First you wanted to come, and now you only want to be gone.

So, coming up on the one year anniversary of potentially being fucking killed in a car wreck. I’m the 20% that lived.

Value your moments.

Nothing to really say.  I feel everything finally closing off again.  So many failed experiments of trying to behave humanly and be emotionally connected to people who make me feel alive, and it always leads to disappointment. It could be my blame, as my choices are the most complicated, but nothing easy seems worth having.  I miss girls fighting to be with me and showing real intentions.

And on top of that, so much anxiety lately of my life being in a dead end, going nowhere discernable or worthwhile. I’m so stagnated I don’t know the way to cut myself free.  I just want to hide in the dark behind my television and computer. And the meds…things used to help and make me feel what would be described as “normal” though that’s not doing so well either. My body metabolizes everything quicker than normal, and even hours later  I feel the mental pains and effects of withdrawal.  My brain is so fuzzy and hazy…I can’t even see clearly during the day, and especially can’t think as clearly as I should be. And then there’s the pain.  I need surgery to fix an issue that’s going to persist forever if I don’t fix it, which doesn’t keep my stress any lower.  The pain is tolerable, but definitely not anything I want to deal with for my whole life.  At some point I’m going to have to sacrifice the time to handle this and suffer alone, and then hopefully feel back to losing social anxiety about the issue and being able to feel perfect again.

So much…life….fuck.

An anniversary of destruction. So much hatred from lips, and so much that could never be fixed.

A fitting end, perhaps?  Such destruction created the monster that I now am, so perhaps it was for the best,  this monster is much more self-aware than it’s predecessor. Red fire burns, it always has.  I’m the only one standing to challenge it with no regard to being consumed.  Life has a way of creating new life after a violent storm, and I am that creation.  Thank you for destroying everything so that I became free to be all that I am today.

And without fail, as blankness fills and newest memories have begun fading, I’m left to dream of not one, not two, but THREE damning ex loves from my past.  All three were displaced and erratic, but the intent and hesitance still there.  Small aspects of their darkness still mocked me, guised in new traces of resurgent interest, be short-lived or otherwise.  Passing through interactions with all three simply left me more pained and disparaged, seeing these chance interactions will never be more than fleeing dreams.  Oubliez.

Less thoughts each day.  Saddening or maddening. At least others have offered new distraction.