Fighting back (or lashing out)

He drives me crazy.  He drives me bats.  I never should have let things come this far.  I knew it would be trouble from the very start, but I have a long history of ignoring red flags and letting my misguided heart take the reins.

Sensibility, thy name is Marianne.

You just make me so angry.  I'm so tired of being angry.  I'm tired of having this looming over my head.













































It's this feeling like everything I love is slipping out of my grasp, and there's nothing I can do to stop it, and if I even tried I'd break.  I am breaking.  I'm all run over with cracks, crumbling at the edges, just waiting for one good blow to finish the job.  These smiles are fragile.  These smiles are fake.

When did I get to be so good at faking it?  Must be retail.  Like answering the phone, I automatically put on my best polite voice and a nice smile to set you at your ease, and I can't answer back when you're rude.







































It's getting harder all the time.  It looms.  It lingers.  Even when I'm happiest, it's there, whispering in my ear that we're not all where we're supposed to be.  We'd rather be somewhere else.

I'd rather be dead.

I've never been given to violent impulses (lie) but it makes me want to burn their house down.  It makes







































I can't remember now.  It was such a big deal then.  I can remember standing in front of the mirror thinking about what a big deal it was.  I can remember being especially undecided about my hair.  I do remember my hair.  It was two braids, and on the advice of a friend I left them down instead of pinning them up.  There may have been ribbons.

I do remember what I wore then.  The black dress, the red skirt, the lace, the glower hiding behind the oh so fake polite mask, the absurd shoes.  In my head so unique, so set apart, so Susan, and you were so blah, and I wondered what it could possibly be.

I don't belong here.

It's such a waste of time.  I can disappear, and no one would notice.  Just vanish into the woodwork, into the hallway, out of your life, and you would be so much happier.

I'm a nice background, anyway.  A nice wallpaper.  Something pleasant to perk up the atmosphere of the room, but not much else.

How do I make myself matter?







































Homicide might do the trick.









































I hate you so much right now.  I wish I could leave town.  I wish you'd notice if I did.

I wish I could just get over this.