Too Much

The past few days have been hectic as myself and four other friends of mine have been trying to recreate Hamlet. It went well in the beginning - I wrote the script Sunday night, and it all turned out well when everyone read their lines correctly on Monday. Tuesday, no one could do anything, so I finished up the last scene of the lat act and printed out a couple copies. Today, we filmed a little more...actually, we filmed pretty much the rest of the play. However, despite what I wrote for the cript, we have now changed how the people die from a sword thwap to a guitar wack. That's not how I wrote it, that's not how it is stated we'd kill people earlier in the filming process. You can't change things that have already been filmed.

Why was there any need to re-write my script as we were filming? There really wasn't...it was abridged as it was...The entire of Act five needs to be re-shot in my opinion. Nothing works for me, and I feel if we are to get points taken off, that's the scene for it. We cant''t start out strong and then end with a lame ending. Not to mention, we skipped around in the script and pages were strewn across my home. So, not only can we not find the pages we need, we don't even know if we did a particualr scene yet. I'm sure we forget something. In fact, I have no doubts we forgot something. I'm going to have to talk to my group members tomorrow - see if we can reshoot tomorrow. The entire thing is due on Friday, no excuses.

I just...I can't handle things not going how I need them to go for this project. In fact, I've felt this way for a very long time. Every so often, I catch myself thinking about my friends and how dear they are to me, and then my brain switches to their habits...some of which I find annoying, but they're my friends, and I love them the way they are. But my mind likes to intesify things, so I go through my days questioning who I am friends with. Then I move on to myself, and how no one really knows me...

I was asked the other day in my English class in the 'hot seat' where a question is asked, and you have to answer...It's supposed to help with public speaking. I don't know - I don't care, I got it over with.

I picked number two.

My question was if I could pick any word to describe me, what would it be. I instantly thought 'act', but spent a few moments trying to find a less harmful word, a word that would make me feel less vulnerable...Then I thought that that would end up being an act, so it was appropriate. I said how I was very good at being a different person around certain people. What I meant by that, is that no one knows the real me. The honest me. I know the honest me, and she is a wreck. Completely unstable, supported only by the pillars of the fronts she puts up. I listen, I watch, I observe...I feel. I get frustrated. I feel like I'm watching my life through a television...I've seen the same thing over and over again...felt the same things over and over again...thought about accidently sliding a pair of scissors across my skin...leaping in front of a train....finding a garage and leaving the car on.

I hate those thoughts. I don't like to talk about them. It hurts. It scares me. I don't like feeling so open, I don't like sharing how I really feel. I don't like people knowing who I am, so I put up fronts that they can understand.

I say I don't cry often...that used to be true. But now it seems that every single time I think about something, everything in my mind gets blown out of proportion and my mind wanders to so many different planes that my emotional state just can't handle it. Through that, my physical being releases that stress, frustration and tension in the only way it knows possible...its cries. And I'm not talking about the cry, where a few tears leak, I'm talking about the body wracking, throat pounding cry. The cry's you take in the shower so no one can differentiate between tears and shower-water...the cry's when you wait until everyone else is asleep...making sure only you can hear yourself as you pathetically drift into sleep.

I get frustrated with myself, and I cry. And the worst part is, I never feel any better...because I try to bottle it up. I've been bottling my emotions since I was five years old. That is way too many years of choked emotion to escape with a few cry's. some days I wonder if its even worth it...just to even get out of bed. I know people would miss me, but they'd eventually get over it, and live would go on..and I'd be forgotten...just a blip on the map of existance. In and out in a flash. No worries. For me, at least.

I can't say anything else...my mind is telling me it's not safe - that's what it does when I'm getting too close to the truth. It screams 'retreat'. So, that's what I do. That's what I'm going to do...Whatever.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue. -Hamlet

^_6;;Jereality