Am I not pretty enough?
Am I not smart enough?What is wrong with me?
Why can’t i be loved? Is the timing wrong, i will wait, If it’s just not a possibility give it to me blunt. Obviously in the beginning it wasnt supposed to progress like this. I was hardly looking to love anyone. But I did. And now there is a denyial (seemingly so—i have the nact for drama in writing) Break my heart for what reason? If you’re scared that’s not a reason that it is an excuse.
It’s me. Im not your type. I get it. I’ve gotten it before. This is nothing new. I just have to remind myself not to act out on this rejection. To not allow it to trigger my abandonment issues. That dreaded innate feeling of never being good enough. It’s not like I ever was. I just had hoped myself this was the time. As if anyone is fucking ready for love you idiot. I mean that nicely. I hate you right now. I suppose it’s been four months. You should know. You do know obviously. You’re using that figuring self out crap without including me. I don’t matter enough to be included. I get it. I just wished I wouldnt have went with inhibitions. Understand, my love, you truly know the depths of me unlike any other. I gave you all of me. I held back due to titles but in where it mattered I gave you all. I hazard to guess no one will ever love you as I did, I don’t see how one could. Do I romanantasize love? i am sure I do. but no one cares. I’m more than likely left broken hearted in the end. I haven’t put msyself out there for awhile. In face I swore off love. Im karma debt not to haveit. You prove it all to well. And it fucking hurts. It almost hurts more than Randalls’ Death. Atleast he accepted it. His sadness was the demise. Perhaps I gave up. I never do know what to do. All I have ever remembered growing up was love stories. I wanted to be a romance writer. i also idiolized with Sylvai Plath. Who knew later i would grow with the same mental illnesses. I never felt i belonged, momst importantly loved. I struggled witht this obviously in a family tribe of buys. Always outcasted. I found love in the unloveables. Teachers, my classmates would laugh wereas me possibly blush a bit and shrug my shoulders like, “oh well it happens.” Further makes me feel pathetic. I always loved the unloveable. Names need not to be mentioned. But later in life when I was not the prey but the huntress i still sucked. Now adays, I just find I’m too intense. Or well, too indecisive. Fact is I don’t kn0w. I believe i love my last love as he left I wanted a relationsip. I can’t prove I donlt but I laugh just the same at the notion. I ahve no issues finding my number 2 at any event. Also I have no probelm feeling confident in executing this
Suddenly it occurred to me that I wanted him to be my happy ending. I didn’t want anyone else either known or unknown to me, I wanted him and only him. It no longer was something that I considered to be an option but rather a necessity to life such as breathing-he was that important. There was nothing I did not love about the man and that made me vulnerable. A feeling I did not normally like but with him it bothered me less than ever before. I trusted him. I felt safe with him. It was as if he had always been there which is why I knew that he was the one. There had been other ones prior but they were different than this. They served as lessons in love and not as love themselves. They did not present with perfection as he did. They did not stay to bask in love’s glory because my heart was meant for another more deserving. Ironically he being the one and me being his one are two different things and again life only mocks me. Allowing me to taste such ecstasy but reminding me it is not mine to devour. It is nothing more than a dream like winning the lottery and he is my Powerball ticket. He is the one I crave. The one I have hurt timelessly for again and again. The one I would continue to hurt for over and over. The one and the only one I find to have possessed me without inhibitions. For this I might die a happy woman to have known such heights of passion from our loving. Is it because I was not looking to love that it possessed me so effortlessly? It pains me to keep such emotions hidden. My love buried deep inside afraid to be rejected. He could break me so easily. He has complete control over me. Why does love mock me? Why does it deliver to me those who chose not to be loved? Why does it fight me? Why just why for once can’t I just win at love? I want him. I need him. If life has taught me anything it is that he is what I want in love. He is perfect. How is that even possible?
Sometimes I sit in silence
My thoughts too deep to be disturbed
Other times I repeat the same song for hours
Just to make sure I remember the words
It’s easier if someone does the thinking for me
It’s easier if I don’t have to figure it out
My brain is unable to determine
the measure of importance
between your reality and my own
I battle with depression
every single day
it’s no longer a war but a fucking crusade
Seems that with bipolar
you don’t really have to count the days
They don’t matter anyways
Not if you can’t make it out alive.
The trick is to get past that moment
When you are trapped in your mind
Stuck running circles in all the choices you have
Sending apologies telepathically
Remembering sacrifices accordingly
This is a merely a mental mind set
You can overcome despite the lack of a pencil
To write a final note
You gave up the choice to make decisions after your death
When you chose to be done
I can’t blame you though, it’s tiresome being strong
When you were sent to figure everything out
It’s no fun when you’re broken, you know you’re broken and you know you can’t be fixed
Perhaps another life you can have it easier
But for now, know that this life will show no mercy
Because only the strong survive
This is your mission
This is your life.
