To my dear husband that awaits in the future (if I’m still alive). I hope you are the amazing human being that I have always longed for. I hope you can be the bigger spoon that can hold me and console in me and allow me to support you as much as you can support me. Let me be by your side and admire you in all the mysterious ways that made me fall for you when we first fell in love. I hope we can meet sometime down the line in a few years when I have learned to put more effort into taking care of myself. I want to be healed as much as possible before meeting you, I don’t want to be a burden to you for all the things that I have dealt/am dealing with today. I’m trying my best, but I just feel so stuck and out of place in the moment. But, I will catch up, I know I will. Even if it takes a long time, please wait for me. I can’t wait to fall in love with you and create meaningful sentimental memories with you. I’ve already planned my silly wedding playlists so that we can exchange what songs we want to keep and practice dancing to. I hope my future with you gives me such quiet and peacefulness and happiness being in your arms and presence, as my past and present wasn’t/isn’t very kind to me. Sometimes I cry about whether this reality will come true, but I know that if I want it badly, I have to do something to make myself move and be better. This paralysis that I have gotten used to is taking a toll on me and I’m building up the courage to defeat it. Please wait for me a little longer, I will catch up to you one day.

I hope people like me. I hope people like me for me. But not the me right now who is mad at the world and not even sure who I actually am or who I want to be right now. I hope people like me for me in 10, maybe 15 years when I speak like myself and I have figured out exactly who I am. Not the mirror I am now and how I am a reflection of everything going on around me. I want to be unapologetically me, and I want people to be able to accept that. I want to not understand social media references and I want to have phrases only I say often that people don’t normally hear. And I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry for accidentally talking over you, or walking in front of you in the store, or making a mistake when it was harmless and bound to happen anyways. I am me, but not the me now, the me 10 to 15 years from now with the voice and phrases I built myself, the personality I built myself, and the me I built myself. So, with that being said, I hope people like me.

Hello,

Do you ever get that feeling of disgust?

Today I felt it quite strongly, the people around me insult others like it’s a fun pastime…

Whether it be body shaming or to drag out conflict

It seems so pointless… but for them it seems to be a genuine hobby…

Its exhausting to be around…

Not sure how I plan to regulate those feelings or to make sure my disgust doesnt turn into some form of resentment…

I understand processing things, I understand common enemy, and i understand one off remarks

But to me a constant pattern of it all is not something I understand…

Thanks for listening and if you’ve had this feeling, how have you coped?

-R

talked to my therapist again today after skipping last week. spent pretty much the whole time talking about what it means for some like me to be content with life even if living doesn't mean all that much on its own.

a few months ago my biggest problem was the lack of purpose i have and how much that fed into that void i've felt inside me for as long as i can remember. feeling less human than everyone around me because i genuinely didn't want anything at all. i felt desperate to find that purpose, desperate to desire something more than a pass time or a distraction.

i think i'm finally coming to terms with the fact that i'll really just never have that sort of thing. it's just not for me or whatever.

i'm now trying to come to terms with the fact that maybe i am less than human.

my emotions, the empathy i pretend to feel, the disconnection from everyone around me; all these things are just who i am. my brain is wired different. my "nature" cannot ever change no matter how hard i try leaning into "nurture".

yeah, i learned to feel empathy, but so what? it's still got an off switch, so what does that really matter? i'm only pretending to care about what's good and what's bad so i don't lose what little i still have. and is that so bad?

i didn't choose to be this way. i was born this way. i'm not a person in the same way everyone else is, and nothing that i do will ever change that.

it used to be agonizing, and sometimes it still is, but what's the point in agonizing over something that's entirely out of my control anyways. it won't make me feel any different. it won't make me "feel" at all. i'll always be an impersonation of a human being and nothing more.

that's fine. people don't seem to be as bothered by this as i used to think they would be. as long as i'm at least trying to do the right things when i have to, they'll accept me for who i am. they'll accept me for what i'll always be. whether i'm really human or not; it doesn't matter. it never mattered.

i don't really want to care about how fucked up i am anymore. if no one else does then why should i? not like i'm ever going to be the next zodiac killer or anything.

there's not a lot of joy in human suffering. it's infinitely more rewarding to have people like you than it is to have them be afraid of you. i think that feeling is the only thing keeping me grounded.

and that's okay. as long as i'm grounded.

today's song is "Blue Baby" by Ovlov. see you tomorrow.

Today, as all other days. I feel as though all parts of me are whored and always will be. I feel useless, worthless. No I know I’m useless and worthless. I’m used and abused my feelings and thoughts cast out for anyone who wants them. Now the real matter which I will form into a question, is am I a fool to still claim hope. Because god knows I still have that.

