The Big Glimmer

The Glimmer

A few days ago, in a happy texting mood, and a need for affirmation from men, I sent off a few texts to a few of the men in my dating life, including one to Big. Nothing profound to Big, just a “hi, how are things?” as per norm, I didn’t expect to hear back, but wanted him to subconsciously remember my existence. I fear this may be a very sad statement to make, but its true and done.

All the regular males came beeping back with adulation and I was fully satisfied. Much to my surprise, a few days later, there was Big, with not one, but TWO texts, saying he was in town and how did I feel about getting together. HOW DID I FEEL? HOW DID I FEEL?!? I feel YES, I feel HAPPY, and I feel MY HEART BEATING! I feel I wonder how long have you been in town? I feel did you not call me as soon as you arrived here? I feel I shouldn’t text you back right away? I feel like I need to play cool! YES YES YES (I did wait an hour).

I went to the shrink. Yes, I did, I went to my shrink, $140/hr to get confirmation that I am truly neurotic and pathetic in scientific terms. Believe it or not, she likened him to a crack hit and I was a BIG crack addict (funny that shrink). I was going to take the euphoric hit and come crashing down into withdrawal. Have decided am truly a Big crack addict as knowing all consequences and potential self-destruction; I chose the drug over rehab.

Am skipping about the house gleefully, we’re meeting for a walk, dinner and miscellaneous unsaid activities. ☺ I am petrified he is going to call and cancel. My heart is a metronome threatening to spill out of my chest with the intensity of anticipation. I’m pushing all the negative thoughts into that nifty little black crawl space in my mind with the one-way glass, loads of time to deal over some Kleenex, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and Sex in the City reruns after he leaves.

So, we’re supposed to go for a walk, he suggests some unknown area of town and rather than feel non worldly, I Google it instead of asking him, then call sister for some helpful tips to sound knowledgeable, pull out restaurant guide to ponder dinner options in case asked for opinions. I am picking him up at his office, so want to come across as business-casual-elegant (because I do have a life), but also need to be walk-ready, and romantic-dinner friendly, and not cold. Is a bit of a conundrum as business-casual-elegant does not normally involve sneakers for walking. Decide to go with best impression first and consequence later, and don linen pants and fabulous Bebe top with nifty bows and ties, and orange heels. Pull in a lime green Coach bag, pop in not too tight Rock n Republic jeans, linen tank top, a smashing orange pashmina and a pair of XXX fashionable runners and my (embarrassed look) overnight case.

Did I fail to mention I have a 5am flight the next morning that I have sent down to same nifty little crawl space? Never mind suitcase needing to be packed, prescriptions needing to be filled and documents needing some tlc, BIG is in town, earth stops revolving around sun and begins to revolve around self-centered, non-committal male with no special feelings for me.

Am jittery, feeling ready to throw up, not wanting to pace, and down right nauseous waiting for him to come join me. Outside façade I must admit is cool, calm, sophisticated and elegant, that I am sure I take him a step back with my presence. Giggle, score! We kiss and the little birds dither about my head (note he kissed me, score 2), walking down to car he places arm around me, score 3. Feeling buoyed with an arsenal of I am she-woman we end up at his place to let him shower and get out of his work clothes and for me to slip from business-casual-elegant to chic, sporty, cute mode. End case, we end up steamily in bed for the next 3 hours, cute mode non existent, replaced by smoldering-captivating Aphrodite in DKNY lingerie.

I liken him to an on-off switch, when he’s with me the bulb is burning brighter than bright, illuminating me and everything in our little world and I know with intuitive confidence that I am not wrong that when he is with me I am his Venus. What pains me is his ability to switch it off, all energy gone, and no light between us till he flips that switch again. I’m not a switch, I am a far more sophisticated and problem plagued dimmer, I may contain the ebb and wane but the energy annoyingly lives there in continuous power saving mode.

Can I say that somewhere within me, I am hoping he will realize what there is between us and not fight it; this is why I hang on in this self-flagellating limbo. He has baggage; I have baggage, so much overweight baggage the charges are not worth taking the baggage with us. Perhaps should send down to nifty little crawl space too. After we unraveled and took ourselves into the shower with our stomachs grumbling, a couple of champagne cocktails on the waterfront with sailboats lighting up the sky and ferries chugging slowly through, we found our way to life, dreams and wants, and his fear of giving me any expectations and assumptions of him. In most unnatural a Big moment, he confessed to actually thinking of me and wanting me to come join him on his latest trip but could not get himself to ask or correspond for fear of giving me any expectations. What am I supposed to do, words of rebuttal are clamouring their way up my throat but I don’t want to close off this small chink in the armour. So I smile, treading delicately, a sliver of hope and a fission of pain all unraveling within me, not knowing where this is going, but it will need to end before it takes me too far down to recover and feverishly hoping he will see the light that is me before it extinguishes.

