Originally posted 11 Apr, 2008.
I'm starting to panic. One month from now I will be out of job & house, & I have no replacements lined up. I get online to look for employment & for rentals, but haven't had much luck, & now I find myself starting to have attacks of anxiety that grow as I search the web. I get tightness in my chest, & nausea, & my breathing is too fast, & I'm borderline crying, & I just think, " I want to go home." Problem is, I haven't got one. And the more apartments I look at online, the more sure I am that I'll never find one. You see, home isn't a place, it's a feeling. It's where you feel safe, nurtured, centered -- where you feel that you belong. Some people find that through family - spouses, children - some through a career or life's work. For others, it may well be a physical place - a house, or a community. I have always felt rootless, lacking my center, my lee in the storm. I have tried to build an identity through my belongings, so that as long as I have them, I am home. But, though I am strongly tied to my stuff, it is not enough. And now, with my stuff all in storage, no physical dwelling to claim, no career or path to identify with, no family or community to cling to, I long for a home to call my own. I am tired of being a tumbleweed. A tumbleweed is dead, lifeless, fruitless. A tree needs roots to grow; it needs something it can hold onto to keep itself balanced as it stretches to the sky. I may seek to find groundedness within myself, but I am too unsteady inside. I feel that I am perched precariously, & it's taking all my attention not to fall. So, I'm starting to panic, & each day it grows worse. I wish that finding my center was as easy as clicking my heels together & whispering, "there's no place like home."
Friday, October 30, 2009
Worthless
Originally posted 2 Apr, 2008.
You know what? Therapy sucks. It's bullshit. You get doped up on meds that just cover some of the physical symptoms & do nothing to address the problem. Then you get some know-it-all head-shrink who just asks you how you feel about shit. Obviously I feel anxious & unhappy; that's why I'm here! The big bullshit, though, is that they make out like they're your friend almost, like they care about how you feel & what happens to you. They don't care. They're not your friend. They're just someone who's paid to act like they give a damn. They can't really help you with your problems because only you can fix you. Or maybe these problems can't be fixed at all. But they tell you they can help... though it'll take years... maybe your whole life. Because that's what a frustrated, depressed person needs, is a large financial drain. So, I tell my shrink-person that I'm gonna come off the meds & such, & he's all surprised. But I'm sorry, I am not going to pay who knows how much money to have some stranger prod the painful bits of my life & then ask me how I feel about it! I feel like shit! Got any solutions? No? How surprising.
The really bad part, though, is that it's my fault. I started to fall for it. I started to think, here's someone who gives a damn, or can help. I hoped. It's the ultimate sin, hope... when you think maybe things'll get better. And then they don't. And it's my fault. Because you are the architect of your own life. Everything that happens is something you either make happen, or let happen. Damn disturbing thing to believe that you make your own life, cause then you're responsible. For everything. Lost my job - my fault. Homeless - my fault. No friends - my fault. Hell, even that sexual assault I suffered in college - my fault. Argue with me. Argue that it's not. You can't. It's my fault, all of it. So, we just get what we deserve. Maybe I don't deserve to feel better. So, I'm a fuck-up & can't do anything right. That's the real problem - I'm a bad person, who makes bad choices - a failure. So be it. I am a failure. Gotta stop caring, stop hoping that I can make it right. Cuz I can't.
You know what? Therapy sucks. It's bullshit. You get doped up on meds that just cover some of the physical symptoms & do nothing to address the problem. Then you get some know-it-all head-shrink who just asks you how you feel about shit. Obviously I feel anxious & unhappy; that's why I'm here! The big bullshit, though, is that they make out like they're your friend almost, like they care about how you feel & what happens to you. They don't care. They're not your friend. They're just someone who's paid to act like they give a damn. They can't really help you with your problems because only you can fix you. Or maybe these problems can't be fixed at all. But they tell you they can help... though it'll take years... maybe your whole life. Because that's what a frustrated, depressed person needs, is a large financial drain. So, I tell my shrink-person that I'm gonna come off the meds & such, & he's all surprised. But I'm sorry, I am not going to pay who knows how much money to have some stranger prod the painful bits of my life & then ask me how I feel about it! I feel like shit! Got any solutions? No? How surprising.
