I feel…apathetic.

And that’s so much worse than being happy, or content, or even sad. At least when I feel those things I have something to hold on to, something real to grip and feel and examine.

But this…this is nothing. I feel everything slipping away and I can hardly bring myself to care, save those few moments of clarity when panic takes over and I can barely breathe.

All I want is control. I want routine.

I want to own my own house. Maybe and apartment. Maybe a houseboat. When I was a baby I slept best when floating around in a  little boat in my grandma’s pool.

I want to have a job, and I want to pay bills. I want to make a grocery list every week and then go buy those things when I need them with my own money.

I want a paycheck and a mortgage and a welcome mat.

But I have none of those things, just a bedroom and a $10 a week job teaching my cousin to play the piano.

I should be happy. There is nothing wrong with my life. It’s good, all of it.

But I’m indifferent.

Dear Diary,

I’m hoping beyond hope that this will be a place where I can truly let go. My ink and paper diary is so careful. I’m haunted by the idea that someone will read it and be hurt by something, or worse (and more likely), repulsed by the rather mangled thing my soul can sometimes be.

I don’t give a damn what strangers think of me, so long as my loved ones stay in the dark.

It’s strange how my mind fluctuates between being convinced that I’m a horrible, evil human, and thinking that I’m ridiculously self-centered for thinking I’m of any importance at all. It’s like I’m constantly struggling between stereotypically self-centered teenager, and Yoda. I can’t help but think that things would be easier to understand, if I didn’t have this pesky self-hatred always taunting me. No matter what I think, it’s wrong, and I’m wrong for thinking it.

I often switch between thinking I’m crazy and thinking I’m making entirely too much out of typical adolescent thought patterns.

I think my biggest fear is being typical. Sub-par. Eh.

I’d rather be spectacularly horrible than spectacularly average.

I’m tired.