Had a big day today. The first meeting of the review I’ve been asked to lead. Got in early for it. Brought a brand new notebook I’d been saving for something important. It has a nice thick hardback. Wrote REVIEW across the first page in capitals and underlined it twice.

I’d booked one of the glass rooms on the nineteenth for it. I got there first and took the seat at the end of the table. Put my new notebook in front of me, uncapped my pen, and arranged a glass of water slightly to the right.

Messaged Jadyn on Slack while I waited for everyone to arrive. Not heard from her since the date.

Leading the overhaul of the review process today. Will try not to make your job redundant!

She replied with a thumbs-up and:

Try not to frighten them.

Funny. But I’m not here to hold any hands.

People drifted in over the next few minutes. Eight of us altogether. I knew most of them.  Vaguely. A woman from Finance whose name I always forget. A beefy guy from Ops whose shirts are always too tight. A few other randos.

I was about to start when some cunt called Martin walked in and sat opposite me.

“Right,” he said. “Thanks, everyone. I’ll run through where we are.”

Fine. Someone has to do the admin. He put a slide up with the objectives. Most of them were obvious. Should I have made a slide? He spoke for a while. I corrected him only when it was needed. When he got to the bit about customer feedback, I asked whether anyone had actually spoken to customers.

Silence. Good question.

Finance woman said there was survey data, but none of us are customer-facing. So what, I said. Surveys aren’t the same thing as talking to people. We need to get them on the blower. Martin nodded and wrote it down. We moved on to the delays next. Everyone had excuses: Systems. Approvals. Lack of resources.

I said, “What if we stop looking at where the process slows down and look at where people start working around it?”

That got everyone talking. For about twenty minutes, the meeting was actually quite good. People stopped reading from slides and started saying what they thought. People were pointing fingers and shouting. Glorious. I made another great observation about duplicated approvals and how nobody knows who owns the final decision.

Martin wrote it all down. I suggested we map the full process end to end. Interview people at each stage. Compare the official process with what actually happens. Beefy said that sounded like quite a lot of work.

“Better to do it properly,” I said.

Everyone agreed. I volunteered to have the first version ready by Friday. Martin looked at me.

“This Friday?”

“No point fucking around,” I told him.

He stared for a second. “OK. Friday.”

That’s proper leadership. Be the guy that gets things moving. We divided up the work. I took on customer interviews, the process map, and the final recommendations. Martin took the project plan and stakeholder list. I could’ve done those too, but delegation is important.

The meeting finished about forty-three minutes later than it should’ve. I stood and shook hands with everyone as they left. Gave them all some encouragement.

“Great job. Thanks for coming. Really useful.”

I was smashing it. Martin lingered around after the others.

“Good input today, Jolon.”

Cheeky sod. I ran the bloody thing. “Any time.”

“We’ll probably need you up here quite a bit this week,” he said.

“Happy to sit by the rudder and steer.”

He looked like he was going to say something more, but I walked off before he could. 

Checked Slack when I got back to my desk. Nothing from Jadyn. Not that I was expecting anything. We both have important jobs. We’re both busy. Set my status to DND and created a new Sheet called Jolon’s Review Taskforce. Went to grab a black coffee before I got down to it.

Got chatting with my boss in the pantry. He said he’d heard the meeting went well. We spoke for a while. Friendly. I think we can safely put the formal warning behind us.

Checked Slack again when I got back to my desk. Needed to message someone about something else. No messages from Jadyn. Did some actual work. Quite a lot, in fact. Had two more black coffees.

At 3:17, Jadyn messaged. It was a picture of her patio. My cactus sat in the corner. 

Your cactus was glaring at me this morning. Put me off my coffee.

Then:

Work is mental today. Had to have lunch at my desk. Made my own sandwich. It was terrible.

I asked what she’d put in it. She sent a picture. It looked very sorry. Completely collapsed in the middle.

I could make you a better one than that.

I bet you could!

I’ll bring you one tomorrow. I’ve got to go up and pick my new desk anyway.

You’re moving up here? Permanently?

Martin wants me up there while I lead this project. You’ll get to see a lot more of me!

Ok, Jolon. See you tomorrow.

Things are looking up. Decided the project can wait till tomorrow. Left early to get sandwich ingredients.

Sunny and continued dry will be 7 or more days they said last night. Not doing too much today, worked some and came home, fed Mia and prepared myself dinner. Writing this on the couch watching tv.