The really bad part, though, is that it's my fault. I started to fall for it. I started to think, here's someone who gives a damn, or can help. I hoped. It's the ultimate sin, hope... when you think maybe things'll get better. And then they don't. And it's my fault. Because you are the architect of your own life. Everything that happens is something you either make happen, or let happen. Damn disturbing thing to believe that you make your own life, cause then you're responsible. For everything. Lost my job - my fault. Homeless - my fault. No friends - my fault. Hell, even that sexual assault I suffered in college - my fault. Argue with me. Argue that it's not. You can't. It's my fault, all of it. So, we just get what we deserve. Maybe I don't deserve to feel better. So, I'm a fuck-up & can't do anything right. That's the real problem - I'm a bad person, who makes bad choices - a failure. So be it. I am a failure. Gotta stop caring, stop hoping that I can make it right. Cuz I can't.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Helpless
Originally posted 26 Mar, 2008.
I know that at least part of my inability to ask for help can be traced to my childhood. I used to get upset stomachs all the time when i was a kid. I would often spend nights crying in the bathroom doubled over from nausea & stomach cramps. It's not an ailment that I was ever actually taken to the doctor for & I still have similar intestinal issues from time to time. Whatever the root cause, the physical manifestations were very real, & interfered with both sleep & school. I distinctly remember one of my elementary school teachers snapping at me one day when I asked to go to the nurse's office, "You can't be sick every day!" So, I began to notice that my problem was interfering with class, irritating others, & drawing unwanted attention to myself. Eventually, I just stopped mentioning it.
My revelation took longer at home. When I would be curled up in the bathroom at night, tears streaming down my face, I would often find myself calling for my "mommy." Then, one night, I really looked at her as she came into the bathroom looking tired & worn, set a glass of water on the counter, & then went back to her room. I realized the futility of my cry for help. There was never anything she could do that would ease the pain. My plea was selfish, merely depriving her of sleep as well. I never called for her again.
I received similar reactions of irritation & frustration from others in response to my depression & anxiety issues. So, I learned to suffer in silence. Pain was to be overcome or endured alone. Drawing people into it just placed a burden on them as well, & there was rarely anything anyone could do to help. This is something I still believe today, backed up by the continued evidence that revealing my problems merely causes discomfort & frustration in those around me.
I know that at least part of my inability to ask for help can be traced to my childhood. I used to get upset stomachs all the time when i was a kid. I would often spend nights crying in the bathroom doubled over from nausea & stomach cramps. It's not an ailment that I was ever actually taken to the doctor for & I still have similar intestinal issues from time to time. Whatever the root cause, the physical manifestations were very real, & interfered with both sleep & school. I distinctly remember one of my elementary school teachers snapping at me one day when I asked to go to the nurse's office, "You can't be sick every day!" So, I began to notice that my problem was interfering with class, irritating others, & drawing unwanted attention to myself. Eventually, I just stopped mentioning it.
My revelation took longer at home. When I would be curled up in the bathroom at night, tears streaming down my face, I would often find myself calling for my "mommy." Then, one night, I really looked at her as she came into the bathroom looking tired & worn, set a glass of water on the counter, & then went back to her room. I realized the futility of my cry for help. There was never anything she could do that would ease the pain. My plea was selfish, merely depriving her of sleep as well. I never called for her again.
I received similar reactions of irritation & frustration from others in response to my depression & anxiety issues. So, I learned to suffer in silence. Pain was to be overcome or endured alone. Drawing people into it just placed a burden on them as well, & there was rarely anything anyone could do to help. This is something I still believe today, backed up by the continued evidence that revealing my problems merely causes discomfort & frustration in those around me.
Sex, Love & Relationships
Originally posted 22 Mar, 2008.
I admit it -- I'm sexually frustrated. I think about sex quite a lot & it's all very frustrating. But this is not really about sex. This is about something missing. There's this empty space in my life where I feel like something should be. I can't help but poke at it, like the space left by a missing tooth. I keep thinking something should be there, but it's not a something; it's a someone. Someone who cares about me. I feel like there should be someone there. Someone to hold & touch... & okay, all the other stuff, too. But it's not just sex that's lacking, it's love, companionship, trust, belonging... the whole package, really.
The really messed up part, is that I feel bad for feeling this way. Whenever it occurs to me that maybe I should look for love, I get angry at myself. I shouldn't look for love. That shouldn't be a focus in my life -- it's not that important, & I'd be wasting energy that I could be spending on other things. It's okay if I stumble across love in my pursuit of the meaningful things in life, but it's not allowed to be a goal in itself.
