if i never have to speak of my feelings again, I'd be fine.

I guess I'm realizing that somethings going on with me. That something isn't right. I could spill about how I'm just coming home from my mothers 50th birthday party. i could go into detail about how tons of people showed up or how i looked in my blazer and hot pink boots. I could describe how Kristin walked in and how it wasn't awkward at all. In fact, i would even go as far to say for a second things were as they were before. how my grandmother hugged Kristin as if she were my missing sister and how my uncle gave out an excited yell as we stood in a chair less corner just trying not to laugh at my cousin and his hoodlum friends. But none of that really matters. Everything faded to black eventually. And despite the fact that distant family took the time to look me in the eye and say "you've grown up so beautifully" or nodded admirably as i spoke out my plans for college and the summer program at USC I'm applying to. Even how my great aunt stopped mid-sentence to actually look in my face and say "You know, you're a very pretty girl". All of that is trivial because as an old acquaintance asked me about my friend situation and ended up nodding and saying "so you keep to yourself then". Or how when i gave them hugs i knew it wasn't right and when Kristin's mother asked me when I'd be over and i had nothing to do but lie and say "soon". Between that and the forever long speech made about my mother and how she made it through all the troubles where every eye settled on me and i knew they pitied the innocent child whose father ended up saying "fuck you" and killing himself, I realized something. As i pushed back tears welling up in my eyes and that ever growing hate of myself. I carried on through the hours. slicing cake and handing out practiced smiles.

So i headed to a car with my tipsy mother already planning out a mild car crash and anticipating a phone call i might have to make. She sloppily commented on Kristin saying that she seemed "disaffected" as i gazed out a window looking at the deserted sidewalks. "Focus on the road, i don't feel like talking about any of that" i replied. And she said "what do you want to talk about anyway?" she said as we slowly merged into the opposite lane.

What do i want to talk about? Absolutely nothing. I spent a year of my life begging for people to listen, begging for a person to look into my eyes and witness truth. Now I'm realizing that people for the most part don't give a shit. Complaints and tears don't lead to respect it just leads to dislike. So i haven't spoke much.... I don't even understand the things i do feel and half the time i don't want to see them thrown away. I refuse to have my feelings dismissed. In fact maybe Ive been withholding it because i don't feel that people deserve to see that side of me. I don't want to be vulnerable.

I don't care. And that's all there is to it. I guess in more ways then one i am my own best friend. It gets tough within myself always harboring these feelings and repressing anger but for now i wouldn't have it any other way.