I've been trying lately to hold back bottled negativity and emotions. But what is it about growing up and old that you become so sensitive? Sensitive to your surroundings, to the words spoken from someone else's lips, and to the way you are perceived? Each time I feel like I should have a fuck-if-I-care attitude, I relapse and it all turns to shit. Maybe this is the inner workings of an idealist. I have all these thoughts in my mind and these picture-perfect moments that I work so hard to realize that when it all turns to shambles, I crumble too. The near perfect life I've carved out so intricately in my brain—that white picketed fence, all American lifestyle—too real, yet so far. I want that perfect relationship. The one where all things work out and we love each other dearly. Support and unconditional love follows us to our graves. But it's only until I'm in one, that I realize how impossible it is to hold onto this idealistic vision before it disappears into thin air. I'm trying, though. I feel like I'm always trying too hard. Is this how life just is?
I don't want to be like this.