So why do I feel this way? I suppose I'm something of an anti-romantic. I don't believe in love at first sight. I tend to mock romantic movies for their completely unrealistic & unattainable portrayals of love. I believe that it's wrong to define yourself as part of a couple. Who you are should not be affected by who you're with. I believe in pursuing a fulfilling career, healthy home life & strong sense of values. These things are important & worth pursuing, but for me, "home life" doesn't include anyone else. I've driven it into my head that needing someone else there, anyone else, means there's something wrong with you. After all, why should your happiness be dependent on others in any way. The ultimate existentialist.
I hear it said that man is a social animal, & needs that interaction to thrive, & I wonder... I work so hard at not needing anyone else, that I barely interact with others at all. I try to think back to the last time I've had even casual physical contact with others, & it's been so long that I can't remember. When I stop & think about it, I believe the only time I allow physical contact (outside of a doctor's or dentist's office) is at holidays when I visit family. A brief hug is allowed on arrival & departure. And that's it. I tend to pull away quickly, because in a way, it feels like something I miss. And I feel bad for that, too. How incredibly needy to want a hug now & then.
So, maybe I do need others. Maybe I want my life to be tangled up with the lives of others. Am I wrong for that? Am I overly needy & dependent? At what point does a supposedly normal human requirement for companionship & belonging become desperate neediness, & when does the desire to be strong & independent become dysfunctional avoidance? I'll let you know if I ever figure it out.
I admit it -- I'm sexually frustrated. I think about sex quite a lot & it's all very frustrating. But this is not really about sex. This is about something missing. There's this empty space in my life where I feel like something should be. I can't help but poke at it, like the space left by a missing tooth. I keep thinking something should be there, but it's not a something; it's a someone. Someone who cares about me. I feel like there should be someone there. Someone to hold & touch... & okay, all the other stuff, too. But it's not just sex that's lacking, it's love, companionship, trust, belonging... the whole package, really.
The really messed up part, is that I feel bad for feeling this way. Whenever it occurs to me that maybe I should look for love, I get angry at myself. I shouldn't look for love. That shouldn't be a focus in my life -- it's not that important, & I'd be wasting energy that I could be spending on other things. It's okay if I stumble across love in my pursuit of the meaningful things in life, but it's not allowed to be a goal in itself.
So why do I feel this way? I suppose I'm something of an anti-romantic. I don't believe in love at first sight. I tend to mock romantic movies for their completely unrealistic & unattainable portrayals of love. I believe that it's wrong to define yourself as part of a couple. Who you are should not be affected by who you're with. I believe in pursuing a fulfilling career, healthy home life & strong sense of values. These things are important & worth pursuing, but for me, "home life" doesn't include anyone else. I've driven it into my head that needing someone else there, anyone else, means there's something wrong with you. After all, why should your happiness be dependent on others in any way. The ultimate existentialist.
I hear it said that man is a social animal, & needs that interaction to thrive, & I wonder... I work so hard at not needing anyone else, that I barely interact with others at all. I try to think back to the last time I've had even casual physical contact with others, & it's been so long that I can't remember. When I stop & think about it, I believe the only time I allow physical contact (outside of a doctor's or dentist's office) is at holidays when I visit family. A brief hug is allowed on arrival & departure. And that's it. I tend to pull away quickly, because in a way, it feels like something I miss. And I feel bad for that, too. How incredibly needy to want a hug now & then.
So, maybe I do need others. Maybe I want my life to be tangled up with the lives of others. Am I wrong for that? Am I overly needy & dependent? At what point does a supposedly normal human requirement for companionship & belonging become desperate neediness, & when does the desire to be strong & independent become dysfunctional avoidance? I'll let you know if I ever figure it out.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Double-Standard of Diseases
Originally posted 21 Mar, 2008.
My therapist was surprised when I expressed feelings of shame about my depression. He asked why I should think it reflects badly on me to be depressed, and asserted that I would not feel the same way if I had cancer or some other "physical" disease. The thing is, people don't usually tell cancer patients, "Just get over it," "Why do you have to be in pain all the time?" or "Your nausea & hair-loss are too much for me to deal with. Don't talk to me again until your cancer's gone." If a person mentions that they're having to take half a dozen medications to try to treat leukemia, someone might feel bad for them ("wow, that's too bad. That sucks.") If you mention that you're taking half a dozen medications trying to treat depression, it's "wow, they're really f***ed up! Maybe I should stop talking to this person." Speak out about how you're dealing with being a parapalegic, & people will be supportive & inspired. Speak up about your depression, & people get embarrassed for you & wonder why you'd want to put that information out there like that. Or you end up gettting complaints that "you're bringing everyone down. Nobody wants to hear about that." The world expects us to keep a positive attitude all the time, & when your sickness is an inability to see the light... well that's just a failing. So, add another log to the fire of self-doubt & self-loathing, because that's one more way in which we're failures.