We end our night par for course, big wrapped around me caressing and cuddling, peppering kisses down my back and whispering his good nights and me wide awake, unable to sleep, staring into the darkness blindly, wondering if this truly is real to just me.




Note: alarm rang at 4am; I smashed it to pieces, spooned back into big and missed my flight.

The Big Email

Big showed up on email today. There he was in my inbox, subject “hello”. I had finally gotten myself into a space where I no longer scanned my inbox every morning for the sight of his name, trying to fool myself I wasn’t looking but knowing perfectly well I was looking with microscopic detail. Murphy’s Law, life starts to go back to normal, you’ve settled your demons and the demon shows up in your inbox.

Short and sweet, he’s coming back to town today, how about dinner? What is it with me, the man leaves my house 3 weeks ago, leaving me standing here wondering if I will ever see him again, not a word of correspondence for 3 weeks and here I am ready to implode with glee at one email? My one pathetic email I sent to him in a moment of weakness went unanswered and I am now insanely happy he’s written me 3 lines, let alone wants to see me! Someone whack me with a sledgehammer now please!

Did I mention I have a date with Bankman tonight? We made this date days ago, picnic on the beach, wine, cheese, sunset and just bursting with romance and all I can think is Big is back in town. Fingers’ working on its own impetus off goes an email, dinner, OF COURSE. A text message, dinner, SURE. Another text, dinner tonight, ABSOLUTELY? I’m a moron, an absolute and total female idiot. So much for coy and unattainable…

So, now I have 2 dates for tonight. I consult the two ex boyfriends via instant messenger and ACman in France on what to say to Bankman. Why on earth I’m asking a man I’m technically dating for advice on another man is for another day, let alone the exes. All say, tell him the truth. I secretly think they’ve all got an agenda to rid the planet of another member of the Vida fan club. I ignore all three of them, and send Bankman a text, lamely saying that a “friend” just came into town and could we rain check. My conscience is killing me. He texts back that it’s fine. WHY did he have to be so darn understanding and such a nice man!?! Here I have on one hand, Bankman: Cute, beautiful body, great eyes, successful, considerate, romantic, anything and everything a girl could want and then there’s Big, who is essentially a younger Chris Noth with a smaller nose and who doesn’t give a hoot if I exist and tells me he has no “special” feelings for me. I know I should kick him in the nuts and tell him to head to middle earth… I know.

Reality, my conscience is still killing me about Bankman, I’m too honest for my own good. I send him a text saying I HAVE TO meet him. Meet me he does, looking so fresh and sweet, with his gorgeous big smile, and I want to die! Repeat to oneself, stupid-stupid-stupid woman. Sigh. On a little park bench surrounded by a babbling brook, blooming flowers and shady trees (thankfully it isn’t the perfect romantic spot as he’s being eaten by mosquitoes) I re-affirm that I am not looking for a relationship (unless you’re BIG), want to date casually (unless you’re BIG) and need to keep my emotions in check to focus on myself (unless you’re BIG). Of course, he perfectly understands, thinks I am an amazing woman, thinks we have great chemistry, and it’s fine to date casually (please make him stop). Here’s the kicker, he stands up saying “I thought you were asking me here to tell me that a man you’re dating is flying into town and I was going to tell you that was OK” (weak laughter emanates from me, I am sure someone up there is laughing). We do the awkward kiss good bye, and I slink back to my car feeling like a void needs to open up and send ME to middle earth.

However, I am seeing Big in two hours (cue violins and pretty little birds) and I need to find that perfect casual, just threw on, dead sexy, very wholesome outfit. The closet is a battlefield; I throw everything in the room inside and slam the door shut. Straighten the bed because I so want him in there! Music and lights, but not too planned because heavens I’m not expecting him to stay the night. I’m making myself ill. Perfect outfit on I stalk the house maniacally, then settle down on the laptop refusing to look at the clock because I know he will be late. I surreptitiously glance at my mobile in case he sent a text. Uuuuuuuuugh, I know he hasn’t why did I look?! Doorbell rings, heart stops, stand up, compose and skip down stairs nonchalantly. There he is, my devil incarnate, bouquet of flowers in hand, goofy grin and absolutely adorable. How can I not melt, he brought me flowers!!! We kiss and the fireworks are exploding in my head, this man drives me crazy, my knees threaten to buckle, my heart pounds and my hormones are, are, are everywhere. I just want to throw him into bed but a moment of sanity snaps me back to reality and I re-assume the cool, composed, completely in control Vida who insists we need to put the flowers in water.

