Argh. I can't get over this hump this week. There has been far too much whimpering and loss of control. I went to the house to feed the cats yesterday -- weeping like I haven't done in months. 2 days this week, the tears have fallen at my desk. WTF. I do NOT cry at my desk, motherfucker. I wish that I were in a dim room with cold cement against my feet, dancing, spinning, my hair soaked with sweat and sticking to my face. I want to feel that trance state. I want to be allowed to get lost like that. I want to escape this life.
I'm hating fall this year. The cold feels unbearable. The winds and the smells and the desire for chili and pumpkin seem entirely unfair. This life feels entirely unfair.
While at the house, I decided that we really should just foreclose. We both just need to end it, cut it off. Yes, there will be financial repercussions but otherwise I will be stuck with that burden forever and ever. It is a burden to smell that smell, to see the food that's been in the fridge since before I left, to see so much of what I worked for in shambles on the living room floor. It's too much. This is all still too much. And I'm a fighter god damn it. I'm scrappy and strong and somewhere in me is a passionate, happy person. Or maybe not. They say like attracts like, right? Maybe Brian and I are one in the same. Maybe I am as sad and fucked up and pathetic and lost as he. Maybe I would be better off throwing myself to the wolves, just like he has done.
Sorry, I just need to fucking burst and explode on the page yet again today. This is becoming a pattern. The only time I feel like writing these days is when I can hardly stand the pressure in my body and I just need to push it all out to through pen, through paper, through words.
Fuck, man. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It sure does feeling fucking awesome to throw the fucks around. Motherfucker. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. sigh. this feels awesome.
The weekend is here and I just want to crawl up in my bed with my fluffy comforter and watch movies. And I want to kiss. I want romance and love and sweetness. I need that shit. I want someone to tickle my back. It's been over a year since I've had that. Fuck man. Now days, I want to explode just when a man touches my head or my face. It happened last weekend. Melt. But still, I am crazy with sadness. I want everyone to love me so badly that I try too hard. It's a serious problem. It all comes back to that stupid Matchbox 20 song:
She said I don't know if I've ever been good enough
I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in
And I don't know if I've ever been really loved
By hand that's touched me, well I feel like something's gotta give
And I'm a little bit angry, well
Melodramatic much? Yes, yes I am. Let me have it today with this whipping wind and the coldness and the loneliness. fuuuuuuuuckkkkkk!
Ahem, better. Thank you. Let the weekend begin.
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