To most people, our problems are only a product of weakness, lack of self-discipline, or just plain selfishness (don't we know our unhappiness bothers other people?). I've been snapped at by family members & dumped by friends because I wouldn't just "snap out of it." As if it's a choice we make. Someone stood before us with two boxes that said "happy life" & "misery," & we all said, " You know what? I think I'll take the misery. That looks like fun."
All I know is, no matter how hard I am for others to put up with, it's nothing compared to what it's like for me having to live inside my head 24/7. I can't get up & walk away. It's the kind of pain you'd do anything to stop, but for many people it's just not real because it's not physical. I'd rather have physical pain. that can usually be treated with some Advil. Just pop a couple pills, & 30 minutes later, it's gone. It's going on 32 years now, & Im still waiting for my depression to let up. There've been many times when I cut myself or otherwise injured myself, because the physical pain is just so much easier to face than the emotional. People drink, get high, become sex addicts, or take part in other dangerous behaviors in attempts to escape pain, but while a person who did it to escape a debilitating illness would be seen as acting out of desperation ("how sad that he had to resort to that to ease his pain"), a person trying to escape depression would be seen as weak-willed instead ("He was such a screw-up, couldn't get his life together, so he turned to the bottle").
Gosh, with all this good-will & support, I can't imagine why I'd be under the impression that it's a personal failing. In conclusion, I'd just like to say that there's nothing like knowing that your family & friends are standing behind you -- muttering about what a burden you are -- to help lighten your depression. And don't forget, if you just keep a positive attitude, that broken leg will go away all by itself.
**Note: Many of these posts were written immediately after "therapy" sessions. I almost always left more upset than when I arrived. I often thought of therapy as cracking open a septic tank -- you shine a light into the darkest & most disturbing part of yourself & all kinds of shit comes pouring out. Do I really think that those with cancer or chronic pain have it easier? No, not really. It just sometimes feels that way. The worst pain is always the one that you, yourself, are actually suffering.
My therapist was surprised when I expressed feelings of shame about my depression. He asked why I should think it reflects badly on me to be depressed, and asserted that I would not feel the same way if I had cancer or some other "physical" disease. The thing is, people don't usually tell cancer patients, "Just get over it," "Why do you have to be in pain all the time?" or "Your nausea & hair-loss are too much for me to deal with. Don't talk to me again until your cancer's gone." If a person mentions that they're having to take half a dozen medications to try to treat leukemia, someone might feel bad for them ("wow, that's too bad. That sucks.") If you mention that you're taking half a dozen medications trying to treat depression, it's "wow, they're really f***ed up! Maybe I should stop talking to this person." Speak out about how you're dealing with being a parapalegic, & people will be supportive & inspired. Speak up about your depression, & people get embarrassed for you & wonder why you'd want to put that information out there like that. Or you end up gettting complaints that "you're bringing everyone down. Nobody wants to hear about that." The world expects us to keep a positive attitude all the time, & when your sickness is an inability to see the light... well that's just a failing. So, add another log to the fire of self-doubt & self-loathing, because that's one more way in which we're failures.
To most people, our problems are only a product of weakness, lack of self-discipline, or just plain selfishness (don't we know our unhappiness bothers other people?). I've been snapped at by family members & dumped by friends because I wouldn't just "snap out of it." As if it's a choice we make. Someone stood before us with two boxes that said "happy life" & "misery," & we all said, " You know what? I think I'll take the misery. That looks like fun."
All I know is, no matter how hard I am for others to put up with, it's nothing compared to what it's like for me having to live inside my head 24/7. I can't get up & walk away. It's the kind of pain you'd do anything to stop, but for many people it's just not real because it's not physical. I'd rather have physical pain. that can usually be treated with some Advil. Just pop a couple pills, & 30 minutes later, it's gone. It's going on 32 years now, & Im still waiting for my depression to let up. There've been many times when I cut myself or otherwise injured myself, because the physical pain is just so much easier to face than the emotional. People drink, get high, become sex addicts, or take part in other dangerous behaviors in attempts to escape pain, but while a person who did it to escape a debilitating illness would be seen as acting out of desperation ("how sad that he had to resort to that to ease his pain"), a person trying to escape depression would be seen as weak-willed instead ("He was such a screw-up, couldn't get his life together, so he turned to the bottle").