We walk down the seawall hand in hand, arm in arm, seals bob in and out, the sun starts to settle into twilight, happy couples and families stroll by, we stop periodically to gaze at the perfection, kiss, slow dance in the street, manifest the perfection of a couple in love. I am repeating to myself through my haze of euphoria the mantra that this is not real, embrace the moment and let it go, he has “NO SPECIAL FEELINGS FOR YOU”. Dinner is fabulous; we talk through, laughter and excitement bubbling in and out over a pitcher of sangria. We lopsidedly make our way out, giggling like children and hail a cab home where we dive onto each other in the foyer, in the hall, on the steps, clothes flying and passion igniting a trail to the bed. Later (much later) his arms wrapped around me he strokes my hair, nuzzles my neck and kisses me good night and I want to cry. How can this not be real? How can he not feel this? How can something so beautiful to me be nothing to him? I don’t sleep a wink and the next morning he gets up and leaves, no plans, no commitments, I smile and say good-bye, friends with benefits, a monster of my making. Readers, I know, I know, I know, it’s all wrong and I am fooling myself, but I can’t let go, I need Oprah, Dr. Phil, Deepak Chopra, or just a copy of “He’s Really Not That Into You” rammed into my skull.

Gilded Cage

Can one feel guilt on top of guilt? Can you be condemned for your actions when all you wanted to do was erase your existence, knowing that your existence causes pain for you and those around you? However even knowing that your own existence causes you pain, and that ending it would bring you peace it brings others pain. What is right and what is wrong? They don’t want you to die, yet are tortured by who you are. Feeling pushed and pulled, there is no right answer, whom are you doing this for, for all the people that want you to try? For the guilt you feel if you don’t try? For the children you don’t want to scar? Why do they want you to try when truly, having you around haunts them, the effort drains them, the responsibility of your existence a burden. Angry with you for your weaknesses, but not proud of you when you make a decision. I made the decision to die, not for anyone but myself. I wanted it, I felt it, but the back lash, the responsibility for these actions, you are now forced to live and deal with them, all that you wanted to get away from, now placed before you, guilted before you, because in the never ending circle you cannot win, cannot win for yourself and for those who love you.

Do they think I’m happy, I wonder to myself. Has anyone asked me whether I am glad I am alive that I didn’t die? Have I asked myself, am I happy I was “saved”? Am I happy in my hamster cage, with my trainers, my pills, my exercise and my guilt? I know the answer, and the answer fails all your tests but mine. Ask me how I feel! I didn’t want to die to hurt you, I wanted to die to take my hurt away, not to ask for help, not to show my needs, not for anything outside of me, I didn’t do it for you, I died for me. And I lived for you. And I am in my cage trying to pass the tests, cheating at the answers because I cant tell you I’m happy I’m alive, you want me to be, but I’m not. I wake up every morning looking for enough to make it through the day, till the sun has gone down so I can sleep. Sleep is my death, my peace, and morning is my punishment, my life.

Even in the act of death, my need to please sabotaged my need to leave. I should have gone quietly but the guilt of not telling you hung on me. Would you feel guilty knowing that you let me die, feel like it was your fault? But if I tell you, and you know and tried to save me, but I still died, does it make it better for you? You feel like you tried, you didn’t fail in trying to save me. How can I feel responsible even in process of ceasing to be? Responsible to how you feel even when I am no longer with you. When does this end? They ask me why I want to escape, run away, be invisible? Because I become an unknown, not beholden to anyone, no one cares, I am nothing to anyone, my life becomes insignificant, and easy to give away. What a fairytale, the modern princess, there is no prince, no frog, no cake, no castle atop a hill, just a gilded cage, some happy pills, your fairy godshrink, and a good heaping of guilt.

