Do you know what it's like to be so desperate and in need of affection, that you have to make up happy situations just to keep going? Isn't that the way schitzofrenia begins?
Well, it comes out that I am that desperate after all. Why? Because I NEED to make up something, like a sort of situation with a man that makes me feel warm inside, loved, protected. And do you know how I make that man be? I make him be strong, caring, loving, the kind of man that would give his life for the woman he loves above everything, who actually happens to be me. I make him be unbelievably perfect, and at the same time... Impossible. Maybe someone like that actually exists, but even if he does, he would never love me. Why? Because there is always sombody just a little bit better than me. I'm always the second one, the spare one, the rebound girl. I'm always the one that gets hurt one way or another.
It's funny you know. I make everybody believe that I'm strong, that almost nothing gets to me. But I'm completly messed up. I mean, what sane person would invent people and situations just to feel better before going to sleep and not having nightmares? The answer is: NONE. Which leads me to the conclusion that I'm not sane, and aparently I don't want to be sane either because I even quit going to the psychologist.
I used to be careless, I just didn't give a fuck about men and feelings and all that shit. The only thing that mattered was to be pretty and draw the attention. But now that I do (and fortunately I do it without any effort), I feel empty, I feel like something is missing. And so I make up those missing things. I make up the envy of the ones I hate, the love of the ones I love (or at least want to be love by) and the pain of the ones that made me suffer, and that makes me sleep tight at night. Isn't that disturbing?
I'm fucked up in so many levels.