I think I gotta pee

Dancing for her made me sweat crocodile tears. from Betty-Sue Depreitere on Vimeo.

After the emotional rollercoaster, the 4-hour flying hyperactive unstoppable retard comes the endless pit of the loser, the loser who is unable to hold her pencil. why am I not able to let my creative cramps triumph at the moments that I've scheduled it on my calendar? (Haha, yes I know I think that really was the dumbest question I've ever asked.)

I feel strange, I hover between a huge self-esteem and a distorted image of myself. As I have often said, I don't know who I am, I'm trying to grab myself, dragging myself through the mud. Educate myself with all that useful shit they say is important. But my fingers always want something different, my body and my mind so often fight. My eyes refuse to read, my mouth never closes when I want it to and I'm just a big pile of nothing, a girl that can't face her own fears, or something like that.

But what if you don't know exactly what your fears are, what if you don't know what you need to know?

My heart cries every day, but my cheeks are always full of laughter. I know what pain is, I wear my scars like a sack of stones around my neck. But I drag myself through life with gratitude, I enjoy every glimpse, I know I just know that I'm living the good life, the easy life some may say. I see now that it is only the bad characters in my life (because I was dumb enough to let them in) and myself who destroy me. Only I can relieve my pain, only I have the control to say that I am not allowed to languish.

Yes I have screwed things up many times, and I know I'm self-destructive for the masochist in me will never die. But I have it in me like a hurricane to destroy, I can improve myself, but please don't ever ask me to change thats not in my nature. I'm weird, but I love weird. I'm still that scared little girl, but I just found a better way to hide it. Me and my dollhouse, I and my world, me and my .... other me. I feel so trapped, even though I am free.

I should stop speculating it's just to useless, useless to think of things that hurt me. I want to run, but why am I standing still? My heart is still on the floor in a thousand pieces, I take what is left and rinse it under boiling water.

I'm so in love with an invisibility that never was or will be a part of my sick minded life.

Mommy, will you please tell me what a girl should do when her heart is broken. Would you give me some advice for the broken hearted, would you tell me how long it takes? Oh yeah forgot, a mother is not really a part in my life I have.

Call me mister crocodile, call me you know the number. Tell me that everything was real, tell me the story of the blond girl and the crocodile. Tell it to me one thousand hours without breathing, I'm all ears.