It's 9:56 and I don't have the time to sit her and write when I have a billion other things to do and think about. But, I need sometime to catch up with myself and my thoughts because they are miles ahead of me and my body has its physical limititations.

limitations; it can only take me so far.

and i'm trying to calm myself down. my therapy. talk or rather type myself out of this duldrum, this humdrum - hurting - feel shitty - please god - i need a miracle - kind of feeling.

and i know that's a really long sentence. with shitty as grammar and shitty as syntax. and when you come here you might expect something amazing - but i've lost my touch. so these are just words to comfort me and not to impress you.

and i still want to. no matter how much i say i don't. want. to. impress. you.

and man, will that ever change about it?

guess not.

and i'm reading howl from allen ginsberg. and it's good but i can't finish it. because i keep reviewing the orientation of the muscles in the leg and their innervations. and i'm trying to remember which is deep or superficial. or lateral. or medial.

and all i can think about is how i wish i could just use my muscles to get away from here. instead of learning about their orientatin.

and how i wish i could be different. and not suck at everything i do. and i'm just trying to be strong. and find a reason to keep going.

and i'm not sure. that stupid suicidal shit. i mean, when i say i need a reason to keep going i mean to keep studying. and to keep heading towards this unkown future of mine.

and i feel like everything out of a reach. just an inch. and an inch is enough for me to feel words apart from where i want to be.

and all i want is to know exactly what i should do. how i should go about this. and i just want to melt into this block of white, this digital font, and if these words could please serve me. and if i could live off these words and it could feed me - i would choose this. i would choose this life. because i love to write.

but, i can't. because there's more to life than losing myself in my writing. and it's just funny no matter how hard i try to be good at something that i'm innately not. i do it anyway. because that's the way things are suppose to be. that's the way i was raised - guess. and this isn't about blame. on anyone. parental pressure is bullshit.

i'm a big girl. tie my shoes and everyting. i have a mind of my own. i know what i'm getting myself into. my parents didn't choose my path for me. i did.

i want to.
i do.
want to.

i just wish i was good at something. make me believe that i'm actually worth more than my strained efforts at organic chemistry, anatomy&physiology, and microbiology. and blahblahblah.

save me.

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