The damn State Park up here,idk if it's the head ranger or just the park itself. State of Virginia opened most all State park system parks, to 40 days of deer season. Not up here as usual, 2 days this year down from previous years. I guess bike riders are more important than managing the deer heard properly. Wildlife conservation should be at the top of the list and not bike trails. Like I said, if y'all run into a deer out in the road don't blame hunters because it's not them, maybe blame the State Park system for poor wildlife management. Especially in Chesterfield County anyways. After wildlife biologist have reported record deer heard size. Let them run down the roads and through the gardens and crops this spring and summer, I don't want to hear it.

I'll go to Prince Edward county and hunt, buy fuel and lunch, they welcome us there. Big ass James River deer. Anyways, burns me up seriously. I have hunted that park for years and brought some nice bucks out of there on my shoulders but like all things, fleeting as the wind.

But everything is not fleeting as the wind, somethings last and are part of the permanent record. Just things as I remember them from earlier in my life are fleeting, from me. The kind looks and gentle ways are always here. The grace and mercy shown when it should be withheld, a kind word in place of a harsh one will always carry the day with me, and I forget none of those, because they are so cherished in this brutal world.

The things I care about are not wildlife or hunting anyway. I care about her and how she's doing. Those brown eyes beautiful as God's creation of perfection. I do know that. That's what matters to me, her. Always will.

Well back to it tomorrow and see how we can do, hope it's busier.

Y'all have a good night

Goodnight Diary and readers

I Love you so.

143

11:23 p.m.

Tonight was pretty bad, I got really paranoid and thought that I had done something bad. The strange thing is that I don’t know what I could have possibly done. I don’t like how quickly my mood swings.

I cooked and ate some old pasta I found in my cupboard, hopefully I don’t get sick.

I’m so bored. Maybe I’ll go on a walk today? I haven’t been on a walk in so long.

I read a post online, it said “Is it really a bad idea to allow the losers to kill themselves? Why force them to continue living with such dead eyes and dead faces?”

I thought about myself whilst reading that, should I just be put out of my misery? What defines a loser? I shouldn’t listen to the negative people online perhaps.

Dang, my family is really broke, I heard my mom saying “I just can’t live like this anymore.” I can’t help but feel that some of this is my fault, that im burdening my family.

I’m so stressed out, I hate myself. I’m a bad person.

Oh no, I was taking out the trash and didn’t notice that a rat had made a nest in the recycling. I accidentally ruined their little home, I saw the poor thing scurrying off too. I feel bad.

I wanted to explore some of the villages around my city but my map sent me in circles. I had to ask some locals where to go and by the time I got on the right track it was too late for me to go on my trip.

Hm at least I know where to go now, I’ll try again another day.

I feel just meh.

Ive had the most productive, best, most spiritually enthralling 2 weeks of my life.

I miss them, even though i dont want to. Scrolling through other pictures, lead me to one, some, I didnt want to see.

I wish theyd reach out, since they made it so I cant.

They could, once without any repercussions. I wish they would. I want to taste them.

I have way too much on my hands because I’m on my last couple days at this job and I didn’t feel like doing anything so I used this morning to type out a lot of thoughts and feelings. Really just trying desperately to make sense of my mess of thoughts and tie them together in some meaningful way. I’ll be writing a lot more later on when I get home. May not be completely coherent and I’m certainly no writer, so hopefully it makes sense. I have a load of disorders including Major depressive disorder, anxiety disorder, and borderline personality disorder. If you take the time to read it all, seven blessings.

I’ve always been more comfortable around the broken, the dejected, the poor, the degenerates, the perverts, the murderers.  There is something sobering about being around someone who has no walls built up, who has nothing to hide. You see, people will only show the world what they want it to see.  It’s only when no one is watching that they let their true selves be seen, flaws and all. I don’t trust those people because I know everything that comes out of their mouth is bullshit. But there is something about a man who has already lost it all.  Their honesty is raw, it cuts like a dagger, and most people can’t handle it because it hasn’t been filtered for comfort. But I love it.  Their flaws, their mistakes, their twisted desires make them real, it makes them perfectly and beautifully human and not some mannequin of what they think a human should look like.  I’ve always favored a redemption arc over a hero or villain.  There is just something about watching someone fall and rise that yanks on what little spirit I have left inside of me.
 
The thoughts are getting too heavy again, so I found myself inspired by Bukowski and decided to write again, although without his elegance.  The truth is I have found myself depleted of any sense of motivation.  Life circumstances have me trapped within the walls of my own worthlessness.  I try and cope, but it doesn’t always come easy.  My thoughts don’t lend me the ability to turn my words into something relatable, let alone something intelligible.  I am just a scattered mess of thoughts desperately wanting to tie themselves together.  Indecision.  I am decided indecision.  How could I possibly choose in a world where the possibilities are endless?  I am an open book.  Write into me the words with which you wish to speak.  Instead, my writings are a calling for writings.  What is the point of that?  Beauty is found in the lines of someone who has a clear message. 
 
