stairwells and playgrounds

Do you know what I did today?
I tore apart my novel.
The words I spent three years pruning and holding and chewing.. Gone. Deleted from my hard drive, burned up in the 23rd floor stairwell. I feel vindicated and sick. Killing a story is mostly tearing pieces from yourself. I don't even know why I did it. I was flipping through it and suddenly decided I hated it, hated whatever it made me feel. It made me feel him again. And I spat it from my mouth.

And I killed something in me, but maybe it's more like I burned it so that something else, something better can grow. Or maybe I'm all confused in my head again.

Noah and I talked tonight and I swear, if we empathized anymore with each other we'd be crawling around in the same skull. Playground mindsets, we think we're the last ones picked, the ones forgotten, the tag along.. and we hate it. So we isolate ourselves, run five feet away from the mob in hopes that someone will notice and call after. Then six feet, seven, eight, until we've run to where no one can find us. And our pride holds us back from returning. So we get cold and lonely and miserable and vindictive and bitter... because we hate being needy and we hate to show our weaknesses. I'm expecting you to reject me, and so I do it for you. Forget casting the first stones at me, I'll heap them on my head. And somehow it's all in my inability to receive Your love, and to claim the victory you died for. And to forgive. Why is it so fucking hard to forgive? Beat me up, steal my things, spit in my face.. forgiven as easily as I butter my toast. But reject me? Forget me? Choose someone else over me?And I'm crushed, broken, and bitter.

Haha, twenty years of introspective shit spewed out. Knowing yourself leads to some sort of enlightenment right?


No, it did. I know this- that^ is not who I am. That's what I let myself do, and feel, and think. But that is not who I am. I am the first chosen, the beloved daughter of the king of playground. He picked me. He wants me on his team, in fact he's fought and hurt and bled and cried and screamed and ached and prayed and died for me to be with him. So, again to you, Liar of all lies. I'm wanted, I'm worthwhile. And you are damned. Also, pride be damned.

I need a smoke.