I have realized that I kind of regret coming out to my mom. She's supportive, but I feel like just under the surface there is a lurking discomfort. I don't know. I seem to feel that way often now. I know little, and and would be perfectly happy to curl up in the corner with some rootbeer and books for the rest of my life.
I feel like I have a large weight that hangs in my ribcage, pulling on my sternum and collarbone and curling me up into a ball of manic depressiveness. Particularly at school, where sometimes I feel like dying, and others I feel like singing, within about 10 minutes. Someday we will start to fly and never look back. But today I have to cry when I can't go back.
Who am I? I thought I knew, but I cannot describe myself, only label. Gay, wierd, creative. All labels. I resent labels. What do they want me to do, write my label on my fucking forehead so they can put me in my assigned box?
I'm so glad it's Friday. No more school for two days! No moronic math classes! No forced basketball! I might actually get enough sleep for once. (gasp!)