In all honesty, I think there is beauty in my questioning. I spend much of my time observing the behavior of those around me and something I’ve consistently found is that most people have a message they want to send to the world, spoken or unspoken.  What I mean by that is that people want to feel important and heard and some people make it obvious.  Others will say it without saying it.  Those people are more interesting, but still uninteresting, nonetheless.  You can notice it even in their behavior.  Some people are generally quiet until they are sat in front of someone who is willing to listen, in which case the other person feels safe enough to speak their thoughts.  This sounds like a positive thing, but for who? For the person who opens up, of course.  My experience is that the person who opens up is willing to speak precisely because they are given the chance to speak.  Where does that leave the listener though? In the role that they normally find themselves in: the listener.  Still under appreciated, still spoken over, still interrupted, still spoken at, still without opportunity of reciprocation.  Finding a person who is willing to converse, to share deep, meaningful, back and forth conversations is a rare and precious gift.  All this to say, most people are uninteresting because they show no interest outside of themselves even when presented with the opportunity that they were looking for: someone who listens.  And needless to say, someone with a message with speak without regard and they often could care less if you actually are listening.  So I continue to stay in my observer role rather than an active participant in conversations because I would rather read someone than hear them speak because often times their words are just a mask for what they are really trying to say.
 
You know, I’ve lived between the breaths of those who talked at me and in the shadows of those who were louder than me all my life and I’ve had to deal with the consequences of that.  I’ve been passed over time and time again for those who were bold enough to be louder than me.  It’s an isolating existence that makes you question your worth because you know you have a lot to say, but not the courage to speak it.  And I’m glad in a lot of ways that I haven’t spoken because I am not a static person.  I change, I adjust, and sometimes purposely blend in like a chameleon just to survive.  I take pride in the way that I am because what is life if it isn’t constant change?  There are parts of me, my morality mostly, that has stayed intact, but even that gets thrown into question at times as I deal with the effects of going unheard for so long.  There’s no point im trying to make here except that I mourn the child who was spoken over for so long.  And being completely honest, I’m in a state of constant mourning knowing that each day I always have something to say, but no one to say it to.  You can’t trust people.  It doesn’t take long for them to stab you in the back, so it’s best to keep to yourself and understand that the world and the people are simply the way they are and if you try and fight it, you’ll find yourself more isolated than you already are. 
 
Love.  What is love, anyway?  It seems it’s just a word we made up when we meet someone who sends butterflies fluttering throughout our body the moment their beauty and reciprocation in interest line up to ours.  Just like with anything else though, it decays over time as the stressors of modern day living weigh down on the relationship.  As soon as it reaches a breaking point, we often times move onto the next person who can make us feel those butterflies again, then the process repeats.  “In love” is just a phrase we created to send people chasing for something unattainable.  I could be wrong, but I believe relationships were stronger when the focus was on survival of the community rather than survival of the relationship itself.  We are being fed so much bullshit today such as the need for hobbies, constant stimulation, and focus on feelings.  Notice that everything there has to do with self. All of this is just a cop out for the society were living in that is making us feel that we need all of this to survive when survival is already taken care of.  We are bored as humans.  We are bored precisely because survival is already a given.
There is a great problem in our culture that has built up over time.  I think that problem can be traced back to the very solution to the problem we initially sought out to solve.  We lived in a world characterized by danger.  Our response was naturally to create a sense of safety, not just for ourselves, not for the people surrounding us, but for the entirety of humanity.  Is there anything wrong with safety? Not at all.  It’s necessary and there isn’t necessarily anything wrong with the progression of technology and how we’ve used these advancements to improve our overall lives.  However, it has gone too far.  It couldn’t be helped in a way because as humans I feel we are hard-wired to build on previous advancements and to push the limits of what we can achieve.  But I’ll say it again, we’ve gone too far.  When our survival is a given, it removes the very point of our existence: survival.  We love to attach a higher meaning to our existence; God, evolution, technological advancements.  At the end of the day, our only day-to-day purpose is to survive to the next day.  That has now been stripped away because our survival is a given.  We have now grown bored and are desperately doing anything we can to fill our life with some sort of meaning whether it is hobbies, sex, love, religion, politics, gaming, you name it.  We are now living moment-to-moment seeking a new thrill to send our nervous system to a new point of excitement.  We have exhausted ourselves with pleasure.  To be bored is no longer a pleasure to experience, but an experience to avoid.  The irony is that boredom is the very thing that creates the space for the creativity needed to fill the boredom felt.
 
