Running out of gas...

There I was, downstairs in my mother's house when I almost broke down again. I don't know if it was my dog whining to go outside for the millionth time in the last hour, or if it was the fact the puppy had attempted to ruin another pair of my sandals, or the weights I had brought up to start exersizing, or the peanut butter sandwich I was making to end my failure of a dieting program, or the children's cartoon on the television that was approved for ages 6 and up.

Probably all of that together with the fact that I am so lonely here. Every once and a while I get some company, but even then I still feel so alone during those times away. I can't handle being alone anymore. I have terrible nightmares. Nightmares are always with me... and all of them revolve around one topic. Death.

I'm dying, People are dying, I'm trying to stop people from dying or they are trying to save me from dying. One time I was actually trying to kill someone. Death. Not good for sleeping.

And I am feeling so distant from everything around me. Everytime I get away, I feel better in general. But the longer I stay, the more depressed I become. I'm not stupid. It's not the whole "vacation" that has me feeling better. It's the relief of the pressure of a moody house that can't seem to understand how much trouble I am having with... everything. Maybe I still haven't dealt with everything. Maybe I have feelings that count too.

But no, I'm just selfish. I once thought I was selfish like this. I probably am a little selfish. Am I allowed to be selfish? Do my feelings matter? I believe that is why I feel surpressed here. Because my feelings don't seem to matter very much.

But hey, I'm a 21 year-old who's just bitching about working 5 days out of the week. Yep, working at Rite Aid. What a great time. Exactly what I want to do during my summer. But nope, I can't complain. I can't feel horrible about it. I'm just being annoying apparently. And god forbid I have a bad day at Rite Aid. God forbid. God forbid that work was actually harder than the description. No job is going to be fun. I get it. Now let me whine so I can stop surpressing my feelings a little, cause I got that down pat.

Now I'm being pestered for not sharing or opening up? How can I open up about the big things if the small ones don't matter? I can't just pour out my feelings to someone who can't take small doses of my life. It just isn't right... it doesn't feel right.

Nothing feels right anymore. Not even my own bed feels like my own. I need space to grow, like a plant trying to spread its roots. I feel choked... and it isn't like anyone is doing anything wrong to me. It is all ME. I'M the one causing problems. I'M the one who is tired and cranky. I'M the one who is complaining all the time. I have a problem. A big problem.

I am running out of gas.