Fuck the prince, I suppose that is what I do, fuck the prince and send him away, there aint room in the damn cage, the fairy godshrink is going to turn you into a toad, and I secretly love you but hate you, and trust me, life sucks in the pretty cage. You can’t win, you can be the best fucking prince in the world, and all you’ll get is a fuck, you’ll give me all the treasures in the world, I’ll love you and then kill you. Kill you for having all the feelings I can’t have, kill you because you make me guilty, kill you because you make me feel, kill you because feeling hurts, kill you because that’s all I know what to do. Gilded cage: occupancy: 1

The Suicide

It was so calm, the moment. I woke that morning detached, almost in my skin but not, lagging behind watching the sensations and motions ahead of me. It seemed like a normal day, normal like all the days had been, a trance of subdued emotions, imagine a flat line on the heart monitor, not dead but never expanding either up or down, interacting with my body but not my mind.

Walking in a bubble, perhaps shrouded by a mist, I was in myself but working within a trance, unfeeling and going through the motions. My morning cup of tea, I sat with my computer and survival routine kicked into gear of its own accord, the body following its rout path of safety and distraction.

Then the anger came crackling through, but the serenity remained on the outside, talking and performing on cue. Normalcy was the backdrop, calmness were the lines. Burning, burning anger that heated in my core and threatened to spill out like bile onto the carpet, staining the stage, rose in me, strangling my heart. I walked out of chaos, eyes blank, and body moving; mouthing words I couldn’t hear to appease the audience.

I needed to be clean, clean to die. It was so calm, like the eye of the storm, I saw with clarity, death. A single directive, one order in my self, I knew the goal, I felt the ripples settle, and I knew without a doubt I was going to a destination. I locked down the hatches of doubt in the shower, naked and crouched in the corner, water washing down my face and body, alleviating the voices with its steady beat on my skin, and under the sheets of water another being came to be, a robot with a single line of code, not human, I couldn’t find me, didn’t want to, I ceded control, and it felt so liberating.

My bedclothes on, I climbed into bed, and working with limbs that did not feel like my own, watching like a spectator in a hushed crowd, I picked up the bottles of pills one by one. It wasn’t me, but it was, and there was no fear, no guilt, nothing, I felt absolutely nothing, flat line, I was in a vacuum of space, nothing existed, just my motion. I took them slowly and surely, still looking on from the stands, wondering how I would die, would I feel it? And as if I was somebody else, like the puppet following the movements of the strings, unconscious of what he would do next, I picked up the phone and said good-bye. Good bye, nothing more, I did it, I am going away, smile, I did it, put the phone down. Wait.

An angry child, why are you here, in my space, don’t enter my reverie. I block you out, you’re not here, I continue to take the pills, hand to mouth, and you don’t exist. I don’t see the tears, I don’t hear my voice of despair, its all an act, and a show for you, take my bow, and the understudy is on. I can’t see you, just the bright shining light at the end, I am making it there, each pill a succession bringing me closer, I can sense, eyes open but closed, the enrapture of being there, and nothing else matters. Keep talking, keep grabbing, keep pulling, I don’t see you, I am waiting for nirvana, I am waiting for the pills to melt into my blood, suck the anger out, seep the warmth of calm through my bones, make me melt away, bring me to relaxation, I want it so much, I am waiting for the eyes to close, for nothing to begin, for the light to take me to darkness.

Never have I felt so absolute in a decision, and though death did not come, the hand on the clock did stop, my world cyclones to a cocoon of unknowingness. Nothing moved, not even a whisper of a wind in the mind, we had shut down, closed the doors, and like sleeping beauty’s castle, darkness gave us solitude and calm and within it we slept the sleep of the dead.

The Crevasse

A crevasse in my heart that yaws open, plummeting to the deepest reaches of my soul, with an ache that permeates, so hollow in its pain, seeking fulfillment to fill the void that aches with everyday that goes by. Emptiness so lifeless that it exceeds pain, where pain becomes a relief to the inconsolable hungriness of this yearning needs to be fulfilled. Like sorrows that stack up starting from the ends of my toes, building as it creeps up my body, permeating my pores with a sadness that leaks from me. I at times wonder if people can feel this sadness that pours from me, a misguided halo that never leaves, that behind the smiles and even the times of happiness it sits on my skin, like a tingling blanket that rests so lightly on me, the faintness bringing a pulsating nervousness to my hands and feet. A tension that curls my toes and emanates from the tips of my fingers like darts, begging for a release from the nerves of sadness.

