now

and if they became remorseful, if they said, "how could we have done this to you?" what of it? they could give me nothing now. i needed then, but what if they had tried their best? they didn't, but if they had, what value would there have been in that? would i have taken it from them, starving as i was, taken their best? what would that have made me? something if i saw now, i would loathe. their best was rotten. they were no better than that.

eden

at least i'm not ordinary. i could search for hours for someone with something to say and find only the most mundane and trivial thoughts imaginable. so no one reads and fewer understand what i say and feel. i begin to think less of myself, not in my usual melodramatic way of distracting myself from my true flaws and weaknesses, but by looking honestly at who i am and what i want. i don't know fully yet, but i must leave behind this neurotic desire to be discovered and adored. a fantasy of being showered with money for the privilege of a view of the mess in my head. not that i can't be a writer someday, i still think the potential is there. but not as i am now. not for the reasons that have been driving me. wrapped up still in that old childhood fantasy i thought i had left behind. to be saved. to sit pitifully until god or my brother or some kind-hearted philanthropist looks on me and is moved to pick me up and carry me off to eden, where i would never have to struggle or worry again.