it's a diary, even if it is blatantly public
30 June 2003 at 6:51 pm


i'm doing a repeat performance of the widly spectacular chicken fried steak. this time, i'm adding mashed potatoes to spice things up.

i guess i should know how to cook by now, but i don't, so this is a big deal for me.

except the steak won't defrost.

fuck you, steak.

my father and his "is she or isn't she?" roommate-and-perhaps-ambiguous-girlfriend bought a house, so they won't be joining me in portland for a B@l@v@ge/B@rbee 4th-Of-July Jubilee.

she and i just had a very nice conversation about love and alcoholism. we're suckers for both. i adore her.

it's 8:19pm now and i'll end this with what's been running through my head for the past hour:

I am not a bad person. I don't know why I depend on other people to confirm this. But I do.

I am not a bad person because I just tried to throw up my really-rather-yummy dinner. It wasn't sitting well (most food doesn't, but I keep shoving it into my body despite), and I didn't want it in there anymore, but it didn't want to come out.

I need help, but I know how to help myself and can't justify spending money, whether it's my own, my insurance's, or my mum's, on pills and/or therapists.

Aaron helps me, but he isn't here all the time.

Whenever I think about, hey, this isn't forever no matter how much I love him and maybe I should break up with him now and save us both the heartache later, I remember the time I was in his basement cutting my leg (the scar's still there) with his freshly-sharpened paring knife and he walked in on me, per the plan, and he didn't freak out. He grabbed some gauze and bandaged it and rocked me to sleep and loved me and that was the last time I cut myself.

I only ever did it for attention. I have new, less obvious ways of getting that.

But he isn't here all the time now. And it's hard being so alone when I'm so used to having someone look after me.

I'm my own worst enemy. No one can hate you as much as you may hate yourself, because no one knows exactly what a horrible person you are.

I'm sorry I smoke cigarettes, but it's better than cutting myself because it's societally accepted and it takes longer to kill yourself.

I'm sorry I'm not as pretty as you and you have to judge me for it.

I'm sorry I can't be everywhere for everyone. You have to believe me, I would if I could. I'll always have enough money to be wherever you need me to be, and all you have to do is ask and I would love you even more for it.

I don't even expect the same of you. Being there for someone else is enough to get me through the day.

How can I still be so sad? I have everything I ever wanted -- I can take care of myself (really, I can), financially, emotionally, physically. I've found love and it's found me. I have definite morals and a strong philosophy of what life Is and Isn't, what life Should and Shouldn't Be. I have friends who adore me, even if none of them are less than two hours away and most of them are multiple flights away. I have a lot of people convinced that I am successful and confident and stylish and happy.

But I'm none of those things. I'm nineteen years old and I'm ready for life to be over.

I'm sorry.


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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.