No more pretending.

3 12 2015

The truth is, I can’t get it out of my head: the image of my arm splitting open and gobs of blood spilling out like warm molasses.

I don’t think any one who actually knows me reads this anymore I’ve been so sporadic, so I think I can speak freely here.

I want to die. I want to die every single day. At least once I think of death. I think of it as an old jealous lover, some one who will one day catch up to me. A tear and a smile.

I can’t stop feeling how warm it is. Seeing how red it is. It’s just some days I’m better at ignoring it.

Not today. Today I know that I belong in a hospital. I wish I could be more selfish and just do it already. I’m so very tired.


All day I pretend. But it’s not like when I was a kid, where I pretended I was a magical creature of my own invention. Instead I pretend that I’m okay. That I can do it. That I am Sisyphus happy. That I am doomed for eternity to fight. But the truth is I’m tired.

Funny thing is I’m not even that tired of being sad. I’m tired of being afraid. Fear makes me angry, makes me sad, nervous, excited, impulsive, and it makes me freeze.

I hate being frozen. I’m a fluid person. I come alive in water. I’m meant to wander. And wander requires openness. I try to be open. But really I’m a vault.


More than anything, I’m tired of all my walls.




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