I seemed to write lesser now a days. At least not as often as when Michael started me on this journal thing.
It's hard to describe this feeling, of wanting to zone away and just stare into spaces when a particular music syncs with me.
Of course I constantly feel confused, especially Anger's post is somewhat unpleasant to read. It does seems to make sense though, to write as though they are not me.
A discarded memory came back to me, and I really hate it ever since. Still, there is Still nothing that I can do because they are past. It's painful to not know or understand/comprehend the extend of it.
It makes us mad to think that we need to pretend that it doesn't matter, that it was okay. What happened to us wasn't what people would perceived it as. It makes us mad, that we need to pretend that it wasn't.
Maybe we do excergerate. Like the adult me knows the truth, but I'm stuck with feeling confused if what happened was really not okay. We really need someone to tell us that it was not okay, and to acknowledge our pain.
Maybe we feel too much, and it hurts. So we do what we usually do, and pretend that evey thing is okay, nothing bad happened. We over think, and over react, and we are just being sensitive.
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