Joey Potter is right; I am afraid to live my life. I am also really, really angry. Though surprisingly, my anger is entirely unrelated to the fact that I can now quote Joey Potter.

I’m exhausted. I delayed writing this post until now, and now my brain is all mushy. My thoughts are getting muddled and as tends to happen when I get sleepy, are running to the extreme. I don’t think they are a fair or entirely honest depiction of me. Although I suppose in their extremeness they are exactly that. They tell the story of a person with a penchant for life as black and white. They are how I am sometimes: dramatic. And that, I was once told, is a bad thing to be.

I try very hard to be reasonable. I try very hard to be fair. I try very hard to walk between the lines I lay down for myself based on some image I’ve constructed of who I think I am supposed to be. I try too much.

If I go back and read these posts sometime in the future and I don’t wince somewhere at the content–if I’m not embarrassed by something I’ve said–I’m going to be disappointed. I want to take a risk here. I want to be a vulnerable, messy, screwed up, so-far-from-having-one’s-shit-together, human being who is just trying to be honest. Who for once, just wants to be real about how fucking hard and painful and insane-making this life thing can be (or feel). And who doesn’t want to pretend anymore to be anything other than a wreck.

I am a wreck on the inside. I am terrified and rageful and grief-stricken. I am so many things that I don’t want to feel in any given moment that I spend my days distracting myself, and I dread the time I force myself to be still. When I am still, I inevitably want to SCREAM. I feel like the walls are coming down around me, only I am also the walls.

Why didn’t anyone ever tell me life could be like this? I thought for the longest time that because it was for me, that it must mean I was doing something wrong. I’ve spent a long time and a ton of energy working to fix something that was never broken. I was never broken. Even when I felt shattered. The problem never was me.