caithream | In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo.

I've been feeling mopey and antisocial and so utterly lonely lately, hence the no posting, crawling into a nice little cave and feeling sorry for myself in only the way that I know how. I don't see any of my friends anymore. At all. My best friend of over 15 years and his girlfriend, also known as The Couple Who Makes Me Vomit, hasn't contacted me in well over a month, and hell if I'm going to be the one to invite myself to whatever the hell they're doing. Everyone else is... I don't even know. My one friend who does hang out with me (however sporadicly) is leaving for Greece for two months on Wednesday. I'm suffocating in my routine with no outside contact except for the people at work, and I love my family so much but I need to get out of here. I need responsibility and screw-ups and homesickness because I'm so stuck in a rut it almost brings me to tears. I could have moved out, very very much could have, but I need, need so damn bad to go to England next summer and study abroad. I am sick with want to travel. If I was going this summer I'd be leaving for England tomorrow. I wish I had. But. Not enough money. Next year though, I swear to God, I'll take out a loan if I have to, I NEED to go.

And then. And then commence with the moving out and being on my own for the first time ever, and the only reason I'm dying to do it now is, hey, maybe I could actually find some new friends?

After twelve plus years of going to school together you'd think everything would still be cool. Well. It was for the better part of a year and a half. And then everything just kind of slid down hill and I'm sitting at home trying not to cry like an idiot because I feel so fucking alone it makes my chest hurt.

Is it really so selfish to want a significant other so bad? I have all the love I want, right here, with my own family, and yet it isn't enough. I'm twenty. I have the right to want this. I feel like an idiot. I really do.

I can't tell anybody anything and God help me I don't even know why. I just lock everything up until I'm so miserable I have a breakdown and still nothing get solved because I can't even talk about why. I'm so emotionally retarded it's a wonder my parents haven't thrown me out yet. I mope and get pissed off and depressed and don't talk for hours and then slowly come out of it, and if my parents ask me why I say, "Nothing." Of course, nothing. I'm lonely as HELL and I can't tell you that because then you'll want to know why and I'm not going to give you why. Why doesn't matter. Just take it that I am and there's nothing I can do about it. And if there's nothing I can do about it, then why talk about it? And that's my logic. It's astounding, really.

I'm stuck for a year in this routine because I'm fucking patient, or something, and poor, so. Not much I can do about it except more moping and feeling sorry for myself. That and drowning myself in literature. That's always good.

I seriously hate myself for even writing all this. I don't need sympathy. I just don't, you know, want to have that breakdown. So after this I'm back to stuffing it all down and Not Talking About It. The end.

Also, my sister is leaving early this coming morning to go on a missions trip to HAITI, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared out of my mind, because, hello, HAITI. I've done a good job distracting myself from being worried, but yeah, now... sigh.

In other news, this is Jensen Ackles: