Compliments

If every cigarette I've inhaled was a compliment, I might feel good about myself.
But they're not. So...
I'm stuck with the cancer. Hurray.

But the cigarettes feel good when.
Things are bad.

And I smoke.
And they feel better. Well.
Not better, but I can deal with them. Or rather.
I don't care that they're there, and that they're bad.
It doesn't.
Matter. I guess.

Which is weird because they're only carbon.
Carbon copies .
Face the feeling of togetherness.
While those of hydrogen seem to offer less.
But the poison is true happiness.

But they don't make everything go away.
Because, they're still there.
In the morning.
Or after the nicotine high.
Wears off.

But the cigarettes are gone.
Because I promised him I would.
Try not to.
I slipped up a couple months ago.
And I want to again.
Because it feels so good.

I'll still feel fat.
Because I know I am.
People will lie and tell me.
That I'm not.
No, you're not fat.
You're normal.
But I know that they don't think that.
I don't want to be average.
I want.
To be better than.

130.
Those numbers feel like an elephant on me.
And it's how much I weighed.
This morning.
115.
That is the most beautiful number I've seen.
It's what I.
Should weigh.
What I want to.
Weigh.
But I can't.
Because my fat ass won't let me.
I try to diet.
And I fail.
Over a year of trying.
And I weigh more now.
Than I did in January.
I miss 125.

It's not there anymore.
Because there is no proportion.
Just a blob.
Thick thighs.
Droopy breasts.
Large stomach.
Double chin.
Bingo wings.
Even my feet are fat.

But I miss my hair too.
My red hair.
Because I wanted to be blonde.
I wanted to stand apart from Shelby.
So I bleached it.
And it was orange.
I dyed it.
And it was green.
And now it's just as ugly as me.

I miss my sight.
I'm going blind.
I can't see anymore and it's affecting what I used.
To think.
Was special about me.
I can't draw now.
Not that I ever had any talent.
Because I'm not good enough.
And now I can't see.
My teacher walks past me with a short remark while giving everyone else some praise.
I'm too average for her to express something.
But the fact that I'm becoming blind scares me.
I lost.
My glasses.
And I couldn't see.
Shit.

I was crying.
I cried today too.
During the end of art.
And during all of fourth hour.

I'm an emotional wreck.
But I supposed that I would be.
My therapist dumped me.
Too crazy for her I guess.
Ignored by my family.
When I am depressed.

No.
Avoided.
"Oh great. She's depressed.
I don't FEEL like dealing with that right now."
And making me feel bad for feeling bad.
Even when.
It's hard to come to them for help.
Even when.
I try so hard, worked so hard.
To ASK them for help.
They have to make me regret it.
And I don't get help.
I receive guilt.
Guilt for being selfish.
And I guess I am.
Add that to my list of atrocities.

I suppose that this was supposed to be a journal entry for myself.
So I could.
Figure out what I'm saying.
So I could.
Remember what happens in my.
Life.
Because it's slipping away.
And each day runs into the next.
So do the weeks.
The months.

I hardly remember living in Washington, DC.
Even though it was for 12 years.
12 years.
I miss my friends.
I miss being carefree.
I miss going to church and loving the Lord.
Because I haven't been to church in a long time.
And I lost faith in the Lord.
And gained doubt.
Having an atheistic husband doesn't help.
But I miss having something to count on.
I miss thinking that.
There was something to care about.
I miss Jesus.
I don't know if I'll get him back.

I miss my friends.
I miss Sami, my best friend.
The one.
That keeps avoiding me.
To go outside and smoke.
I miss my wife.
My Maeve.
Whom I haven't spoken to.
In over a.
Year.
I miss Charlotte.
Because I moved to Misery.
And lost a great friend.
I miss Mary.
Because she's gotten into the party scene.
And she has Kayla now.
And I'm kind of worthless presently.

I don't have family.
I don't have friends.
I have Dillon, but not.
Recently.
Because recently.
Hasn't been so kind to us.
Fights over simple things.
Only two dates in two months.
Haven't gotten laid either.
Not that that should be public news.
I don't feel wanted.
Or needed.
Because I.
Do the wanting.
And the needing.
And he doesn't need me.
So why is he with me?
Or is he slipping away slowly to.
Make it easier?

I shouldn't be thinking what I am.
Because.
He loves me.
Doesn't he?
Love is a funny word.
It truly is undefinable.
Because love.
Is a feeling.
Not just emotion.
Or a word.

But a word's only as good as you think it is.
Your belief.
In it's abilities.
Is what gives it power.
Not the word itself.