Journal #53

I don't like getting carried away in fantastical daydreams anymore. I can't. Whenever I sit and imagine a future in which me and Boyfriend marry, I begin to cry because I'm not the type of woman he would pursue that sort of thing with. Besides, if I voiced my dream of being his wife ten years down the line and wanting a family with him, it would only frighten him, or worse, cause him to laugh at me. I think if I did marry him, his family would be disappointed in him. I'm not anyone special and I'm never going to be. That's just a pill that needs swallowing. So, instead, I cry and cry and cry and wish I were anybody else. Another fear of mine is that I'm not enough to satisfy him and that he'll grow bored of me someday. I'm scared and sometimes I worry. 

I'm a worthless, vapid woman and I'm sure no one would combat this. I can't help myself anymore. No one can. Not anymore. There isn't anyone that could convince me otherwise. Time and time again my hopes have gotten up just to be dashed by the people I care about and it hurts. I yearn to hear him tell me, "You're the only one for me," but I know it would take a lie for him to speak it. It hurts. All the time it just hurts. I want to go home. Please. I'm so tired. Just let me go home. But where is home? I don't know. I never will. 

I'm sorry. I really, truly am. This is so unimportant. This is horrid and unnecessary. I'm sorry.