Gosh, with all this good-will & support, I can't imagine why I'd be under the impression that it's a personal failing. In conclusion, I'd just like to say that there's nothing like knowing that your family & friends are standing behind you -- muttering about what a burden you are -- to help lighten your depression. And don't forget, if you just keep a positive attitude, that broken leg will go away all by itself.
**Note: Many of these posts were written immediately after "therapy" sessions. I almost always left more upset than when I arrived. I often thought of therapy as cracking open a septic tank -- you shine a light into the darkest & most disturbing part of yourself & all kinds of shit comes pouring out. Do I really think that those with cancer or chronic pain have it easier? No, not really. It just sometimes feels that way. The worst pain is always the one that you, yourself, are actually suffering.
Hell
Originally posted 12 Mar, 2008.
No Exit. What is the point of trying? I know I am a coward, curled in a ball, huddling away from the challenges in my life. Death waits at the end & mocks me with my failure... failure to try... failure to face life. He watches, & I disappoint. What will my Hell be like? Can it be worse than this? Is this Hell already? "Hell is other people," wrote Sartre. And yet, Hell is being alone as well, without love, without comfort. It is an emptiness where I create people in my thoughts. And even in the plays that act out in my mind, the people turn against me, I turn against myself. Hell is my mind. I am terrified of facing life, yes. But I know I will fail all challenges thrown my way. I am a weakling, a failure, a waste. By not acting I doom only myself... to whatever fate awaits cowards like me. Were I to act, others may be hurt as well. And still, I know I would fail anyway. So why try? That path laid out before me stretches on with its silent judge at the end, waiting... but why enter a race you know you will lose? Why take a position you know you are unequipped to fill? I know now why the Buddhists see Heaven as Nirvana, nothingness. It is myself that I wish to escape. To fade away, to cease, "tis a consummation devoutly to be wished." I live a life of constant frustration... when I act, I fail... when I do not act, I fail as well. Already, I am well & truly damned.
No Exit. What is the point of trying? I know I am a coward, curled in a ball, huddling away from the challenges in my life. Death waits at the end & mocks me with my failure... failure to try... failure to face life. He watches, & I disappoint. What will my Hell be like? Can it be worse than this? Is this Hell already? "Hell is other people," wrote Sartre. And yet, Hell is being alone as well, without love, without comfort. It is an emptiness where I create people in my thoughts. And even in the plays that act out in my mind, the people turn against me, I turn against myself. Hell is my mind. I am terrified of facing life, yes. But I know I will fail all challenges thrown my way. I am a weakling, a failure, a waste. By not acting I doom only myself... to whatever fate awaits cowards like me. Were I to act, others may be hurt as well. And still, I know I would fail anyway. So why try? That path laid out before me stretches on with its silent judge at the end, waiting... but why enter a race you know you will lose? Why take a position you know you are unequipped to fill? I know now why the Buddhists see Heaven as Nirvana, nothingness. It is myself that I wish to escape. To fade away, to cease, "tis a consummation devoutly to be wished." I live a life of constant frustration... when I act, I fail... when I do not act, I fail as well. Already, I am well & truly damned.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Where Are All the Emotional Personal Trainers?
Originally posted 7 Mar, 2008.
Sometimes Rage is a living thing, built of fear, self-loathing, anger, frustration, sorrow, longing… So many feelings swirling about with no way to ease or express them. Direct it outward, and you end up with the psychopaths and thugs, raining their fury of emotions on everyone around them, blaming their problems on others or the world itself. Send it all inward, and you get people like me. Everything is their own fault. The rage, frustration, disgust, all fall inward, smothering. Both types are based on the same squirming, burning teem of emotions churning inside, building until it can cause physical pain, nausea, tears, madness…
But the real question is, why us? What makes us so much more incapable of dealing with our emotions than others? Are the feelings actually stronger for us, like a tooth that’s more sensitive to heat or cold? Do we lack the proper ventilation to release the emotions, to let off the excess pressure? Or do emotional events that should be temporal, fading as the tide, instead carve deep runnels in our brains, fixing themselves permanently in our psyche? Why are we the way we are? So many times I have found myself rubbed raw by the assault of emotions against my mind and heart, stripped of what little protections I have by the constant pressures, until I feel naked as a wound, and every new touch leaves me screaming like sandpaper on a sunburn. Try to disconnect, try to go numb, and end up broken in another way.
