“You can’t just sit there
and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours
and think that counts as love.
You just can’t. You have to do things.
I’m going to do what I want to do.
I’m going to be who I really am.
And I’m going to figure out what that is.
And we could all sit around and wonder and
feel bad about eachother and blame alot of people
for what they did or didn’t do or what they didn’t know.
— I don’t know.
I guess there could always be someone to blame.
— It’s just different.
Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes,
I think that the only perspective is to really be there.
Because it’s okay to feel things. I was really there.
And that was enough to make me feel infinite.
— I feel infinite.”—
Fuck feeling inadequate. Fuck laying in bed thinking about everything you’re not doing. Fuck feeling like time is running out. Fuck self image. Fuck his perfect face. Fuck your unwashed hair. Fuck not trying hard enough. Fuck the internet. Fuck colds. Fuck being alone. Fuck loneliness. Fuck having to do it all over again tomorrow. Fuck youth. This isn’t youth. This isn’t freedom and weightlessness. Fuck not feeling young. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck this.
“I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. My love’s not impersonal yet not wholly subjective either. I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have. And you cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.”—Sylvia Plath