msjessica's Diaryland Diary

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thinking about tomorrow

earlier today, it had been 66 days since my last entry. that's probably the longest in a while.

i've been listening to some songs tonight that grab, forcefully grab, memories/feelings of being younger - 16, 17, 18. i briefly went back to my old diary, not sure what i was looking for besides mentions of these songs... i spent 30 seconds there, i opened an entry and cringed at the first 4 words, shut it down. there are pages like that in here too. thats what time does. the things that are important, the way of expressing them, the references.... it all becomes dated. the emotion, some of it at least, remains - but there comes a point when the words turn, go sour, i feel like i've never really found my way of expression. my REAL way.

the men i fall in love with quickly - not necessarily the ones i've had relationships with - are all ones who are artistic, who have that outlet. who have an Activity that is their mode of expressing emotion. painting, writing, singing, music. to be able to engage so fully in my emotions as that, to be able to make them my life, my work. i hunger for that. sometimes i feel like because i don't have that, my feelings aren't good enough, like it's the strength, no, validity of the emotions that imbibes someone with creativity. it's not true, of course. it's frustrating though, not being able to share in that way. certainly i think i have often used sex like that, thinking it was the only thing i was good at. which is such a subjective thing anyway, although of course so is art.

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there's this song that when i was about 17, not long before i moved away to Sydney, i must have listened to on repeat for a couple of days.... it sort of peaked in an overnight session, this song on repeat, incense in my room, smoking pipes, big swollen eyes, tears down my cheeks, big red cuts all on my arms, my chest, my heart aching and thumping to get out, i was SO. SAD. and i waited until everyone, my family members, until they'd left the house, and i had been reading about how to tie a noose, and i had been eyeing off a length of rope that once held a punching bag in our backyard area, now just dangling from a rafter, and i had tested my weight by grabbing the rafter with both hands and lifting my feet off the ground, and it could hold me, so after i had waited for them to leave, after i had listened to this one song about 74 times i walked out there and i moved a chair over and i stood on it and i tied a knot in this rope and i put my head through a loop in it and i tried it out. i tried hanging by my neck on this rope, stepping just one foot off the chair, shifting my weight, seeing how does this feel, does this feel better or worse than how i feel right now, than how i have been feeling.it felt worse. of course.

so i put the chair back, i untied the loop, i went back to my room and i put on a different song.

i feel like it's always been that i haven't wanted to tell the story of the end state in words, like that just then, instead i wish i had a way to express all the little stops along the way that lead there, in a way that wasn't words. people don't seem to understand my body language, or at least, when i try to tell those types of stories through sex the person doesn't stick around for long.

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i think for the first time in what feels like a long time to me, i'm going to get falling over drunk. i'm going to drink these bloody mary's until i am crying and sick. one woman performance piece for an audience of none.

8:54 p.m. - 2016-08-20

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