To be continued…
They put me on drugs so I don’t kill myself
Maybe that’s part of the problem
I question if I’m schizophrenic
I’m taking a survey please answer in an email
I hate the phone I have enough voices to listen to
I wonder why I am on drugs
I get them from the pharmacist
I’m a high class addict
With Walgreens in my back pocket
You get your meth from a trailer
Perhaps a bit of shake and bake
Tin foil and baking salt
Everyone should know the color of heroin
If you plan on being alive
Its fucking brown
Off tangent as my mind
I was like this before they drugged me
Stole my dad’s rifle
Rented a fleabag motel room
Kept my things above ground in case of roaches
I have no technical ability in my brilliance
I didn’t have a magazine
And my google supported the notion
This was a stupidly executed plan
I dipped out the hotel room
I can’t even tell you I was high
Because it seems life has always been this way
Just now a little bit brighter
Since I acquired a pharmacist
I wonder if I will make it
I have to go off these drugs
They are setting me up for failure
I just know it anyways
As I go between laughing and crying
And crying and laughing
You have to understand
This is probably my core over spilling
The lasting residual effects of lack of empathic care
Amplified by the chemists in the labs
Making mice from the millions they control
With their goddam pharmaceuticals
They even give you free samples to get you started
If you do the research it’s thirty three dollars a day
You’re better off being a junkie
Then getting hooked on Walgreens
I decided that my newest goal was to end up on the New York Best Sellers List. I also published on facebook as a page and not a person. We will see what happens with that.
When i got his text im not sure why but i looked up and noticed the street sign bore his name. I was caught up in this small coincidence for at least five minutes. It wasnt until i had captured a few selfies with it that i glanced up to the intersecting street that i stopped dead in my tracks. It was Randall Ave. This must be a message from the Universe. How could it not be? It was meant for me to find, at that moment. What does this mean? I gather its fate. I should not think into this. My neurosis has been on parr lately. I cant imagine it means anything more than i let it.
Im growimg anxious for change again. Im scared of winter. I am not sure how i will handle it. I hope it passes smoothly. I have goals so im sure i can make it to the spring. I have to.
I suppose the trick to being a suicide is putting it off as well as setting goals. Of course this doesnt mean shit when your neurosis hijacks the ship and leads you to your death. Best to prolong it by establishing goals. Direction is important. Meaning is important. Accountability could be important if its not so stressful it counteracts the desired result. Smaller accountability than larger.
Not having access to guns has kept me alive for almost 3o years. Maybe i am supposed to be alive. Maybe its just never going to be my time. Why fight it? I just need to live this life.
I think ill be changing life in the spring. But then again being who i am anything can change by then. Im noncommittal. Im so indecisive that often times i sit in silence. I dont mind it. Its actually rather loud in my head. It helps me focus.
I can hear everyone. I can feel everyone. Collectively as a mass or individual by person i can feel them. Its something i cant explain. A gift without a package and a talent without instructions. Its when we meet eyes you know i raped your soul.
Others gather around. This is not a social hour. I want to muse. I sometimes am annoyed by people.
I will never achieve great riches if I am to work like the normal folk. It is only if I write my book that I will afford the comfort of my own home. Maybe I need cocaine. That is how Elizabeth Wurtzel finished her book. Maybe if I just abuse drugs instead of use them for death I will get a lot more out of this whole life thing than I did before. kidding. That is not a good idea.
The bank tells me I can’t afford a house on my income. Which I can’t. Certainly I should have got a house before a car. I don’t want to get married. That won’t help. I can barely decide if I want a lover or not. I think I am to the point where it’s too exhausting. I think it’s been four months. Nothing will ever change. It will always be me and going there. I will always be disappointed in not being a girlfriend that I don’t even want to be. I will always resent never being involved as a normal person because I am a lover not anything but.
I am tired. I am unhappy. I wanted to die last Monday. Apparently it takes 282,000 mg of benzos to die so became a collector rather than a user. There is a gun show this weekend. I shouldn’t go but it’s on my calander. I should most certainly not buy a gun. I really don’t know if I have much to really care to live for anymore. It’ s not like i will ever get my own house. It isn’t like I really care to care any more cause I honestly don’t. I just am too tired.
I am going to the gun show. Just to look around. I can’t afford a gun anyways.