So, what’s an emotionally-handicapped person to do? Every cure seems but a band-aid on a bleeding jugular, a bit of plywood trying to board up a crumbling dam. We are “weak” - We need to “just get over it.” Are we weak? Is it a failing, something missing in our upbringing or DNA? “Fix it,” I want to say, “Teach me. I can learn.” But, I remain broken. Our medicine, not up to repairing my damaged heart and mind. Or my own abilities failing me. If I really were intelligent, I could figure this out, couldn’t I? I could break the code, solve the puzzle... All I know is that I’m tired. That which does not kill me… is still leaving me battered and bleeding on the side of the road.
Sometimes Rage is a living thing, built of fear, self-loathing, anger, frustration, sorrow, longing… So many feelings swirling about with no way to ease or express them. Direct it outward, and you end up with the psychopaths and thugs, raining their fury of emotions on everyone around them, blaming their problems on others or the world itself. Send it all inward, and you get people like me. Everything is their own fault. The rage, frustration, disgust, all fall inward, smothering. Both types are based on the same squirming, burning teem of emotions churning inside, building until it can cause physical pain, nausea, tears, madness…
But the real question is, why us? What makes us so much more incapable of dealing with our emotions than others? Are the feelings actually stronger for us, like a tooth that’s more sensitive to heat or cold? Do we lack the proper ventilation to release the emotions, to let off the excess pressure? Or do emotional events that should be temporal, fading as the tide, instead carve deep runnels in our brains, fixing themselves permanently in our psyche? Why are we the way we are? So many times I have found myself rubbed raw by the assault of emotions against my mind and heart, stripped of what little protections I have by the constant pressures, until I feel naked as a wound, and every new touch leaves me screaming like sandpaper on a sunburn. Try to disconnect, try to go numb, and end up broken in another way.
So, what’s an emotionally-handicapped person to do? Every cure seems but a band-aid on a bleeding jugular, a bit of plywood trying to board up a crumbling dam. We are “weak” - We need to “just get over it.” Are we weak? Is it a failing, something missing in our upbringing or DNA? “Fix it,” I want to say, “Teach me. I can learn.” But, I remain broken. Our medicine, not up to repairing my damaged heart and mind. Or my own abilities failing me. If I really were intelligent, I could figure this out, couldn’t I? I could break the code, solve the puzzle... All I know is that I’m tired. That which does not kill me… is still leaving me battered and bleeding on the side of the road.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Questions
The point is to sit there expressionless when inside your head you're screaming. But why? Is there even a why? Does there need to be a why?
It's madness. Life itself is madness. It makes us crazy & we want it & we hate it & we rue the necessity of it & it's just nuts. This mindless stumbling along the paths, seeking... what? Love, money, redemption? Do we ever find any of it? Does any of it last? Does it really matter, in the end? Is there a point to this running around? Should I care?
It's madness. Life itself is madness. It makes us crazy & we want it & we hate it & we rue the necessity of it & it's just nuts. This mindless stumbling along the paths, seeking... what? Love, money, redemption? Do we ever find any of it? Does any of it last? Does it really matter, in the end? Is there a point to this running around? Should I care?
Bad Day
I'm having a bad day.
I'm having bad days more often lately.
Maybe it's the weather. SAD. Less light.
Whatever. Bad day.
I miss you.
I've never met you, but I miss you. How is that possible?
"Homesick for the home I've never had."
I still feel torn up inside.
The home I've never had, the love I've never known, the life I've never lived.
It aches like a wound, like a bloody shredded gaping hole of the type you'd see in a horror film.
Does that mean something? Is there a lesson there?
I'm tired.
So fucking sick & tired.
I stare at the ceiling & I just feel empty.
Aching, lost & empty.
I'm having bad days more often lately.
Maybe it's the weather. SAD. Less light.
Whatever. Bad day.
I miss you.
I've never met you, but I miss you. How is that possible?
"Homesick for the home I've never had."
I still feel torn up inside.
The home I've never had, the love I've never known, the life I've never lived.
It aches like a wound, like a bloody shredded gaping hole of the type you'd see in a horror film.
Does that mean something? Is there a lesson there?
I'm tired.
So fucking sick & tired.
I stare at the ceiling & I just feel empty.
Aching, lost & empty.
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