I Am Pretending To Sleep

I have myself too worked and figured out that it's really so off-putting, I can hardly watch myself react to things (the way I know I will). I promised myself this morning that my life will be filled, purposefully, with positivity and with a happy outlook. Night fall changes things I guess, I feel medium. This morning I wrote: It is not fake, petty, or on the surface just because it is happy and easy. It is not completely meaningless simply because you are talking about the present, versus the past. Your secrets do not define you. Your recovery is not a path, or a deep dark hole that you must now try to shamefully crawl out of. Maybe I just grew out of those thoughts. What I wrote at work was regarding the people who keep me company in my head. How my mind never wanders because it needs not to, it is where it wants to be. My head is with whom it wants to spend time with, my body quite the contrary, but whatever. I found a work receipt paper in the compartment in my car. I wrote yesterday about some vitality or something or other about deliberate words and listening to whispers. I am new today. This afternoon before work I planned on writing about how today was a good day because I got a second goodbye hug, in one goodbye. Later today I thought to write upon how I ruin all of my favorite things so well, because I think the second hug means that it got so uncomfortable subsequent to the first hug and how I make people linger, and stay on and on. How I make everything about something else, something bigger and something me. And I want to tell everyone how I care, invest, and give emotionally too much, and I'm either spilling my guts or slamming my door shut. I crave that deep, raw, emotional level and force it in situations, and how I want everyone to know, it comes natural, and just please deal with me slow. I need to warn everyone that I am the most sensitive vessel, a body embodying every single emotion contradicting and combining and blinding me to the reality so plain and trite. I was going to write earlier about this dream I had, until I realized it was too damn sad, today I intended to pretend glad, it seemed only fair, even with no one here. So the dream last night was about how this person comes bursting in the door of my house, I'm in the living room, but it was really that person's in real life. I was just like happy to see them coming in, until I realized they were angry, and bewildered, pressing me, with questions about this thing they assumed that I did, and I really did not at all, and I was frustrated. The words were about how they just knew it was me, and I stormed off after saying loudly about how I was actually pissed off (that they would EVER think that I would leave a note saying such a thing). I walked into the other room, and the dream-me is thinking how it was nice to be mad instead of sad, and I relished that moment, being anything but down. When I came back, I said they should know better, they should fucking know me better, I believe I was cursing. That person said they just figured it was me, then very slowly came to think about how the last letter I left was so innocent and kind, and I was pleased to see that person finally seeing me in the accurate light. It was not about the tiny scrawled note. Whatever it may have said. There was no apology for being misunderstood, and all the feelings and decisions based off that incorrect assumption. I felt empty. Until I awoke feeling guilt and shame, for what my mind makes to comfort me at night. I felt sad when I woke up, because the resolution of the dream, no matter how loose and meaningless, it was what I always want to happen in the end, of everything. The dramatics of the situation, then a resolution proving me pure in intentions, and loving but misinterpreted. I'm hiding in my room. Debating whether it's worse to be asleep, or imitate sleep. I am so terribly exhausting, but not the right kind, to sleep.
"GHOST ARE HAUNTED, WE ARE NOT."