You have the things I want. Not just material. No way. You have that closeness with your family. You have that love. You have things you do that I only wish I could. You have a beautiful town you call home, where as I live in shit hole town that’s going nowhere. I only can dream about where you’re from. You have this weird stability no matter what is going on, where as I’ve never known that. This is all I want and I can’t have that. I can’t have you. I can’t have this. That makes me want to scream. Instead I settle for a drink and my tracks. I write.
The fucked part is I won’t say anything. I’ll just keep on keeping on like normal. I’ll pretend I’m not upset. I’ll smile. I’ll joke. I’ll put on that ever famous game face. I’ll keep it to myself. I want to say something I do, but I for once in my entire fucking life have no balls. This is beyond me. I’ve always been a loud mouth, but at the same time I think it’s too personal to share with you. So maybe my lack of courage is just not it. I am more open with you than anyone else, and even this I can’t say. You’ll take it the wrong way and run. I’m not ready for that. It’s going to happen literally but if I can put it off.
I’ve written so many pages in my notebook. Not sure why this is bugging me so. I wish it wouldn’t. I wish old Sarah was back. No, instead I’ve been replaced with this. I know I like who I am, just like I told you, I know I should stop trying to be so hardcore all the time, but it’s hard. That’s my only defense against having these little manic attacks. This is just retarded. But hey, at least I’m writing again. This is a much better choice. Being at the bottom of a bottle isn’t, I learned that YEARS ago, and don’t need to re-visit that.
I guess I’ll just keep trucking on until it’s over and then it’ll be time to start anew and bury the hurt. It’s going to suck, but it’s not like I haven’t had to do it before. Here’s to the fucking memories.