“Just for future reference, don’t use words like “love” anymore. It’s a very sensitive word and it wears out quickly. Romeo barely says it, but John Hinckley filled up a whole journal with it. To put it into your terms, it’s a currency that’s easily devalued. Pretty soon you’re saying it whenever you hang up the phone or whenever you leave. It turns into an apology. Then it’s an excuse. Some assholes want it to be a bulletproof vest: don’t hate me; I love you. But mostly it just means - more. More, more - give me something more.”—Peter Craig, Hot Plastic (via atomos)
I had such high hopes for this summer, and all I’ve been met with so far is disappointment.
My job fucking sucks. I come in every day and immediately feel like I want to cry. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, and I hate feeling like somebody else could be doing a much better job than me. And I really don’t give a flying fuck about what I’m researching. And I’m locked in a lab by myself the entire day when it’s sunny and warm outside. And I can’t quit because I’ve been given a grant in advance, and I can’t afford to give any of it back.
I’m lonely. Everyone in my house is a hermit. The friends I have here are all busy, and so am I, so I spend a lot of time alone. I always thought of myself as kind of a loner, but I’ve learned this past year that I really can’t stand being alone for too long.
My relationship status is confusing me. I’m still totally in love, but my gut tells me that I need to open myself to experiences with other people and to the possibility of finding a better match. I hate that I’m still messing around with my ex but can’t make any sort of commitment, despite the fact that I’m in love with him, because I need fuck other guys just to make sure I’m not missing out on something better.
I’m still not over my disordered eating. I’ve been trying so hard to build a healthy relationship with food, but my unstable mood has been making it difficult. One minute I love my body, the next I’m disgusted with it. I’ve been skipping meals and compensating with exercise lately, a habit I thought I’d never again pick up. But if I don’t do it, I feel even worse. This isn’t even about wanting to be skinny like the bitches I see on TV and in movies. It’s about perfection. I desire to be the best I can be at everything I do, and I desire my body to reach its full potential. And it’s also about control. When my life feels like it’s spinning out of control, I try to gain control over the one thing that is actually within my power: myself.
I really miss being a kid, when I didn’t have to worry about any of this shit, when I didn’t even KNOW about any of this.