My arms wrap around a beautiful child, a child that finds more safety and comfort in my arms than I ever will. To him I am his beautiful being, his cloak and shield against the world, a haven where no storms can touch, his absolute refuge from the world. At times my baby stares into my eyes, his eyes in their innocence lock into mine and I wonder if he can see the burning flames of hell racing through me. I breathe in their essence, their breath lapping against my nostrils, gentle waves of warmth and love. I inhale their being into my core, wanting to fill my void with their beauty and strength. Like a black hole the moment is fleeting as it plummets into my crevasse, the energy dissipating, torn and eventually gone, increasing the ache, widening the gap, tightening my pain. I stare at them, grief encompassing me, remembering every detail of their perfection, searing it into my mind. I never know if this will be the last I see of them.

Tired, always tired, behind my eyes the war to keep the gates from falling, a battle that repeats, the walls shudder, the heavy doors bend with the weight of the enemy pressing to get in. Always a battle, a battle of strategy and deceit, deception, masquerade, detour the enemy, fend them off, keep them running. Always a game to stay a step ahead, to plan the game, make the rules, and always at attention. A lull, a false sense of security and the rush will bring you to your knees, the conquerors pillaging and raping the kingdom of your mind, and you are helpless, watching, chained, and willing yourself to die than witness the annihilation of your core. Because they don’t care, their mission is not to care, to make you scream, scream for mercy, for the saviour, and when all is lost, you scream for your death, the warmth, the escape, the closure from the raging battle behind your eyes.

Hearts do ache. Mine aches. As if I am in there, in a hollow, walking through emptiness and pushing at the wet walls, reaching up and trying to envelope myself, curling in a corner, covered in dampness and moisture listening to the metronome of my heart beating its plea. The sound echoes through, pulsates in the hollow, spreading the walls, and reverberating an ache through to the surfaces of my organ. A steady gong, a white noise, an aching that wills me to try and reach through my chest, to squeeze the compartments of my heart into one, to mesh the walls, swallow me, and force the hollowness out, make me whole, make the constant pulsing reminder of my void find another home. Find a satisfaction in squeezing my heart, like a sponge, twisting and smashing it between my hands, grasped so tight in my fists, to feel the gush between my fingers, every last drop of sorrow and ache dripped out. How scary to know that I can visualize that act, can feel the relief in creating that picture in my mind, wishing that I could, wondering if I would, tear my heart from my chest to free my soul.

Beautiful Broken Girl

Stunning, gorgeous, the woman that other women love, admire and simultaneously hate and envy, men wish they have her, or are in love with her. Large, dark eyes, pools people call them, pools that you fall into when you stare into them, or as you make love to her. Her smile, a real smile, a wonderful laugh, she’s always smiling I’m told. The longer you look at her the more beautiful she seems, every time you see her face you’re struck by something new. Not tall but slim enough that she has a body with all the curves in the right places, sexy curves that hold clothes right, and a posture that begets confidence. Amazing legs, shapely, curved and a man's greatest desire is to stroke her legs, have them wrapped around them. Burnished bronze, a warm brown, a pale mocha, a colouring that water runs off like rivulets down a golden stream. Skin that you want to stroke, always soft, always begging for touch, gentle slopes and lines that call to be caressed, the curve of her hip, the flatness of her stomach, the clarity of her back and the roll of her derriere. Innocence, a vulnerability that men want to protect, a beautiful girl they can care for, a woman that gives them sexuality. Eyes that show them the world, a body that takes them to heights, and they want to make love to her, claim her, they want to be part of her. This beautiful creature they all want to possess and be loved by.

The beautiful girl, the beautiful, beautiful broken girl. But you never see the broken, even she forgets how broken she is. Its like playing charades with yourself, put enough masks on, control enough things and you’ll never know you're broken till the cracks start to come through the papier mache you lovingly layered on piece by piece. But water and paper only last so long before they begin to peel and the ugly starts to glare through, like needles piercing up from the skin.

She wants to scream till her veins break the surface of her skin, yell till sound ceases to be, damn you, you don’t know her, you don’t, its hell, its an illusion, an illusion that makes her seem so beautiful. You see the only thing she has is this beautiful girl, this beautiful shell that hides all the tears, the hate, the broken, broken soul that lives inside. You love her, you love this image you see, this creation that she cares and tends to, to hide all the ugliness that tears inside. If she didn’t have this shell, the haunting vulnerability you find so endearing, would you still want her, crave her, need her, admire her, lust for her and idolize her? Ask yourself that, what is it that you want of her?

