Pretty sure I’m becoming #addicted to Twitter… Tweet, tweet.

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Why have I not been tweeting all my life? This could become a serious addiction…

And I like it.

Follow if you dare…

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You better be drinking that glass of water and taking those tylenol… I’ll meet you in our dreams butthead.

I’m mad at you.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.

I hate alcohol. It is annoying. It is hurtful. It is stupid. And it is a waste of fucking time and money. So please if you feel like getting loaded next time drop your phone in the toilet or something so that we don’t have another one of these fucking nights.

I love you.

I’m sorry that I hurt you today. I’m sorry that I don’t have the love capacity that you do. I’m sorry that I have been so shattered that it makes loving you so hard. I wish I could love you. I wish I could make you feel the love that you make me feel.

But I don’t know how.

I don’t know how to love or be loved without hurt or meanness being involved.

I’m sorry.

I don’t know what else to say. If I was capable of loving I would love you. I just don’t know if I am capable. And if I find out I am, I don’t know if you will still be around.

I miss you.

I need you.

I’m yours.

Did you read that last part by the way??

I’m Yours….

A silence broken. Maybe you like my silence better. I do.

I’m back from the dead. I think. I am pretty sure I know what it feels like to die now. Or at least I now know what it feels like to beg to be done and for someone to end it. I spent days writhing in pain, begging for some one or thing to take the pain and fever away. I have never felt the pain in my joints and muscles like I felt when I was sick. I even thought someone was trying to poison me at one point.  I was ready to be taken to the hospital. Or to die. Whichever could happen fastest? And I was like this for days. I ate 5 saltines in about 3 days. It was bad. And the stress from Hurricane Black didn’t help I am sure.  I had no idea the flu could bring a grown woman to a crying sobbing mess.

Writing doesn’t comfort me the way it used to. I don’t understand why. I want to write so badly. I want to be able to feel that release I would feel after getting everything out but I can’t. And I think it is going to drive me crazy. I know that this HUGE case of block is not helping but I feel like it might be more than that.

Perhaps it is that I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know how to ‘fake’ it here in my writing. I am a pro at flipping on the fake when needed, as long as I have my props, sunglasses and fake smiles. But when it comes to writing, well, I can’t fake this shit. When I write it is from the now, the real, the raw, and most of the times the oh so fucking ugly. And I feel like I have been so full of ugly for so long that I try to write ‘pretty’. But when I attempt to sort through the mess and pick out the good and the pretty I find myself lost in the blackness and feel like I am swallowed whole and then all the pretty is lost and I feel like I have nothing. So nothing is what I write.

I find that the silence is not even an option any longer. So there is always music on. Loud. Really loud. I avoid sitting. I try to keep my mind and body as busy as possible. Even now I feel like I should be up cleaning but since I have a load in both the washer and dryer and everything already folded and put away I am trying to convince myself that it is okay to sit here and get some shit out. So sit I am. With the music blaring. And the cursor blinking.

So shit is pretty messy here. I have been writing about it. I am just keeping them in a folder for now. Perhaps a blog will be born someday from them. But for now they will stayed buried where all things, dark, scary, shameful, and full of black belong, in a folder hidden on my computer.

I am battling this the only way I can. By the seat of my fucking pants. Fist flying. I still need to battle this beast on my own though.

I need to prove to myself that I can do this. I need to do this to prove that I am not the things I am told I am. And that I am everything I am told I can never be.

I need to find me. I don’t know where to even begin but I know that 5 years is a long time to be wandering lost and I am ready to find the way back to the living.

I am so sorry. I know you beg me to not push. To not give up. And I want you to know that I am not giving up on US. But I need to find ME and fix what happened here while I was so busy lost in US. I am not giving up though. I hope that after I can stand on my own two feet, all by myself with no help, we will find our way back to US. I in no way expect you to ‘wait’ for me. And if you don’t. I understand. But I can’t be distracted right now. And you distract me. US distracts me.

I was so lost in US that I didn’t see how terrible things were here. I was so busy lost in the tingles, the stolen breaths’, and sparkles that I didn’t see my world deteriorating around me.

So now, when you whisper your words and they fall over me like a soft blanket I start to panic. I am so scared that I will get lost in US again and the blackness will take over again and I will be too distracted to see. And we both know how easily I fall into US. Was it not just last night that I startled awake not remembering how I fell into such a peaceful slumber? I can’t allow that to happen. I don’t fall asleep with out tossing and turning and it makes it so much harder to do this alone when I am reminded of what US feels like.

I have been avoiding all things internet related. For days. If I avoid the internet I am not temped to message you. And since my cell phone has been MIA since I survived the flu from fucking hell last week and I haven’t ‘had the time’ to look for it then texting is not an option. Add that I have been avoiding this place like the BLACK fucking plague, because it is so full of black, and it appears that plan No Contact has been fairly successful.

Sorry about that. But I have to battle this dark, blackness filled, depression inducing fucking beast on my own.

I miss you. I love you. I am so sorry. I hope you understand why I have to do this.

Goodnight my Moon. Please don’t hate me.

 

To say today was a bad day is like saying Hurricane Katrina was a rainstorm…

Today was bad horrible terrible horrifying fuck it!! I can’t even find a fucking word to describe what today was. Oh wait yes I can.

BLACK

Today was full of black. I don’t have anything more tonight. I am drained. Exhausted. I don’t know how much I will be on here for a bit. Maybe I will be on here a lot. I fear I will be silent. You know how silent is no bueno for me. But silent is pretty much all I’ve got for now.

I am sorry. I miss you. I need to do this alone. I need some time. Again I am sorry.

Until we meet again my Moon. I’m sorry.