It’s 11:15 p.m.—my version of a late night. I can’t sleep, so here I am, sitting in bed, hoping I can write out all my feelings until my brain shuts off and I can rest.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing my hometown. I miss Tennessee every damn day. I never thought I could miss a place more in my life.
You want to know what’s been scaring me lately? I have one year left in Maine, and then after that, I can go wherever I want. To some, that may sound like a dream—but to me, it just reminds me that I’m not tied to anyone or any place. I truly am free to go wherever I want, and not a single person would care or be able to influence my decision.
It sounds like everything someone could ever wish for, but it just reminds me that I have no true place where my heart belongs—and no place that really feels like home. Which is ironic, because I just said I miss the state I grew up in. And yes, I miss the people—but I miss the mountains and the weather more.
It’s funny how much instability I create in my life by going places all the time and sleeping in a tent, but internally, my body yearns for a stable place to always land.
I’m only so free…until I realize I’m trapped within the confines of my own mind.
Secondly, I don’t know why I never go psychotic. Next time someone does me dirty, I’m just going to go crazy. Rising above…taking the high road…only ever spared their feelings, not mine. Because if I could go back and say every little thought I had running through my mind—and discarded for the sake of being “nice”—I would do it in a heartbeat.
Who gives a flying fuck if I lose my shit? I refuse to handle it with grace when you threw me away like trash. Grace is a cage, and the bars are begging to break.
Ugh. It’s so annoying, caring about whether or not I come off as crazy.
One of my friends recommended I write a very harsh letter and then burn it to see if it would make me feel better—but that would never work. I want to spew every hurtful thing that ever crossed my mind and watch as tears start to roll down their face. Watch the hurt take over every muscle in their being—and then finally, maybe—they’ll feel one measly ounce of the pain they put me through. FUCK SILENCE. FUCK COMPOSURE.
I want to watch his world burn.
Anyway… that’s what’s wrong with me. But I think I can sleep now. So goodnight, and good luck.