Wounded Bird

It’s a suffocating sort of hot in the dining hall today. I don’t think I’m getting sick but my chest feels tight- probably from the weight of LP as he started falling asleep last night, or the way he’s wedged himself into my heart. Or maybe after last night my heart’s filled to capacity and it’s going to burst. Geez.

Last night I read my journal from end of Clay through summer camp ’07. It was so sad. I never realized how hard I was on myself- but that if I said bad things about other people, namely Griffin, I’d tear the pages out and destroy them. I didn’t want to think of him badly, but I didn’t mind doing it to myself. I told myself to “suck it up”, to “sit pretty” because I wasn’t sexy, that I looked like an ant, and there were entries where I mentioned crying for hours, cleaning up quickly and moving onto the next task. I said, “Why am I still in Kentucky? I don’t belong here. Am I here to make Griffin miserable?” Apparently.

Kentucky never was the problem. I really didn’t care about myself. I think I wanted to- but I didn’t know how. Thank god I’ve had this time away, in the mountains, by myself with my books, paint and strangers. Still strangers after months on end. It’s a very comfortable quiet.

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