I have been depressed practically my whole life and for a variety of reasons, but these reasons have culminated to the person I am today.  I still am depressed, but with a better understanding of the depth of that depression and the benefits as well as consequences that come along with it.  Social isolation was something that built up slowly over time as experiences taught me to trust few.  These experiences also taught me to say less because the more I say the more I pant my roots in a position which I may have to verbally step away from at some point.  It is also exhausting to have to do both explain my reasoning which few often understand which may be due to a lack of ability to communicate clearly or a lack of openness on their part to be able to understand.  The truth is I am exhausted from communicating in a large sense.  Small talk irritates me because I don’t like using what little energy I do have for wasted conversations.  Debating, even in the smallest sense of the word, is exhausting because most people have their feet planted in their decision before the debate even begins and rarely approach a debate with an open mind.  It is ultimately easier to not engage or to stay neutral and observe.  These types of conversations are great for observing because I can often read between the lines of what people are saying and what they are actually trying to say which is normally, “I am right. You are wrong.”  Due to the exhausting nature of practically all conversations, I have found that it is best to stay silent.  However, that brings me back to the difficulty of feeling unimportant because most people are not interested in genuinely asking questions back especially questions to learn more of what the other thinks.  This keeps me largely isolated. 
 

It’s odd to find so many things I do or how I react to things similar to how some autistic people may react or do in situations. I know I’m probably not but seeing things I viewed as just normal or maybe not normal be normal for specific people is… it’s a lot I guess. I keep asking myself would it really be possible to go from birth to almost 25 and never ever having anyone notice something off about me or did I just become a pro at hiding or masking the problem.

i wish i could erase the disgusting things i allowed people to do to me and the disgusting things i did in order to feel loved, even deep down i knew if it was fake. maybe i was just a 11-14 year old whore who liked doing those things because i knew it made them tell me things like they "love me" or that im the most "beautiful girl in the world". or maybe i was just a whore. maybe little 12 year old girl me was a whore. sometimes i liked what they did to me. it disgusts me to remember how part of me liked it. part of me got turned on doing those things to make their sick, predatory, disgusting fantasies come true. part of me had some of those awful fantasies become mine too. it consumed me. i did awful awful things. things that could get me called deranged or get those men in prison for life. all because i wanted to feel like i was special to someone. wanting to feel special turned into realizing i sometimes liked what i was forced to do despite being scared. i have permanent marks on both my body and my mind now because of it and i will never be clean or pure again. my innocence could never be restored. and when i think about it from an outside perspective i think "calling a child sexual abuse victim a whore is terrible" but it's not the same when it comes to myself, because i know that's what i was because despite being uncomfortable and scared i also liked it in a way. maybe they just conditioned me to. maybe it was a way to cope with the fact that i didn't like it. maybe just making excuses because i don't want to feel like a slut. i don't know. it's awful i feel awful and like a perverted disgusting slut and just terrible and i wish none of it ever happened.

I had a sad thought the other day but my grandparents raised me more than anyone. Even growing up a lot of times even though I love my mom, stepdad or ex step dad(I don’t know anymore) dad and stepmom I wished they were my parents. One day if I do outlive all of them(I hope I don’t…) I won’t just be losing my parents once in my eyes but twice. Some part of me wonders if I’ll ever be able to recover once let alone twice. I pretend like I’m okay on the outside but people don’t know how emotional I really am when I’m alone and how quickly I’ve learned to hide it.

I dunno why, but I feel the inane desire to document this time more than I do any other times... maybe it's because I'm still sad and it helps me process... maybe it's because I'm broken and it helps me process. Processing is definitely part of it though. So is, apparently, this daily crying.

I guess I also find it weird that... it's usually in the saddest moments of my life that I'm more often approached and asked out, or asked for my number. Do my facial expressions and constantly tears eyes just scream for someone to come save me? Does whatever energy I put out there give men the confident feeling of, "I can fix her"?

Anyway.

Date #2: That was the first time I went to that Irish Pub with the questionable and bland pumpkin martinis. I was running so terribly late and he was so kind to be so patient. I don't know why I felt any need to make any kind of impression. I wasn't that deeply invested and, honestly, I forgot his name before I even got there.

He was nice though. Tall... very tall, which is always weirdly off-putting to me. I had forgotten how tall he was when he had asked me for my number. He was also insanely young. All of 27 years old.... but oddly enough, one of the more mature people I've seen.

Nearly halfway through the date we both agreed there wasn't much of anything there and neither of us ere actually interested, but the conversation was nice so we continued on before wishing each other to have a good life and hopes that the other finds whatever and whoever they are looking for.

