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it is fucking goreous outside. I feel like the word "fuck" pretty much qualifies as sublime.

I'm missing autumn a little. I'm needing to be more goal oriented and less prone to puking my guts out in response to stress.

I'm fucking tired of this, mates. It's a mindfuck. no one here is aware of what I am doing. so no one really knows me. because this isn't all I am, but it's the thing that's closest to me, the thing with which I struggle most. and I want very badly to be able to have someone know it. but no one who is close to me would get it. by which I mean -- let's not play -- would give me the response I want. somewhere along the lines of, "what the fuck, Amanda?" possibly followed by, "I know you can get better."

thing is, no one knows there's a problem. so none of my friends or my parents realize how much improvement is needed. that I need to get better. that I feel like my body is dying.

and sometimes I am irrationally angry with people for focusing on smaller questionable behaviors as if there wasn't a giant problem glaring them in the face. I mean, given that said problem is not. glaring.

and sometimes I think about how long I will have to be dead, and how I wish there was someone in whose company I could be reminded that I am alive.

que, need to have sex with someone. or a conversation that actually communicates something, that actually connects me to someone.

my money is on the coitus.
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On October 31st, 2006 07:18 am (UTC), wishiwas commented:
I've always found that the sex connects me to someone way better than a conversation. At least at first--somehow meaningful sex in the background makes having meaningful conversations so much easier.

And when I say 'sex' I don't really mean sex of course. If nothing that took place could result in pregnancy or an sti/std, then it's not sex, right?
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