I was up to my old tricks again this weekend. I thought I could be stronger than that and not cave in. "Do you see it as caving in?" I said maybe not, but really, it was. I guess I can't really say why that's a bad thing, but in my mind I think it is, so it is.

"but I remember everything
what have I become? ..."

All my old bullshit comes back to me, the same stupid thing I did time and time again to feel like I was important to someone, for even a few hours. It's a bit of a sick fantasy. So now, I'm an empty, detached socket that leads nowhere and connects to nothing. The extra plug somewhere that no-one uses because it's behind the dresser and you can't get to it.

"my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end ..."

He's gone, they're all gone, none of them stay for long. The ones that did stay went in the end anyway. It's a pattern I'm used to. I have come to expect it. I guess it's not so shocking for me that way. It's safer, because I already know the outcome before it happens.

"and you could have it all
my empire of dirt ..."

So what do I have to offer? I have attachment issues, abandonment issues, I'm completely independent, I need no-one, I'm afraid of everything, I have very little real confidence, I'm untidy and haven't an adequate kitchen supply. All my active pursuits are solitary things: writing, reading, running, snowboarding. Even acting is very alone by nature. You're alone with your head and heart reacting to the world and other actors around you and there's a social aspect, but it's all so very superficial. It's me against the world. I have no need for someone else. So they don't feel needed, perhaps. I should let them carry my bags.

"I will let you down
I will make you hurt ..."

I do just as much running. As anyone else. I condemn the runners, but I had a writer a little while back that seemed willing to go there, and I didn't want it. I didn't follow. I just ignored him and then he went away. I haven't even given him back his book. I don't miss him, not at all. I feel guilty sometimes, but for the most part, I don't care. And that makes me horrible.

"upon my liar's chair
full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair ..."

And I am a liar. I lie to myself on a daily basis. In both directions. I tell myself I'm good, I tell myself I'm bad, and it's all lies. And I lie to them too, "No, I'm not interested in more than this. No, I'm fine, this is fine, I want to do this."

Lies.

And I'm so far into them that they abstract my movements, they colour everything I do and I can't seem to change that pattern.

"if I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way"

If I could roll back time to when I was 13. Ten, even. If I could just find myself then and change two little things. I know what those things are, and they are such small beginnings. The patterns start somewhere and if I could just change those two things early in my life, oh god how things would be different now. How I would be so different in ways that I know would be good.

But we can't and I just keep doing the same old shit over and over again. It's either shut down or feel constant pain.

Which is worse?

Song - Hurt - Johnny Cash