Journal #49

I hate that I remember. I hate that I remember all the things in life that make me feel alone. That's my problem. I remember the words that led me to starvation, to the edge of a knife. I want to be praised. I want him to say to me "You're my beautiful girl. You're a good girl." He shows it, always, but I need it to be said in his voice, in the way only he can say it. I dream of me and Boyfriend lying shirtless in bed like we did a month ago. I dream of us in the dark holding each other skin to skin. It's been weeks and still I wake up and stare out wishing he were right next to me. I could live to be one hundred years old and I'll wake up needing him near me for the rest of my days. 

We played a gig last night and made some good money. The past week's been filled with job interviews, two of which I landed, but it wasn't work that provided stable pay and working on commission isn't good for an eight hour day. A side hustle, sure, but I'm looking for stable money right now. I'll start looking again tomorrow I just needed a day today to do fuck all. Spring is here so naturally I wish to go out and walk around the mountainside. Not that I'll go, but I like to imagine I can get myself there and wander around. I miss Merida. I miss walking around and going to the park whenever I liked and never having to worry. 

I don't know where I'll end up someday. I don't know. I just need to be capable so Boyfriend will consider taking me with him. Not that I have much confidence in that. I'm sure it's better to be without me in terms of living and he should leave me if I'm too far away. I'm scared. I need to get my Mexican citizenship in order as soon as I'm able to make the damn appointment. I need that option or I'm sure to be left behind for good. I just feel lonely as of late, what's new.

I should have a beer soon and work on my written project. I write best when I'm buzzed, but not fully drunk. It's easier for the words to come to me and though I hate to admit it because it sounds trashy, it does help. Though I'd hate to do it all the time. That would be dreadful. Just once every few months is fine. I really wish I could get high sometime soon. Some weed alone in my bedroom would set me straight again. Oh well. 

I sometimes wish my other friend didn't live on the other side of the world. I'd like to hang out with her today and smoke and talk about things. Not everything though. She'd tire of me if I admitted too much. 

I read something online a couple weeks ago that I've been thinking about every now and then when I'm moved to tears by something I remember. It was a quote that went something along the lines of "When I remember what someone I had nothing but love for said about me." That hurt. That really hurt. I wish I were someone else. I wish someone truly thought highly of me. But as much as I speak of craving praise, there's nothing I do or am capable of doing that would be worthy of a "good job" or "I'm proud of you." I just wish I was that kind of girl.