There is a specific point in my life that I am beginning to miss terribly. And it is giving me a knot in my stomach knowing that I will never return to that point.
I was 18 years old. Gotten word that I got into my first choice college. Friends. Hauser House. Montana.
My heart hurts. I don't know why. Actually, I know why and I know the trigger. And that saddens me. Knowing that there are a few people that I will see hardly ever if that. Knowing that the people I thought I meant a lot to come to find out they hardly remember me a year later. Come to find out that flakiness never dies. It only transfers energy.
I miss Montana. I miss the open road. I miss the whole thing. And I don't know why, because I hated it at the time. Eff you, PA Wisher. Oh, and John. You're just kind of a sleaze ball.
This whole thing is one of those first impressions that I, in hindsight, find apalling. It's so me.
Listening to Leonard Cohen, I wish I was anywhere but here. I wish I knew what I was doing with my life. I wish I had direction. I wish I were a better friend. I wish I didn't do what I have done. I wish that my cycle would somehow break free. On so many different levels. Levels that you may or may not know about, and at this point, I don't really care to delve. Picking my brain over mundane details of my existence has become a welcome pasttime as I sit in my room waiting...just waiting. Waiting for discharge, waiting to live again. There's a ring on my left hand that I wear as a promise to myself. I've become so worn down I don't know if I can keep that promise.