Four months in India, and you want to know my health record? Down with the fever/cough/cold package twice (with those damn antibiotics prescribed once), and food poisoning once. Le sigh. And I used to boast that I've been vomit free since '03. There goes my tag line. And that's just physically.

Mentally, I'm far from fine, too. My head's a mess. I want to forget about other people and for once just let myself be happy, but the guilt's killing me. I can hear the ticking heart. Hell, the heart I hear's not ticking, it's pounding. How the fuck is he able to stand it?

I can't keep sleeping in your bed
If you keep messing with my head
Before I slip under your sheets
Can you give me something please
I can't keep touching you like this
If it's just temporary bliss

Okay. Okay, here's a plan. I'm going to let myself be carefree until this New Year's. And then in the next one month, while he's gone, I'm going to prepare myself. Build walls. Become stronger. I might not be a good person, I might be selfish, I might be greedy, lazy, useless, worthless...but. I know I still deserve more than this.

But forget all that for a moment now. I need this New Year's Eve to be perfect. I need everything that I've ever imagined will happen to happen. If I'm not going to do the right thing, then at least I shouldn't have any regrets.

-----

This is from a draft long ago that I never got around to publishing, so here, it still holds weight anyway:

You know what's the problem? I don't think I'll ever find someone I can tell every single thing I feel too, even if I want to. I'm so...complex--which, when it comes down to it, is just a nicer way of saying fucked up. Sometimes I feel like I want to get away from myself, because there's too much of me to take. How can I expect a stranger to accept and understand (let alone love) me when I can't even do that much for myself?

To every guy who's ever liked me to some extent beyond that of a friend...I'm sorry.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

- Sylvia Plath