She’s nothing, this beautiful girl, she is her affirmation, it brings you to her, to love her and make her feel whole and wanted. You see, she needs you more than you need her. She thrives off your love and adulation, she doesn’t have it, she doesn’t make it, and she doesn’t see it. I see it in your eyes, your words, your actions, your touch; you make her feel whole, affirmed and wanted. You don’t see the ugly hiding in the corner, and you make her forget about her, that beaten, insecure, weak creature that she is. But she’s my heart and soul, she is I, the me I want to erase, but I love her. She is my heart, a heart so covered in scars that I cant give you any of it, I cant find it, I don’t know if its there, does it still work. Please don’t ask for that heart, please don’t ask me to feel it or find it, I don’t know how to feel, I don’t know how to access, its gone, long gone. But I have this beautiful girl for you, but if you push her too hard, try to find the path into the ugly, she’ll hurt you, don’t go near her, she’s untouchable, she’s my ugly, she’s the ugly you cant see, because she breaks me, breaks the beautiful girl to nothing, to pieces, and maybe to death.

But, you know what, she’s there, and I cant ignore her because she cries with me and is a part of me. We’re twins, born together, married through sickness and in health, till death do us part. And I can’t forget about her, she needs my strength, I need hers or we’ll both die. This will consume us.

Cyclone

Interesting that I am staring at a blank screen incapable of writing even as a torrent of emotions and thoughts are cycloning through my head. Even now, as always, I know the reason, none of these thoughts are coherent enough to manifest themselves clearly in my mind for me to pull them apart. They come and go teasing me negatively, one after the other till I my mind is confused and my body unable to do anything but sit comatose waiting for the next picture to begin in my mind.

Obsessive, obsessive about everything, scared and physically and mentally incapable of mustering an ounce of enthusiasm, excitement or desire. Watching from the outside I am the flat green line on the heart rate monitor, I am sitting here but I am dead, and if not dead, immobile except for my mind that keeps me here.

I am tired, I want to take my mind out and put it aside for a few moments to take away the painless ache of not knowing what’s going on. There are a few pictures, but no answers, why can I not move forward in this lethargy, why is it only my mind that is working within scenarios, scenarios not of my choosing?

My limbs are heavy, my arms tired, I can see, I see what I can do… go for a walk, go for a swim, go watch a movie, but there are no senses flickering to guide me in any of those directions, flat green line.

Work, it's a huge void. I cant even touch it, its turned into this gnarled mass of a jungle, impenetrable, I cant see where or how to start. I don’t want to go in there. I am standing at the edge, not even wanting to look in, but feeling compelled to be there when I just want to run in the opposite direction. I see all the thorns, the brush, and the animals, all ready to bog me down as I make my way through. Why am I here, I don’t want any of it, I don’t like jungles, how did I get here and why did I think I needed to be here.

Affirmation, pushing at me to pretend to do things? Can I answer this question, why am I working? Is it for me, or is that some other part of me, an ego talking. Do I like it? Can I answer this question? Am I in sane mind? I think I like it? Oh fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

People, they can all go away, go go go go away. I can’t explain to you what’s wrong with me; you all have your ideas, your thoughts, and your suggestions, just shut up. I know I should go out there, but such an inhuman effort to put that face out, pretend that I am excited to talk to you, to see you, to even remember who you are. Its all a farce, I couldn’t give a shit, and you make me tired. Maybe if you just don’t ask anything of me, but even so… you know what, I cant coalesce this thought.

I am tired of Ila, I am tired of Hugh, I am tried of Bestos, I am tired of it all. Someone make it all go away without it coming to bite me in the ass and I repeat this process again. I suppose this is why I cannot step away, I know its coming back. These people are always here unless I lock my self in a box, a hospital and then they can’t exist, they can’t touch my world, they cannot enter my consciousness. But still, things will fall apart. I look at the path I am on and almost know one day I am going to be in a hospital. Maybe I am deluding myself, perhaps that is where peace and happiness lies and I am afraid of the stigma that surround a mental hospital. I am sure it s a nice place, they make you do things; they tell you you're ok and everyone understand that you're crazy and its ok. People in there have my mind, I can tell them things, the demons, the Gollum, the incapacitation, and they will understand. Affirmation?

Are we back to affirmation again, I need all this damn affirmation or I cant function. Jesus Christ! The world comes crumbling down, piece-by-piece. Don’t come close to me, because then I need you, and when I need you I am vulnerable. Why don’t u like me? What’s wrong with me? Am I too needy?