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xp_communication2004-03-02 10:39 pm
x-foliate.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_communication2004-03-02 10:39 pm
Entry tags:
Saved in Drafts: e-mail to no one
To: BLANK
From: Guthrie, Paige
Subject: Put a subject here.
I can't pace in my own room anymore. I have to go outside to do it. Pretend that I'm going out running. Put on all my running clothes and my shoes and sometimes take out my little CD player. It's such a show. No one seems to notice that I go out for runs about six times a day now. I guess when you already run two to three times, six isn't that much of a difference. I'm not really blaming Amanda for it. She's going through rough times right now, I know she is. I can't even be there for her because what would I say? I can't take care of myself, how am I supposed to take care of her. Angelo was looking for comforting, for intelligent words, and all I could give him was "I'm sorry". It's not your fault, Paige. It's not your fault, you don't have to be sorry. Not everything is up to you. God, I just want to be able to sleep at night. I want to shut off my brain. I'm starving and have no desire to eat so I take too many of those stupid vitamins that are lying around and drink enough water to make myself full. It's not like I'm trying to starve myself. I know that I'm not eating properly and so I'm trying to make it up and it's not like I'm worried about being fat or having something to control or any of those issues I just don't think to eat until I'm too sick TO eat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even finish this e-mail because I can't sit still anymore.
And who is this e-mail to? No one. It's to no one. No one cares, Paige. Shut up. You're perfectly fine and there are quite a few way more screwed up people than you around here. Just take care of yourself and let the others take care of each other. Okay? Now, go delete this e-mail that you seem to have written to yourself. If that's not a sign of insanity, I don't know what is.
From: Guthrie, Paige
Subject: Put a subject here.
I can't pace in my own room anymore. I have to go outside to do it. Pretend that I'm going out running. Put on all my running clothes and my shoes and sometimes take out my little CD player. It's such a show. No one seems to notice that I go out for runs about six times a day now. I guess when you already run two to three times, six isn't that much of a difference. I'm not really blaming Amanda for it. She's going through rough times right now, I know she is. I can't even be there for her because what would I say? I can't take care of myself, how am I supposed to take care of her. Angelo was looking for comforting, for intelligent words, and all I could give him was "I'm sorry". It's not your fault, Paige. It's not your fault, you don't have to be sorry. Not everything is up to you. God, I just want to be able to sleep at night. I want to shut off my brain. I'm starving and have no desire to eat so I take too many of those stupid vitamins that are lying around and drink enough water to make myself full. It's not like I'm trying to starve myself. I know that I'm not eating properly and so I'm trying to make it up and it's not like I'm worried about being fat or having something to control or any of those issues I just don't think to eat until I'm too sick TO eat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even finish this e-mail because I can't sit still anymore.
And who is this e-mail to? No one. It's to no one. No one cares, Paige. Shut up. You're perfectly fine and there are quite a few way more screwed up people than you around here. Just take care of yourself and let the others take care of each other. Okay? Now, go delete this e-mail that you seem to have written to yourself. If that's not a sign of insanity, I don't know what is.