone else will be thrilled to watch. I can do it though. I'm working on my first one now. Writing. It's the only thing that's going to get me through this.

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Days in the Life of Emily

Is my life supposed to be a gigantic struggle just to keep my head above the water?

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