I want too many things. They fill my mind every day and tire me out.
I want to be able to go to school and not constantly feel out of place, to look at someone and not wonder if they are one of the people who hate me. I want to go to school and not feel uninterested in everything. I don’t want to fade away into my thoughts in every class and in the middle of every assignment. I don’t care about anything at school, but I want to. I need to.
I want to live in a world where Kurt Cobain is still alive and is not depressed.
I want to be good friends with people of the opposite sex and not be called a slut. I want to have friendships that make me feel like I belong, that are comfortable like a blanket and full of affection and late-night talks and just lying around without having to talk.
I want to be able to help people, but not have to gasp for air when I feel like all the darkness in my life is consuming me like a black hole. I want to be able to sort my feelings into categories like files, and I want to be able to tame them. I want to be more motivated to do what people tell me is important, but I also want to spend my days listening to music at home and writing and walking around the city like I did in the summer. I want to not feel the need to fill up hundreds of pages with my wants that eventually turn into needs that bite at me with their teeth until I feel like clawing at the walls around me.
I want to always know what to say in a conversation, or what to say to begin one, or what to say to end one.
I want to be content with what I have, but I know that there is more out there, and that my mind is too restless to let me do this