I'm going to type, seeing how I have nothing better to do. Sleep will not hold me in his arms; I will not allow him until dawn finds me as well.
I don't want to be alone in the dark, and I can't fall asleep with the light on unless I'm desperately exhausted. Even if I could sleep, it's dark within my mind.
I'm terrified that I won't get a job -- more on that in a bit -- and that I'll end up locked away in the mental health center. At least it's spitting distance from my mother's house. Yaaaaaaaaay, feel the grandness. Boo.
I actually dragged my bed to the center of my room so that I wouldn't feel enclosed by walls when I slept the other night. I stayed up to 8 in the morning with nothing more than an 8 P.M. Cherry Coke and my will powering my wakefulness.
I don't want to be locked away. I remember being in a jail cell once. A shrink thought I was a danger to myself and had the police get me and hold me until I could be evaluated. They called my mother, the next county over, at 1 A.M. to come get me from jail.
That was hard to forget and I haven't managed to yet. The mattress on the skinny miltary-style bunk was bare of sheets, with a plastic-like surface that clung like thick spiderwebs to my damp cheek. It squealed every time I shifted my weight. I couldn't get comfortable. It's rare for me to be able to sleep in a new place, although I recently managed to nod off at Jo's. Heh. She's family to me, and that makes wherever she is, a sort of home too.
The bed in the cell wasn't the bad part. The ceiling hung low and blandly beige over my head. The temperature was low and I shook with nerves, as well as to keep warm.
It was the lock, that damned lock. The room was small and I couldn't get out. I didn't do anything wrong, I'd tried to be a good girl, tried to pretend everything was ok, and they put me in a cell. I didn't understand it. Still don't, really.
By the time I was free to go, I had five blue circles on my forearm, hidden under my sweatshirt. In the last hour of my captivity, I had paced madly and wanted nothing more than the freedom to scream my lungs out. I was afraid, though, that if I did anything to displease the police, they might keep me longer. I didn't know if they could do that, but I didn't intend to find out. To keep the mewling cries in my throat from escaping into the air, I bared my forearm and bore down hard with my teeth.
I never want to feel that awful again.
I keep wanting to ask Sin to not let "them" lock me away. It's irrational -- what could he do about it? He's a powerful presence. I guess I just want somebody to look out for me. I'm doing a crappy job of it solo.
Ah yes. Job. I got one more app in, and was told that they're not looking to hire anyone yet. Which means, not until after the deadline to sign the lease. I'm not going to be able to stay in this house.
Two job apps in. *swears at self* I'm quite the piece of work, eh? Grrrrrrrr, bad me.
Not bad me. Lazy me. Normal, not-good, not-bad, me. I'm trying to make myself refrain from the clear-cut good/bad dichotomy and it's making my brain hurt.
I want a kitty, dammit! A kitty and something to do all day and the ability to make my own choices! I'll go homicidally mad if I have to listen to my mother tell me what to wear and when to eat all summer long.
I want somebody to love me and take care of me while I take care of them, somebody who won't abandon me, won't go away or leave me alone.
Alone, in the dark. Like I am now.
Good/bad/ugly. I'm the normal, for I am neither wholly good nor totally evil. And while I'm not a supermodel (yet!), I am definitely not ugly, either.
I can't even bear to check Pro. More stories getting started and others needing posts, and I can't write just now. I managed to reintroduce an old character of mine only to abandon her, bleeding on the ground.
Good thing she's not quite like me, or I'd have her thoroughly annoyed with me. I myself am a bit peeved with the cosmos. I got off my ass and got another form filled out and turned in. Shouldn't that put me closer to actually getting a job? No, apparently. Not looking. Grrr.
I'm gonna be 22, living with my mother, craving kitten companionship and having nothing better than a pair of Furbies.
My life doesn't even suck right. I mean, some people spectacularly fuck up their lives. It's like a train going off the tracks, striking a building, and exploding in a grand fireball. My life, meanwhile, just shimmies oddly on the tracks and doesn't even move forward.
My entire life is a pit stop. This is not a happy thought to think. Eek.
Fuck this. I feel better, so I'm gonna try and sleep, despire the darkness outside. I'll cast a psychic light of the soul spell or some shit, I dunno. (I should stop reading high fantasy before bed, don't you agree?)