Had a bad day again
She said I would not understand
She left a note and said “I’m sorry, I had a bad day again.
She spilled her coffee, broke her shoelace.
Smeared the lipstick on her face.
Slammed the door and said “I’m sorry, I had a bad day again.”
And she swears there’s nothing wrong
I hear her playing that same old song
She puts me off and puts me on
And had a bad day again
She said I would not understand
She left a note that said, “I’m sorry, I had a bad day again.”
I’m at the point where I’m still trying to find my blogging voice. Trying to figure out what to share, what to keep to myself. The biggest problem I’m having with that is that I don’t have just a bad day. I have bad weeks. And I don’t want to be putting up depressing posts all the time. At the same time, I can’t just feign a happy post, either.
I know that this is about being real and honest and being me. Writing for me. But even when I look back, I don’t want to be seeing a bunch of depressing posts.
But, then again, if I’m being honest, it’s not even about this blog. About my words. It’s about me. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to wish that things were different. I don’t want to have to fight against my own head so much.
I know that it’s just a part of life. It just seems to be such a large part of mine. Almost abnormally large. And maybe I’m just being a drama queen about things. Maybe I’m far more affected by my break up than I’m letting on. Than I’m even letting myself know. Maybe I’m just stuffing and hiding so many emotions and so much pain that it just has to let itself out somehow and this is how it’s choosing to do so. This is the way I’m allowing it to come out.
I’d honestly never really taken blogging too seriously before. As previously stated, this is my third blog. I think that my other two never really made it anywhere because a) real life people had access to it which b) made me very cautious about what I wrote. I didn’t want just everyone knowing certain things about me. I didn’t want anyone to worry. I wasn’t worth anyone worrying about. I didn’t want people asking me questions. I didn’t want to have to try to explain myself to someone who would never understand.
Because I an addiction. And it’s the hardest thing to explain to someone who has never had one. They can never understand that… overwhelming pull toward something. They can never understand how almost impossible it is to resist. And I didn’t want them looking down on me. I didn’t want them changing how they interacted with me based on this knowledge. I didn’t want people searching for evidence.
I guess that, while wanting someone to know, to care, I didn’t want anyone knowing what I struggle with. I know that everyone has struggles, I just didn’t want MINE out there.
So anyway, now I have this blog. I think that there are two, very carefully selected, real-life people who read this. One (C, not to be confused with c the ex) pretty much knows everything anyway, but the other one (L) knows surprisingly little about me. I knew that if I was going to blog and internet stalk C, there was no way that my blog would be kept from her. And I’ve been talking to L much more lately and I’m honestly not sure what warranted him to be so special, but I guess he is. It also helps that each person is states away. It’s not like I have to look either of them in the face after a post.
I guess that life just gets the best of me sometimes. I’m not sure how to pull myself out of this feeling. I’ve never quite figured that out. Even though I’ve been dealing with this for years. I still don’t have a handle on it. Though I suppose it would help if I did talk about it more.
But think about it, who wants to hear about the same thing day after day? No one. I’m not going to do that to someone. So I guess that there are just so many things happening in my brain and I’m not sure what to do with them. So for now, they stay. They will rattle around up there until I find a way to let them out.