I was impressed with how easily he was able to be so open and honest without worry that his own personal feelings (or lack thereof) were going to offend me and was able to do so without being cold, mean, or cruel... despite how some people like to be, it is possible to not feel for someone and not be a complete asshole about it.

Date #3: I didn't want to be there, but to be fair... I haven't wanted to be on any of these dates. Freaking therapist... OH! And in thinking I need to find a new one.... the potential new therapist AGREED with her! It IS good for me to be getting back and putting myself out there. I think at this point I may as well just to see how this shit show wraps up in the season 1 finale.

I constantly blinked back tears while I waited for him. I had gotten there early and already started on alcohol. I knew I wasn't going to be much of anything without it. God, that's sad.

The worst part is? I was right. And it wasn't just me... had I not had anything it would have been the most awkward date as he barely said a word. Fumbled over everything and was just... ugh so painfully awkward. He didn't look like he wanted to be there either.

He only halfway walked me to my car after the date. It was odd... like he just decided to give up to making sure I even reached my car safely. He barely talked to me like he even wanted to be there and voluntarily talked about his ex (who he still lives with) a lot. Well. That wasn't going to go anywhere then even if I was genuinely interested.

I don't remember his name either.... and just as I sat down to type his little section out he texted me, "Hey, it's A! Don't you love this time of the year?"

I sat here staring at my phone, "....... the fuck is A? Who IS this person??"

I got a text of a dog dressed up as Freddy Krueger. I didn't know anyone with this name. This dog did not look familiar. It took me way too embarrassingly long to realize he was date #3. Whoops.

And now here I am... sitting on my bed watching YouTube history videos with date #4 texting me while I continue to reject every dating app match I possibly can just because it makes me feel better. I'd say my therapist was wrong and that I have yet to be surprised because I haven't found anyone I want to see or talk to from the cyber pseudo-romance box these apps have turned my phone into....

But......

There is date #4...

3.07pm

Every motorbike. Every low rumble building as it races past the road, hoping it will turn off. My heart skips. I listen. I hope. It fades into the distance. It wasnt your bike. Its not your bike. And then the panic sets in. A mini heartbreak multiple times a day.

4.10pm

Im sorry im hard to love. Im sorry I ask for too much connection. Im sorry I couldn't find the courage to reach for you. Im sorry i cant stop my voice from raising. Im sorry my clear thoughts turn i to a fruatrated angry mess about every little thing that wounds me. I sorry my intusive thoughts just spill out of me like poison, i know there not true, but i still have them, i have to fight them myself to beleive there not true. Im weak, and im scared, so always bloody scared, im always so scared, so I lash out in anger. Anger is just my love with nowhere to go. Anger is my grief with nowhere to go. Anger is my desperation. Anger is my armour. Im sorry I wasnt strong enough to climb your mountain of grief to keep you afloat while I was carrying my own.

6.55pm

I dont know how to reach you. I dont know how to climb your walls. But i know you dont want me to. I dont know how to soften your heart. But I know you want to feel nothing. I dont know how to soften mine, i want to take off the armour ive put around it and learn to let go of anger. I dont know how to, when its buried under layers and layers of fear and rejection. I dont know how to even approach you without bracing for impact, knowing my words will be wrong, my tone will be wrong, my intentions misunderstood, and everything just always falls apart now. Part of me knows you want me to leave you alone. You dont want me to help. I couldnt wrap the bandages around you quick enough, I cant replenish myself and get to you in time, im sorry were both now drowning. The raft won't inflate, the life ring has a hole, were missing an oar and the life vests were imaginary. All we can do is watch each other drown.

You stopped reaching for me, the space between us started to grow cold and im trying so very hard to keep the embers alive of what little there was left. But I self exploded again. I lashed out every fear i had. I said "let it burn", forgetting to add context, the bad has to burn away, the pain had to burn, i had to burn. I know you dont want me inside your heart, i know i did irreversible damage to you and to us. I know im not your light in the dark. I know im not the one you'd burn the world for. Because I was just always the accidental disposable part. The rebound that stuck around. Someone that hurts you the most.

8.20pm

Please remeber the little gestures, the thought within a thought. Please see all the little ways I was showing you I loved you, showing you I heard, showing you im sorry. That i know im insecure, I know i am cruel with other people's insecurities or mistakes.

