9:34 p.m. - 07.11.2004
Argh.
I'm a very confused girl right now. I don't feel like elaborating on it too much, either. Suffice to say it's writing related and boy related, as usual.
So far the summer has been interesting if not very productive. I need to get productive soon but I'm empty and blackened inside.
Here's something from the play I wrote this spring, I've been working on it again (a tiny bit, which really means just re-reading it) and I'm finding myself inside it...
Everything and everyone breaks my heart. I've always been this way. I always remember an empty, hollowed-out feeling somewhere inside, kind of like a half-asleep thought, like a dream. You can always pretend like everything’s all right, though. You can go through days and nights and days and nights and not even know it, not even realize that time is passing. You breathe, you eat, you shit, you laugh, you fuck. Just pretend like you don’t know what’s growing inside of you, the blackness that’s taking over, inch by inch, cell by cell. You think maybe if you pretend hard enough, for long enough, it’ll all go away. But it just gets worse and gets bigger and bigger and bigger until you can’t ignore the pain anymore because it’s all you can think of, taking over every thought. I’m rotting deep inside my body. I’ve known it for a while now. I just didn’t know what to call it before this. I’ve been crying inside for years but nobody heard me.
(She stands up and there is a big whole in the middle of her body.)
My body is a scream.
