I'm not too sure what my issue is. It's like...
I just can't make up my mind about what I think or feel.

I can't differentiate between my feelings for certain people. Everything gets muddled up. I don't know whats up and whats down. I just wish I could sort myself out. I can't do this anymore. Too much feeling. If thats possible. I mean, I contain it. I can hold it back. But it's eating me up inside. Its twisting my heart and soul. Well, maybe not that dramatic but its certainly screwing with my head. I just want something concrete and established and understandable. I want to be able to look at someone and not feel jealous of what they have. I want it for myself. And I always seem to want it with someone I can't have that with. Someone who is completely unavailable to me. Maybe not closed off, but just not for me. They either belong to another person or there is some reason we're not meant to be, sometimes due to circumstances beyond my control.


Sometimes I think I am schizophrenic. Well, maybe not schizophrenic. Casually assuming the monkier without proper medical diagnosis is lightly melodramtic and disrespectful to true sufferers of the disease. But I do sometimes feel like Sybil with two versions of me rattling and banging around in my brain, arm wrestling each other for dominance. There is the Wannadoer" and the "Wishidinter": carefully thoughout nicknames for my alter egos. The "Wannadoer" stares and watches the world with eager fascination, jonesing for a taste of the high life. The life of dark bars, dark-haired men, and leather-panted experiences worthy of a Playboy spread. The "Wishidinter" tosses and turns in bed, spitting out the taste of sour kisses and reddening at the memory of my ill-prepared ass trying to strut beautifully dyed cowhide around town. The "Wannadoer" leaps into escapade, falls head over heels in love at a simple hello, ignores rational thought in favor of high-relief fantasy, and has a gold neon aive sign flashing on her brow in broad daylight. The "Wishidinter" scolds herself for chilish romance, tries to prevent an immature heart from beating the tom-tom for the wrong guy, picks up the scattered pieces after the inevitable fall. Both creatures seem very normal, very human. What person does not have both sage and the sucker lurking within? However mine exist at the same time, all the time, and most of the time they initiate conversation or argument with each other no matter the circumstance. In simple terms, I talk to myself, a lot, everywhere. I talk myself into things, out of things, around things, and through things." -Girl Anatomy