I don’t want to think about my crazy here in such an “out loud” kind of way today.
There are other things in my head too. Like the way I get so frustrated over how hard it is to acquire the things I really need or want. I have everything else. Also, the way I feel eve more trapped than ever, my little cell is now a big, pretty kind of solitary where I have the extra special torture of owning a vehicle I can’t afford to drive and that is like having the key to get free but never finding the lock. I would make an appt to get my most recent tattoos touched up but I can’t. So of course new ones are def out of the equation. I keep trying to read and then I start to panic, little knots in my stomach, hearing every little sound, seeing every tiny movement around me. I pick up a book and suddenly I am in sensory overload and reading is impossible.
I don’t want to think about my crazy at all…but every effort to distract myself fails because of it.
I wrote something. I’ve no idea if it is good or not. It has no title and I’m pretty sure it isn’t finished. I’m in no condition to figure out these things but I’ll put it here to sit and be forgotten most likely. I think it has been almost two years since I wrote anything that wasn’t a rambling blog post.
You brighten my skies
In such a way
that it hurts my eyes
and burns my skin.
Your silence hurts my soul
It quietly ties my stomach
Into so many little knots
Each new one tighter than the last.
Counting off the days and years
That have been taken away
While I sit unable to shed all these tears
Let go these heavy heavy burdens
I have carried and hidden and covered
For so many years.
I know, I know, how dare I be unhappy. The nerve. How dare I be so selfish as to be who I am and have these feelings and want things when I have all I have. Yes, I am a selfish ugly bitch and I don’t fucking care. I pay my dues every minute, every hour, every day, every chance I have to shine for you or help you or comfort you and yes I am this selfish.
Truth is…I am a lie.