Please dont confuse my distance for indifference, or my silence for hatred. Im fighting a war I cant ever win in my head. A war where I am small, where I have lost my way, my voice has been stolen by the confusion that rages inside, a war that tears me open over and over. Fear that history will keep repeating itself, that im left to battle it all on my own again, that no matter how much i want it, us, our life, it will never be enough for you. I fear our future may never exist, i mourn all the things we havnt done yet, and all the things we might never do. Its loss, its grief, it loosing hope, its a war that forces me out of reality and into worse case scenario. I dont know whats real, I dont understand what I feel because everything I feel comes with a reminder, a trigger, a pain attached. Please remember how i tried, please remember my love, in every gift, always something blue, in every time I cooked your favorite meal, in every forehead kiss and morning coffee from your dad machine, in every smile. In every I love you. Please remeber my anger is my fear and my fear is as big as my love for you.

9.39pm

I drink at the graves, thats where ive been going, i walk along the canel water untill my feet ache and i cant see the edge from the water, i find the hollow in the tree behing the gate. Overlooking the canel, its peaceful there. I look at the familiar tree root ive sat on before. I look at the ground. Assessing if tonights the night i loose that battle, or if autopilot kicks in and walks me home. I take another drink. And I think. I beg. I cry. I dig my hands into the dirt. I remember their faces. I take another drink. I grip myself so tight it leaves bruises, bite myself to stiffle my screams into my arms. I let the pain sit and I take another drink.

Cremation, ashes to ashes, is a kindness in disguise. Do you know why most people choose to cremate theyre kids? because drunken nights like that ,I wouldnt be able to stop myself clawing my way down 6 feet just so I could hold there little bodies again. Having all that space between them and their brow and not being able to kiss it. It would drive a mother mad. I would dig with my hands, untill i was raw. Untill my lungs were filled with dirt and my heart was full of grief. And for a moment, I wouldnt need to pretend I dont feel the impossible distance between us.

10.25pm

I wish I had a release for it all. I wish I could run fast again without my body giving up. I wish I could drive fast on a death machine, screaming, screaming at the top of my lungs in a helmet hiding the tears, my pain, my failings, hiding myself. Scream untill my last breath burns in my lungs. Cry untill im dry. I long to dance with death again. I wish I could smash things, smash untill the bones in my hands break, and bleed away my waisted life and be done. I want to break so I can release the pressure of holding it all together all the time.

But I cant do any of those things.

I have to keep myself trapped, with the chaos and the pain building and building, getting louder and faster with no release. No escape, no gentle pull saying "come back to me, just follow my voice, your safe with me", No safety blanket. With no hope. So for now I drink, to numb, to forget, to cope, to feel strong.

I so badly want that release. To feel alive, to feel like im living before I die. I miss life. I miss living. I miss feeling chosen,  I miss not being invisible. I miss living life. I miss you.

11.12pm

I dont want to break up!

I wanted us to move forward. I needed to voice my fears.

I dont want to break up.

i just wanted to not feel so alone when you shut me out. But youve always shut me out. 10 years of shutting me out.

You said "you dont want to break up, but we should". That was the death knoll. The final swing of the hammer, the sentance that shattered what was left of my heart. The choice, the option, the hope of repair, taken away from me. I can't deny you what you want. I can't force you to fight for me. I know when I am beat. I know when I am down. I know when to stop fighting. That was the last time you held me, the first in a long time where you held me as my soul tore itself apart for you.

You misunderstood me because I used stupid drunk angry words. I didn't stop to think how you would hear them. I didn't get chance to exsplain why. I know I went to far. I know I should of stopped. I know I should of just hugged you. I know I should of kept it all inside. I know I should of got off the floor. I know I was hurting you with my pain and I couldn't stop it consuming me. I know you love me. I know you are trying.

11.40pm

I curl up in a ball, clinging to the last spot you laid your head. Trying to drink in any last remnants of your scent. I so badly want my body to mould into the crevices you left. I know how your body lays, I know which parts inlay and indent in the matress. I pretend the ticking clock is your heartbeat and your pillow is your chest. I just needed you close to me even if you feel like a ghost now. And when your scent is washed away by my tears, I will spray your cologne between the covers and pretend a little while longer. I dont want to break up but i know im hurting you while trying to love you. So as always, I will take what little is left behind in these fabrics, cling to this spot with what stenght I have left and hope the mask holds long enough for me to sleep.

1.49am

Its hurts. It all just hurts. My head, my heart, my bones, the air in my lungs.

My mental health ruins every aspect of my life. I cant control it, I cant fight it, I cant run from it.

It all just hurts. I know my flaws.

I dont want to be this person. I wasnt ment to be this person. This isnt me. This is the side of me that feels she has to armour up, to prove I'm not weak, to prove I can take anything thrown at me. I will match energy and fight like hell because thats how i survived. Why did you become something i had to survive.

I can’t

Hey Spark,

I left a link on my Facebook so you could find this account but I just deleted it.

