If we sleep together will you like me better?

Last night hit me with barrage of thoughts, too many, too real. I thought I was past this, I thought I was strong. I put the book down. I'll have to read it later when the sun burns too bright and exams loom. I can deal with the looming. Exams are dust, like this is dust and my thoughts are dust. We strive so hard for permanence. Scratching every word, breaking layers of skin to leave the scar we can look at fondly with a dash of embarrassment later. Sometimes I write something, a story or a paragraph, maybe just a sentence and I love it so much I want to write it again and again and again.

My third chapter is a mess. I like it and I know what needs to be done but I will almost certainly have to rewrite the whole thing upon completion. But this week I have an essay to do and books to read and films to see and people who need me. I used to love being needed. It gave me a purpose. Burned me with an identity. I was the one who solved problems. Who wasn't afraid to tell people when they needed to shut up and look at things logically. And I cared, I cared so hard I took on their problems. I was smug with it. I still have a pile of letters passed to me in classes that I read through in free periods. Analysed and prescribed. Ignored the fact I was a goddamn hypocrite and a liar.

I couldn't tell you the exact moment I switched off. It was probably around the time I called my best friend a daft cow and countered her pathetic attempts to get a rise out of me by thwarting her plans to fuck in the transport museum and telling others to think twice before borrowing her phone as she was too cheap to buy a real vibrator. I've watched people make stupid mistakes and bury themselves deeper into the sand and I've decided to let them.

I have an obsessive personality. Compulsive and addictive and all those other ives. You can almost track what was wrong with me through my life by what I was consumed by at the time. Only very recently did I realise I didn't need to throw myself into anything, I didn't need to fill every thought with a single idea or person. I like to think I've grown up but I think I just grew more selfish. In a good way. I don't want to be needed. I need to be wanted.

It's been such a long time since I could wake up with the sun on my face and smile in the mirror. I had the morning to myself and I took full advantage of this. I love Mondays. They're intrinsically mine.