Journal: 7/28/08

I feel full.  Full of words and emotions and stories and dreams and hopes and regrets.  I just want to talk, to someone who cares enough to give a damn, to wrap their arms around me when tears start to fall.  But I lost that, didn’t I?  Why doesn’t anybody get it?  I need them, so badly.  My mental health rests on slender pedestals that threaten to crack and crumble every time someone new stabs me in the back.  One two three four here comes more is it any surprise I can’t trust anymore?  My ever reaccuring line that friendship’s full of s**t and friends are just dumbasses who screw you over in the end.  There’s always the pain, the hurting and the pain and the blood and the pain.  Where does it all come from?  All I want to do is write about everything.  Like my life.  The bruises cuts beatings blood pain hope betrayal dreams future gay straight bi depression bipolar happy sad friends enemies pencil-to-paper ink veins slits suicide tears.  All of it.  But one book with all of that would be too long, it’d take up an entire library to write a memoir of what being me really is.  I tried once.  And it didn’t work too well.  I got too deep, delved too far into memories that are better kept locked up and I went crazy.  Maybe not crazy, but things weren’t right in my head for a long while.  Some things are better left unsaid, un-thought of, unremembered, undreamed.  Leave them in those boxes until your mind has healed enough to let them out.  I didn’t learn that soon enough.  My mind wasn’t ready to let go. 

 

I’m hurting right now.  Betrayal like this is another stab in an already butchered corpse.  There’s no more room for more, no more room for more painbloodbruisesslitscutsbloodpain.  There’s no more room.  But nobody gets it.  This is the one knife twist I’m not going to get over.  I loved him.  I loved him as a best friend, as the only person I’ve ever met who I could tell everything to without getting the ‘what the f**k’ look.  He didn’t judge me, didn’t care about my dirty jokes and seductive words or my tears or my pain.  He didn’t care if I was hurting or sad or happy or mad he was just always there.  And now he’s not.  He’s on the other side of the world, pretending I don’t matter and I never mattered and I never will matter and that my trust was never there and that he didn’t rip me apart for something I was already suicidal over.  Haha, very funny.  Oh god, I need help.

Mentally maybe.  Physically no.  I’m healthy, right?  Car crash last month sends me twitching anytime I see a gravel truck or semi, anytime anyone pulls off a road that intersects the one I’m on.  Twitch twitch, how fun.  I get nervous when I drive unless I’m half-asleep or zoned out, both of which aren’t the best of plans.  Where am I going with this?  I dunno.  I’m just going going going because my heart’s too full and my brain’s too full to be quiet any longer even after all this I just keep going going going.  I feel like I’m exploding it’s all coming out all bursting out.

 

I’m not crazy.  I’m just stressed.  10 hour per day job with buds up my a*s about something that was an accident and losing all my friends cuz of something I didn’t mean to happen.  In the age of instant e-mails and one word via phone messages, I’m not getting the mass texts of facebook invites that are targeted towards everyone else in our group.  I’m losing it, losing all of it.  Not my mind.  My life, my soul, my happiness.  I can’t forgive and forget, not after being cut off for almost a month because of an accident that I stopped, an accident that shouldn’t have happened that I made end that I made stop that is all blamed on me.  It’s great how life f***s you over like that sometimes, isn’t it?  Drops one bomb, two three four till you’re dancing like someone is shooting a shotgun straight at your feet.  Gotta avoid the pellets and shells and bullets and bombs.  But they just keep coming coming coming until you just want to give up and jump in front of one to make it stop and end and get it all over with before one hits you by accident instead. 

 

I’m hurting more than I ever have.  It’s no longer the juvenile betrayal friend backstabbing secret telling sort of hurt.  It’s…everything.  Everything that’s ever happened welling up inside me.  Tears are on the constant verge of being spilled.  My mind won’t stop racing.  I can’t stop thinking, because there’s so much for me to regret.  So many things to think of and hate and want to forget.  But they’re still there after a sleepless night, even after two, even after three.  Good thing I’ve always been somewhat of an insomniac, or I’d really be hurting now.  Ha, no I sit here in my nice blue chair rocking back and forth like a crazy.  What’s happening to me?  The depression’s finally starting to affect my brain, to drive it into that abyss that is insanity.  How long till I go all the way down, fall all the way down into the dark hole that no one is ever going to be able to pull me from?  How long?  Do you know?  What if there’s no one to catch me at the bottom?  What if there is no bottom?  Just an increasing chance of insanity for the rest of my worthless life, spiraling out of control until it hits WHAM at the bottom with death and decayal and the loss of the family name (except my brother will surely carry it on).  People’ll whisper how sad, how sad, how morbid, how sad, but there’ll also be those whispers behind the family’s back about how one of us went crazy, one of us went insane, one went spiraling out of control. 

 

Did this help, writing a random post to be read by other crazies or sane ones on the internet?  A little bit.  But not enough to cure my insanity.