My last post was an former journal entry dated July of 1995, when I was very young and very miserable in life. I was so drawn to my former self, that I felt the need to post another entry.
I would like it to be known that I don't know this girl, this girl I once was. As I read the pages of this journal, my heart goes out to the suffering and the sadness of my former self. If there are any 22-23 year old girls (or guys) reading this who feel like this - please know that it really does get better. Much, much, much better.
|Leyla in Las Vegas around 1995-96 (I believe I was less miserable by then)|
- August 15, 1995
- Every time I pay attention, another month has gone by and I am still miserable. My life worsens by the minute, although today it was not particularly bad. It was not particularly good, in that it did not differ much from any other worthless, meaningless day in my life. However, what made today different, is that I forgot to dwell on the horrors of my daily routine. Instead, I passed today without realizing it was there until it was nearly over. I imagine that is how "content miserables" must live - just passing the days. This is NOT something I want to get used to.
- I think I can honestly say that I HATE (my boss whose name I will make-up) Douche Douche-o-roni more than any other human I have ever met. He wears on my soul.
- He uses me so much. When I finish a day of working for him, I feel as if I've lived five. When I hear his voice, my ear folds inward! I can feel him when the phone rings and I dread picking up the hand set. When he slams open the office door, I don't flinch. Even though when anyone else enters, I turn with curiosity. When it is Douche, I just know. And even if I am not sure, my curiosity is stifled by the mere thought of the flames that burn in the pit of my stomach when I see his round, hairy, sweaty, greasy face.
- When he smiles his little smile, that 1/2 smirk that shows off the brown stain on his tooth, it draws attention to that disgusting, never-shaven, ever-lasting, 5 O'Clock shadow goatee. I could throw up.
- Who could think that one man's love of his new born child could make another human sick? Well, it did today, he made me sick while loving his child. When I witnessed him admiring his daughter, I cringed. I wanted to crawl out of my skin as I watched. I felt NO sincerity in his voice and no love. None.
- I think he knows I hate him. Sometimes when I am standing in front of him with a blank look on my face, he'll say something to me and I won't hear him. Or, he'll make a joke and I won't laugh. Moments such as those, he looks at me and my face must tell a million truths, because he will turn away from me quickly. Like those moments when you're caught starring at someone from across the room and they catch you, and in your embarrassment, you immediately look away. Well, he does that when he catches my stare. It is as if he can read my mind and he is frightened at how real the thoughts are. Like a medium must feel the first time she/he receives a message. As if he were in denial.
- Well, I do hate him. I hate him so much it makes my head hurt. I hope someday someone makes him eat every swear word he ever cursed anyone!