but the lows are so extreme, that the good seems fucking cheap.

i'm not sure how to even write with my thoughts in proper order. i just know that sometimes when i'm alone in my room my thoughts get the best of me. i am overhelmed with my worries and i begin to lose my breath. i want to scream and cry but nothing comes out. my chest starts to feel heavy, like someone is pressing down on me and i can't get up. i'm beginning to think that everything i thought about life is just a fantasy. finding the perfect job, the perfect man, the perfect life..it's not what it's about at all. it's so much more than that. it almost feels like if this all ended, it wouldn't matter. life would still go on and everything around me would eventually fade away. it's not a bad thought. it's not a scary thought. it's almost a relief. like i'm not afraid to die. i know that this world has so much to offer, but it's like i'll never get the satisfaction of making my life complete. there isn't anything out there that really makes me want to be. i know i will still try to find that, and maybe someday i will, but right now it's like there's something missing and it can't be found. this is all so complicated and i'm not sure if i'm supposed to be upset or content with this.

i really wish i grew up in the late 60's. i wish i hung out with andy warhol and smoked cigarettes in the factory. i wish i protested against the war and had long flowing hair. i would wear a flower behind my ear. i'd meet an activist boy with shaggy brown hair and i'd claim it's love. we'd write poetry in parks and make love in the afternoon under willow trees. he'd tell me i was magical. but then he would break my heart and my free spirit would be shattered. i'd start going to underground punk rock shows and lose myself in liquor. i would go home with every boy because every boy would know who i am. i was the girl with a broken heart. we'd shoot lines on cracked mirrors and eventually that would not be enough. i would find a rock star boyfriend with dark eyes and he would tie an elastic around my arm. he would take that needle and prick it into my arm, my blood captured inside the needle. it would look like red clouds in the desert and i'd fall backwards into his sheets, shut my eyes and dream. i would see myself as a little girl, running in a park with a kite in the sky. my mother would laugh and pick me up and twirl me, her laughter filling every pocket of air around me. i would remember what she smelled like. daisies. my rockstar would probably leave me at a party somewhere and i would find his arm around another girl. a younger girl. i'd smash my glass on the ground and walk off into the night. i would stumble down a dark lane and disappear into the night. i would never be seen again.
only a remembered as a faded memory.