2011-01-30 / 11:52 p.m.

There's always too much silence or none. I never told you about how my ears are messed up and how I used to always get abscesses in my ears when I was little and I remember being in school one day when one burst and all this pus crap was mashed into my hair but it made the pain go away better than banging my head and moaning rhythmically into my pillow at night. Multitudes of appointments and medications later and it turns out that my inner ears are all messed up and all this miniscule little bones are attached in all the wrong places and so I can't blow my nose because it hurts and sometimes things are much too quiet because I'm not hearing to my full potential. Sometimes I sneeze and it really hurts my ears for just a second and I hear everything so loudly, I swear I can feel my heart throbbing and my head pounding for those few seconds and I feel a little embarrassed about how loudly I find myself having spoken into somebody else's ear just moments before. The world gets so clean and static free for such a little amount of time and I don't feel so trapped inside my own head.
You have no idea how thankful I am to not be fully deaf because silence is such a lonely place to reside.
I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes when the music's long since played itself all out and my body shakes because I'm afraid that my hearing's all worn out and gone and packed itself in but then I press play again and it's all okay.
My emotions are so fickle and fear is so quick to play its part these days. I feel sorry for myself because my senses don't work as well as they should and then I feel thankful and ashamed at the same time for having been such a selfish fool.

I am soft, so so helplessly soft and it shapes me into a desperate, desperate loon. I am too nice and I am too angry all at the same time but nobody ever gets to know that last part because the niceness overrides most of everything. I find myself empathising and hurting over the most inanimate of objects - the last spray of perfume, the dripping of a tap, the littlest amount of milk left in the end of the carton that nobody'll ever drink because it's just not enough.
Honestly, I want a friend that's depressed too. I know, it's cruel and selfish of me to wish for a person to care about, someone that suffers too, but all of the others are putting it down to tiredness every day but I just want to sit down with somebody and laugh and tell them about that time that I sat and took a pill every minute for an hour just to see if my body'd do anything strange (I don't think it did) in some kind of sadistic push to make myself be productive. That doesn't even make sense to me - I want somebody fucked up to remind me why I do these things to myself.

In other news, fuck this.