We'll Keep On Fighting 'Till The End!

OK, as soon as I finished that last post I came up with something to blog about, but I still want to know what kind of animal you'd be because I'm a nerd and I'm all nerdy like that. And yes, I managed to reference Queen and Gollum in the same line. I rock.

Anyway. I like to think that I'm a strong person but I'm really not. I'm sensitive and prone to fear and love and vulnerability and I'm easily hurt and some days I don't know who I am at all. (LK's comment here made my day, and it touches this, kind of, and I'm really just proud of the fact that I can link.) I almost threw up during Sin City and I had to leave because I thought I might faint. I'm afraid of fast-moving water because I've nearly drowned a few times, and I have a kind of fear of heights, too. I'm always afraid that I'll lose Renata and everyone else I love and I have the darkest dreams of anyone I know. I tend to like people, which also makes me vulnerable, and I hate vulnerability, and I hate being weak, which makes me even weaker because I can't deny that in the end I'm not really all that strong. (Hell, my arms still hurt from Ex Ed. What's up with that?) I don't have an image, and if I do I'm not sure what it is, and although everyone insists that I have plenty of personality I have no idea what it is. I can't even write my damn letter from the editor, and it's about something I really care about. I'm the worst vegitarian in the world because I'm not strong enough to be grounded for what I believe in.

I've been through a lot, though, and I'm still OK. Does that make me strong? Am I strong if enough people care about me that when I'm weak I have somewhere to turn? Does being "feisty" make me strong? Does having survived Middle School and beat up boys on the playground and being able to run a newspaper and ride bareback and build a Hobeycat make me strong? Does reading when virtually everyone is telling me to stop make me strong?

Please don't comfort me or try to make me feel good. I don't really feel badly right now, anyay. I'm just 'fessing up, so to speak, to my weaknesses, because I want to get them out there, even though I hate them. I'm just venting, 'cause I'm tired and supposed to be asleep and I don't ever want to hide myself.

I think being able to post this makes me strong, just a little bit.

I will be stronger. Some day.

This I swear.

Now I'm being self-indulgent and ranting. I'm just frustrated because I can't write the damned letter and I hate not being able to write.

Gah!!!!!!!!! This really IS blog abuse. I'm sorry. It's late--early. I'm too tired to think straight. I just need to write.

The damned letter is SO hard to write, though. It's kind of painful. Because of the subject matter, that is.

I want to be strong like Stella and live my life the way I want to and be totally and completely free. I want to make music and laugh like sunshine and spin like a pirimenta and be untouchable. I want to write like a demon-goddess and not care what anyone thinks of me and admit my pain and isolation and unhappiness, even, and still go on fighting.

But God I'm weary. I want to lie down and rest and drop my load.

I'll never be able to drop my load as long as I live.

That's OK, I think.

This is how I am. I'm not especially balanced, I guess, but I'm not doing too badly. I guess I have a sense of who I am, a bit, and what I'd like to do, even if I'll never do it. I like people and books and fuzzy animals and long walks on the beach and I hate helpless people. And I'll probably delete this in the morning, because I'm not really that strong anyway.

Oh, God. I need to sleep.