the epitome of my darker parts.

"why am i so depressed. why am i in this mood. why can't i sleep anymore."

"write it."

"write what."

"just write down your dreams."

"i don't remember them now."

"i know that, i meant write them down once you wake up. get it out of you."

i have no words to describe what i'm feeling right now. i'm afraid of everything. i'm terrified of being lonely, but really like being alone.

i hate that i time will come when i will be the only thing left of my family.

it's rather obnoxious how often i find myself crying. but actually.

i have everything i could want. this time last year, i wanted everything that i now have. perhaps that's part of my problem. i have too much. i'm caught up in stasis and realize that my problems (rather, "problems") are jack shit compared to all that's going on in the rest of the world. i mean, come on, self, suck it up.

i would like to find some sidewalk cafe and just sit there for hours and hours.

i really would like — still, after all of these years — to come from old money. with debutantes and unnecessary pretension (though that seems redundant) and chateaus and drinks at the algonquin and champagne at the waldorf and a suite at the plaza and floor-length gowns and elbow-high gloves and all those other stereotypical things. i romanticize the past. all of it. i always have. hell, i romanticize everything.

i guess what i really want is to be a member of new york's high society during the late 1940s.

or, at the very least, i wish that society still existed. it was beautiful. and i am stuck in a world that, day after day, crushes the last few beautiful things it has.

i love finding beauty in the small things. i suppose the fear that's gripping me this time is that i'm losing my ability to do so.