Saturday, 24 September 2011
12:08:27 PM (GMT)
Go ahead, tease me with the pleasant, peaceful days.
Let me have my few moments in the sun.
After they go away, you will return again.
Stronger than ever, just like old days.
It's like hanging out with an old friend, catching up, only I
minute of it.
There seems to be a part of me that enjoys it.
Why else would it return?
Why else would I search for reasons so frantically?
Reasons to worry, reasons to cut, reasons why she would leave me?
Deep down inside, I think I fucking enjoy it.
It's like on a subconscious level that it just slowly builds up inside of me, and I
let it, because I know it is going to happen eventually, so why not embrace it?
Lately, I've been really considering xanax.
If not by prescription, which would be next to impossible to get, I have tried.
I know how to get it by other, less legal, means.
I don't think I want it, though.
Since I've met Jesse, my view on drugs has changed.
My friends are fucking drunk 80 percent of the time.
Or planning on getting high soon.
That about sums up their lives.
Jesse used to use drugs as an escape for her problems.
At that time, it was understandable, she didn't have anyone that understood her.
I solved all of those same fucking problems without a single drug.
Well, other than Nexium to heal the damage from the bulimia.
But other than that, nothing.
I smoke pot.
I love pot.
When I see her high, and I'm not, though, something about it bothers me.
She isn't the same.
She is happy, carefree, and I love that, but she isn't the same girl I fell in love
with, and there is a deep dark place inside that spreads from that point.
She stays away from it, she understands how I feel.
We will still do things, rarely, if we are together.
I freak out every day.
I don't always tell her, but there are always at least a few moments every single
fucking day where I lose my mind.
I'm not lying to her, I try to tell her everything, but honestly she doesn't need to
worry about that at all.
She has enough to deal with, and that's just how I always am.
I always think about her leaving me.
I always think about screwing up and leaving her.
I always think about someone hurting her.
I get those violent, fucked up thoughts.
I read her old diaries and want to kill every piece of shit that ever hurt her.
I make myself relive her darkest memories, moment by moment, every detail bringing
out the insanity in me.
The memories that haunt her now live with mine, dancing together to a terrible
I don't let it stop.
There are some things that help, but I refuse to do them.
I want it.
I want to feel what she felt, I want to understand.
I want to lose my mind again.
I want to twitch.
I want to have terrible thoughts.
I want to think about cutting, shooting up, taking pills.
I want to stand over the bottle of Jack and long for the sweet relief.
I have to leave soon.
I have to go to work.
I will be a normal, happy guy.
I will get to see her, and it should be a good day.
Then I'll get home.
It may not happen tonight.
It probably will, at least a little.
It may not happen tomorrow, or the next day.
The longer I wait to let it return, the stronger it gets.
So, in a way I should probably let it come back.
I should let my anxiety get the best of me.
Maybe that way I can find a decent balance.
Some resemblance of a normal life.