Thinking is a disease I can do without

4.46am
I miss having sand in my underwear. The smell of the banana suntanning oil, and the way my skin glistened under the sun. The banana milkshakes too, at least 2 a day. The clear blue water and the fish that nibbled at my toes. Sitting on the porch in the afternoons with a plate of fairydust cut into neat lines. The overwhelming sun and how beads of sweat would roll down my back. The half naked tanned beach boys. Cinnamon flavored whiskey named after a Monkey. The routine of waking up just to throw on a bikini, have lunch, suntan and read. The complete freedom and relaxation. Too chilled to even think about sex. Too happy to care. I miss that.

I thought it was very unnatural to have felt such an extreme pain and letdown, and still not have shed any tears when he decided to set me free. Today all defenses broke down. When Boy bailed out the second time around, all emotions suddenly burst from my chest and sent searing pain down my veins. It wasn't at all about Boy though. It was the slight disappointment in his lack of consideration maybe, that reminded me that I now stood lost and alone. That no matter how many plans I make, or friends I see to make the time go by a little bit more enjoyable, I still return home listening to my own heartbeat.

I realize now that its not so much the thoughts of a person that makes them insane, rather the deafening silence that bounces of the bare bright white walls that makes a mind deranged. The relation now is too similar, ejecting any chance for clarity.

Jules has been a brightly colored brick in my ruined crumbling wall. I appreciate her wise understanding, and the way she sees my good points and constantly reminds me what I am made of. Because my mirror does a lousy job of revealing my true nature.

I also realize that I only manage to sound terribly depressed and wickedly dark most of the time here. Self analyzing tells me that I'm cynical yet hopeful to be proven wrong, unfortunately preferable with acts of romanticism. I wallow in endless self critical conversations in my head to rise above it and be a better person, only to allow my insecurity to hold me back. Then I find myself compromising with others, and biting my tongue, only telling the little girl in my head how I childishly feel self pity.

I'm not really depressed. I'm just stuck a constant stagnant monotone.