Oh boy, you've left me speechless.

My mom always said that distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I think she always hoped I would believe it, too. I did and do somewhat, but at the same time I cannot part from some of the people that I know. Distance may make the heart grow fonder in some, but in others...I'm not so sure. I'm terrified of being forgotten. Pushed aside. Replaced. Not given a shit about. You get my drift.

I am running out of things to say to people. Have you ever felt the things you want to talk to people about are of no importance to them? Like you're just wasting their time, and also your own because you're not getting the response you had hoped for? I don't know. For years, you were the person I wanted to talk to forever. Right now, I feel as thought I am finally satisfied. I am done. This is the end of our relationship, companionship, friendship, whatever-the-fuck-ship. I have nothing more to say, and I think you've said all you wanted to say as well, but don't want to admit it just yet.

Why am I writing about this? I am just wasting my time. Again. I keep wasting this precious amount of time that I have with pointless rants to myself in my head when I could be so much more productive. What is productivity when you're captive though? I have trapped myself. I'm dying to get out but I'm terrified to let it happen. Do people feel this way after prison? Relief that they are out, but terrified of what's on the other side of those bars?

I was going through boxes in the basement today and found a painting I had done in one of my classes back in the fifth grade. On the back of the painting, I had written "Paint a picture of your best friend." I remember now that it was during the week in school that my teacher had a mental breakdown and didn't show up for a number of days. The principle of our school came into our classroom and gave us a list of things to draw/paint. The was one of them. I thought it was funny, this many years later, and I still consider myself my best friend. I feel like patting my fifth grade self on the back and telling her, "Good. Good for you, Leda. You realized this at such a young age. You're so smart. Good." And then I think, maybe not.

Maybe it's just pathetic, like everything else I've done/thought/said/whatever-ed. Maybe if my fifth grade self instead painted a portrait of Leanne, by "bff" of the time, or Anna, or Diana, or Tamar...I would have turned out perfectly fine. And then I think, no. I did turn out perfectly fine. Anyone else who thinks they have a better friend then themselves is a completely and utter dumb ass for thinking so. Right? And then I think, how fucking selfish. Sometimes I really can be so selfish. And then I think, NO. I'm not fucking selfish enough. I SHOULD be more selfish.

And this is how my mind works. This is how my days go by lately. Just thoughts. Contradicting one another. Maybe this, but no...maybe that. But no, maybe this...but no, no--THAT.

Fuck you, brain.