Self Loathing (NOT part of the Toronto story)

I hate it. Why do I constantly put myself through this over and over again? It is like I enjoy this feeling I get? And I push myself through it again, and again. I start off, and it isn't really bad.

"This is normal. Of course this happened" I tell myself.

But then I get so deep, so far in, that I lose the strength to continue swimming. All this information rushes over my head and my heart like water rushing faster and faster over the waterfall, pushing anything in it's way along with the strong current.

And yet, I had a life too. I understand this. In my head, I can talk myself out of this ludicrousy. But the heart stays in this twisted position. It becomes tangled in the web that I am not the only one a part of. I believe you and I believe us. I just hate the promises and the sharing. Send me back to kindergarten. Send me to the place where they teach you to play fair. I have forgotten how to. Instead I sulk in the corner, wishing that I could play with all the blocks at once, wishing that I could be the prettiest girl in the room, hoping that someday, something will become of me.