I dont want you to see all this and hurt. It's all my pain. We were friends and I really don't have any reason to think I was even your best friend. Maybe you had a friend you felt even closer to at home. Maybe that's who that brother was you mentioned in your first mundane-register poem instead of your sister, if that's even you. I know I'm oscillating between hope and despair. It's been like that. It's my pain, not yours. I'm sorry. I really wanted you to love me as I love you. Life is filled with moments like this right? My pain isn't special. I'm trying to let go, I promise. I think... I need to actually kill my hope. I can't love you half way. I can't pretend you're not everything to me and live life not knowing if you'll ever reach out or want me too. Odds are I'm doing you a kindness, right? The odds being that you don't feel the way I feel. Besides even if you did, would you really want all of this? I know thats for you to decide; not me. The thing is, I love you so much that I am confident that if it has a place in your life you'd revive it easily. Just... please don't come back if you don't love me. If I was your best friend, let me know via letter. If I was just one of your friends, spare me the embarrassment unless it would make you feel better to set the record straight.

I do not want to hear from you otherwise. I've been so utterly destroyed and I don't want to feel the pain anymore. I'm sorry. I don't blame you, regardless of why. I'm taking the silence as the answer like most people would; like I should have done months ago. Live your life and be happy. I lost you along with my past and that's part of my story. You taught me to be me. You're always part of me. So... I won't ever see you again but my love will remain just as intense. That's why I can't see you again. Seeing you.... talking with you.... without hope.... there's nothing more painful.

Goodbye Sparky. I have a life to live and I'm so grateful you were once part of it.

Brandon

I've tried a lot of different snacks and poured a lot of money into food to figure out what works best as a filling and nutritious option thar wont make me feel like im fighting for my life by 3PM, and it turns out canned salmon and mackerel in olive oil are the current winners. Everything I've tried has made me feel so sleepy, brain dead or still hungry after eating but not with the fish. I imagine it's the high (healthy) fat content and protein? Not sure but I'll be sticking with this from now on :)

You ever wondered that one day you went out for hours with friends then had fun talked lots with the people you hang out, you get home finally changed your clothes and sat on your bed, thinking lots of of your memories bout your friends, then a few mins of thinking, your thoughts start to go empty and distractions are gone, no texting and doing nothing.

Then suddenly you feel empty no thoughts, just pure emptiness and loneliness as if everything u felt earlier was all temporary, because you're aware of yourself that every emotions of happiness are all temporary and will never last longer. I always wondered why I feel these things? Even tho you never want to feel them. :(

Querida yo, o quien sea que esté leyendo esto en el futuro:
Hoy necesito escribir lo que tantas veces me trago por miedo, por cansancio o porque simplemente ya no tengo fuerzas para explicarlo. A veces, el silencio de mi habitación pesa tanto que se convierte en un eco ensordecedor. Me siento profundamente sola. No es solo una ausencia física de gente alrededor, sino esa sensación de estar habitando un mundo donde siento que nadie logra entender del todo lo que llevo por dentro.
Esta transición ha sido el viaje más valiente de mi vida, pero también el más solitario y doloroso. En el camino hacia ser quien realmente soy, me he quedado con los bolsillos vacíos de muchas personas que pensé que estarían siempre. Duele mirar atrás y ver los puentes rotos, los abrazos que ya no existen y las miradas que se apartaron. Duele haber tenido que pagar un precio tan alto solo por el simple hecho de existir en mi propia verdad.
Y en medio de este frío, ha habido momentos en los que me he perdido a mí misma. La lucha contra las drogas ha sido una batalla silenciosa y desgastadora; una trampa a la que recurrí buscando anestesiar el dolor, buscando un refugio rápido cuando la realidad quemaba demasiado. Hay días en los que levantarme de la cama se siente como una montaña imposible de escalar. La motivación se apaga, y me pregunto si este cansancio perpetuo es todo lo que la vida tiene reservado para mí.
Pero, a pesar de todo el miedo y de las cicatrices que llevo en la piel y en el alma, hay una pequeña chispa que se niega a apagarse del todo. Es una vocecita frágil, casi imperceptible, que se atreve a soñar.
Quiero pensar que todo esto no es en vano. Quiero creer que este dolor tiene un límite y que, en algún momento, el peso en el pecho va a empezar a disiparse. Deseo con toda el alma llegar a ese día en el que pueda mirarme al espejo y sentir una paz genuina, donde sonreír no me cueste tanto y donde la vida, por fin, se sienta como un regalo y no como una carga.
Hoy estoy rota, pero sigo aquí. Y tal vez, el simple hecho de seguir respirando en medio de la tormenta ya sea una forma de valentía. Confío en que, paso a paso, podré encontrar mi lugar en el mundo y volver a sentirme mejor.