*and in your heart there will always be a part of me. 2001-12-16 11:12 p.m.*

i don't think anyone, even myself, understands how sad i am. how frequently i sit around pondering the pointlessness of everything. how my own feeling of a loss of agency in my life has transferred to the world in general. somewhere, i know it's the sad talking, and that's what gets me through the moment. what makes me shower rather than fall back into the unconsciousness of sleep, or make me fall into the unconsciousness of sleep rather than give in to the temptations of a sensation of futility.

well, that, and knowing that if i just fell into it, if i wallowed till i ate myself up and there wasn't enough me left to survive, it would hurt and annoy th hell out of my friends. it's an odd thing. like, perhaps that is a compliment, "i care about you too much to give into a deathwish," but largely, it's probably a burden, "i rely on your love to keep me alive."

... i kept the sad at bay for 2 whole days. and i guess the fates are telling me that i was too proud. i was slightly dreading my ability to keep up a chipper attitude for 2 whole days (actually, it's like 3, because i got off at 3 pm on saturday, and don't have to go in again until 5 pm on tuesday), especially knowing that my great-grandma's funeral is tomorrow. but i've kept myself occupied with books and music, feeling like a glorified babysitter for myself. and then the phone rang and it was my dad's wife. he got into a car wreck. he's not dead, no bones are broken, but he seriously bruised his spine, and tomorrow they are having surgery to remove 2 disks and a vertebra, to relieve the pressure. he called shortly afterwards and says his back looks like a bruised banana, "and you know, i don't bruise easily." actually, no i didn't. suddenly, that was the most important thing, ever, that i didn't know he didn't bruise easily.

it hurts, and i don't understand why or where. i called my sister, ready to bitch with her about how this was so typical of my father, and i could tell from her voice that she'd been crying. i sounded fairly emotionless on the phone, because i didn't, and still don't know how to feel. i'm not scared of my own mortality, nor do i blame myself. i think what does sadden me is that i'd finally had some hope for my father. he was doing good with the methadone treatments, and was able to keep a job for awhile, and made sense on the phone. he lost the job recently, and that shook my faith in him, and he asked my mom to have sex with him on her birthday, and i guess i was starting to prepare for some sort of fall. but according to the report about the accident, it wasn't his fault, but there's going to be no walking, and lots of necessary drugs, and lots of money down the drain. and the words that run through my head are, "i'd rather die than be like my father." but there's so much of my father in me. and again, like last year, before the methadone treatments started, and his words were slurring and he'd fall asleep at the wheel, i don't understand why he's alive. what's the point anymore?

i can't afford to keep asking this "what's the point" right now. i'm too damn tired to find a point if it's not right there in my face.

(link: one of my favorite olj's from back in the day of the secret journal.)

*listening to: *
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