Sarah's Life

Yet another

I find, now that I have no shortage of time in which to journal. And no shortage of topics, either.

And, now more than ever, I find myself censoring myself because of my potential readers.

I have a small sketchbook, in which I put collages and such as inspiration and another outlet of creative energy (since I've been having difficulty writing much recently). The first page depicts the day I knew my relationship with Jeremy was ending. The last day of febuary.

We got into an argument the day before about his not-so-subtle accusations that I might be cheating on him (which I wasn't and I never cheated on him). Then, on the lightrail that morning he said something which I took as yet another accusation (he insisted it wasn't - I'm still not sure). That sparked off a fight. Next thing I knew he was calling me a bitch "I think you're a bitch, OK? a bitch and I hope you DIE".

Well, I didn't die right then, but our relationship did.

I turned to him, said "Well, that pretty much says it all, doesn't it?" pulled my ring off and handed it to him. He grabbed my backpack, threw it, and walked away. The image of the sobe bottle falling out of the waterbottle pocket and spinning on the ground inspired this: "Invalid Item" 

We did our typical cry and makeup, and the countdown to the end began for me. I'll probably always wonder just how serious he was when he said he wished I'd die. Sometimes those things lurk just beneath all the happy thoughts, and you mean them more than you think.

"The best way out is always through" - Robert Frost

This is the quote on the collage page for that day. I think it sums up what happened in the weeks to follow pretty well.

I'm finding less and less that I regret this decision. Now begins the tireless task of recovering my belongings from him, which is a task I lothe to undertake, because I know it will hurt him. Oh how I wish that I didn't care just enough to not want to hurt him. Isn't that always the catch though? You care just enough to not want to hurt, but not quite enough to avoid the pain. I can't live a lie anymore, I can't pretend that I feel something that isn't there (just as I can't hide the emotions I know are actually in my heart).

So, yeah. One more tedious journal entry, entertaining the notion that people actually give a fuck about my inner thoughts. Fuck. yeah.

So, I'm running out of music (I have 3 stabbing westward albums and the dreaming EP in a playlist and I promised myself that I'd start at the top and sign off when it reached the bottom, without messing with the play order, and I've only got "Sleep" and "Slipping away" to go.)

Thus, I sign off, and hope that the letter goes over ok (again, I'm rather sure it won't, but it's too late to take it back now). I'm starting to worry that I'm destined to be this way forever (Goddess, that's so teen-angsty pseudo-emo. My sister is really starting to rub off on me.)

"Black... black like the color of my soul" That really doesn't come across as well in type... the tone is so important.

Anyway, "Slipping away" and "Sleep"... what an appropriate combo to mark my signing off and going to sleep. teehehe. Sleep depravation is FUN!

~~Sarah


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"Forbidden fruits create jams" - Chuch sign saying
"Human life is permeated with underground streams" - Berdynev
"What a strange path I took to find my heart" - Crime and Punishment in Suburbia

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