I haven’t felt this strange in a long time. Well, not too long of a time. Maybe a couple of months give or take, but still, it’s not a feeling I really enjoy having. My chest feels tight and all the air in my body seems to be stuck at the back of my throat. I want to open my mouth and say something, but I’m afraid I’ll start crying, or vomit. I don’t like to cry and I haven’t vomited since last August after I finally kicked the habit that no one ever noticed anyway. It’s good though. It’s good when people don’t notice, it means you’re not doing things for attention. I hate attention seekers more than I hate being fat. Or hated. I don’t think I’m fat anymore. I might be, but like I said, I’m out of that stage. I already feel a little better since I started writing this and I can feel the knot in my throat slowly being unwound, even though whenever I start to think it comes back a bit tighter than before. I just tried it. Let my hands quit sweeping across the keys for just long enough to sort out the images that are clouding my mind and the knot grew tighter, now I’m getting paranoid about it. Trying to force myself to think to see if it will block air to my lungs and suffocate me. You don’t have to tell me I’m crazy. I already know.

It’s cold in New York today I think, but it might not be, I have those really thick shades so that you can’t tell the sun is shining even if it’s the hottest day of the summer. I don’t even know if it’s day or night right now, actually. But it’s night in this room and I’m illuminated by the only light in the apartment. I want to have an out of body experience. I bet you I could, or I could at least fool myself and everyone else into thinking I did. Have you ever done that? Told a lie so many times that you actually thought it was real? And then it would cross your own mind as if it actually happened and you’d have to take a moment to remind yourself that it really didn’t? And then you’re embarrassed, like, you can’t even admit your own bullshit to yourself. It’s so retarded. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Anyway, I want to have an out of body experience, to just stand in the doorway of my bedroom and watch myself write this even. I wonder if I look different to myself than I would to my out-of-body-self, ya know like how your voice always sounds different on an answering machine or voice recorder? I wonder if everything about me I thought I knew it just totally wrong. Was I the only one that wondered if their life was like The Truman Show and that movie was just made to throw me off?

Think about it though. How much would your whole life mean if everyone in it was an actor, and how can you prove that everyone isn't? And would you be embarrassed about the things people see you do in day to day life? I know I would be. But why? I just thought how I wouldn’t want some people, some people who are my closest friends in the world--especially them actually, to really, really know me. But if everyone was just an actor, then obviously they wouldn’t care about any of the disappointing things I've done and my guilt would be irrelevant. Not that I even feel guilty. But it might make me feel better to know there was no reason to be. Then again to think that the only real love I’ve felt in my life was completely bogus is more depressing than I’d like to admit. This paragraph was pointless. But this is the weird shit I always think about. Like how in that opening scene he’s like making faces in the mirror, sometimes I’ll do that just in case, just to make people wonder if I know they‘re watching me, cause I think that would fuck me up if I were them.

I had the weirdest dream two nights ago though. It’s reoccurring and I don’t understand it. I was in the hall at my mother’s house talking to her about towels, and there was a man who appeared Arabic and had some kind of large gun standing in my bedroom doorway like I ghost. I see this guy in my dreams all the time, but whenever I acknowledge him, I blink, and he goes away. But two nights ago I wasn’t sleeping alone for the first time in forever, and I saw him, and when I blinked he didn’t go away. So I screamed “Who the fuck are you?” Obviously, ya know, I thought I might finally get some kind of answer about what the hell was going on with this guy. When he spoke back to me I seriously thought I was going to dream faint, but all he said back was “No, who are you”, and then I blinked and he was gone again. I’m not really into analyzing dreams to like predict the future or anything, but I do think it’s a way of expressing underlying fears that you’re not ready to deal with yet. I’m just not sure what this one is about yet, while it’s usually easy for me to psychoanalyze myself, I laid there staring at the ceiling and breathing heavy for an hour. I only fell back to sleep because he was there. Now that I’m alone again it’s hard.

That’s the thing about every place though. It’s all lonely. No matter what expectations I have or who I meet, the lonliness between the real moments is killer. I kind of want to go back to school and learn some new shit. I would hate it though, I’m not organized enough, and my head is in a bad place for it. Maybe someday. Tour soon could make or break this. Still trying to decide my feelings on it, but I’m sure it won’t be long until we do our best to forget everything bad. I think I’ll leave this public, I’m over privacy and everyone will stop a paragraph in as it were.

xoxo
Phoebe