Maybe it's because two of my cousins are getting married, and in my made-up, wholesome view of their relationships, I can't imagine them even kissing their boyfriends. Or calling them boyfriends. Then I compare them to me. And I wonder what my mom thinks, if she wishes I'd make a choice that she'd approve of, or if she things this is just a phase, or if it scares her to think of it forever just as much as it scares me.

I'm so full of pent-up thoughts and feelings that I don't really want to talk about with anyone. I don't want to just sit and fret over things - I want answers! I want to know what the best choice is, what the right choice is, and how everything will turn out. I sit here and say, this is what I should do, but sometimes there are so many tears in my throat that I can't bring myself to be cheerful at all.

I sit in bed at night and pound my head with my fists, thinking of all the reading I should be doing and all the projects I should have done, and the better example I could be setting, and how I want to purge everything from my life and start all over again. Or how I just want to run away, but I know I can't. My throat closes up and I can't breath, because even when I'm happy and even when I'm content, I'm constantly questioning, "If this is what makes me happy, how can it be wrong?" or "Why does something wrong make me happy?"

The problem is, I just don't know the answer to any of these questions. Maybe there is no answer, and life doesn't have any right or wrong ways of doing things, it's just about working with what you've got, making the best out of how things are turning out. So I know I can do that, or I say I can do that, but sometimes the aching in my chest makes all my resolves slip away. Sometimes my indecision and fear is paralyzing.

So I rant in my journal and rant in my diary and sigh too many times and get my feelings hurt over little things, because it's never perfect. It's never perfect. And it's not that I expect perfection, it's just that I want more. I want so much more, and I want it all from you, but knowing that you can't give it to me makes me despair of life.

I can't write anymore or I shall cry, and I don't want to do that in public or in front of you.

Plus, I really have to pee.