Damaged is what you feel, not what others see.

I get a little tired of hearing about how people hate this side of me and what it is and what it's not. It's been a bit of a cradle for me actually. For me getting over myself and the loss of my father. It's been this way for quite a while now. Blogging has honestly been the only way that I've been able to let out how I feel without the awkwardness of talking about it with family. I know that eventually they will all stumble upon my blog sooner or later and they'll know exactly how I feel about everything.

Getting out my frustrations isn't what i love about blogging, it's that strange ability to reach out and touch. It's that way of reaching out that you can't do face to face with the people who you know needs to read them. The ones who can't quite picture who I'm becoming or who I was.It's not that they don't love me, but all too often they feel that I should be subject to their limitations, just because they are. When i blog, people can interact with who I am, right now, in this moment and this typing.-Interact is my word today.

So, here I am in the process of shedding a death, a loss.- That's the nicest phrase I can make for myself right now. It's a thing that everyone will have to go through at some point. I know that I should keep my feelings in my own mind, and in my own moments, but I think that one day I'll be able to look back on all of this and just see how much I've changed when my world fell apart.I did the counseling thing for far to long and it didn't do me any good, so honestly, this is my medicine.
I use to be the "giver" as well, so these past few years have been hard for me to become totally independent. But I have to be. It helps me to develop some of my own rules; these rules of which I hardly abide by but I like to think that I do sometimes.
So..if it's alright, I'll loan mine out to you. Hopefully you can use them.

I remember the couple of weeks of counseling I had, they had me write a list of the "rules" think I should follow to make myself become happy again..blahaha.
I just found this paper while I was cleaning today and I couldn't believe how much I've neglected what I planned to do. But grieving is about plans. I just thought I should share.

The Rules Of Getting Over You, Dad.

1. Try not to fall in love. It will just be a response to needs instead of a thing based on healthy and ready, and who the other person is.

2. When you feel really lonely, see rule one.

3. Remember that the people around you are more than listeners. They also have normal lives full of things less painful then yours. If you listen, they will take you into other places and you can leave yours behind a while.

4. Remember it is not your job to suffer. Hurt is a feeling. Suffering is a choice. It will feel totally stupid to go to that party, or that dinner, or that movie when you just want to cry. But by going you have chosen something besides that suffering. It does not matter where you go as long as it's healthy.

5. Your real friends love you even though they know you well. Trust that. You do think they are smart. Lean on them sometimes.

6. mourn sometimes. Watch the chick flick and let it out. Don't make it a habit. Don't hold it all in either. Tender can be good.

7. Remind yourself that you are also every beautiful, every loving, every good thing you did. It's easy to feel the failures now, and to hear the words you shared last. So it's fair and right to look at all the good things you were as well. Because you are still that person too. That love, that beauty was also you. Fight to keep those things close.

8. Remember that damaged is what you feel, not what others see. They see you as whole. They will treat you often as if you are healthy and complete. It's really hard to believe, but they are the ones that are right. Damaged is what you feel, not who you are.- Of all of my "rules" I still try to follow this one...although I'm not very successful.

The pain only a mother can inflict

Again.

You lost it again.-my respect. It's not like you've had it in the past couple of years. But I've lost what little respect I did have for you. You call me and text me begging for help and telling me that you love me and miss me and that you wish that I would come around to see you. It bothers me that I can't help you financial because I can barely help myself. I can't bring you back to happiness when I can't find my own to begin with you. I can only guide you to where I want you to be but in the end you will always stray away from me. I've tried to let you go and to get over the fact that I can no longer have you unless I accept the drugs you take. I can't just do that. How can you expect me to go through this cycle over and over again and still love you as much as I did before. I'm the only one of your children that ever stands up to you. Honestly is not something you can deal with.


Every time I try to help you, you curse me for merely "being." You've forced upon me tears of confusion, and I swallowed them, choking on the swelling wound in my throat.
You never apologize or offer explanation for all of the things you've put me through.. You've relished in hurting me, and you wanted to feel victorious and bitter at the same time.

As the years are wearing on, I cannot rationalize any of this. The truth is, I can't move the unmovable. I can't light a wet log and make it burn. Yet through all of this shit that you put me through, you still force me to go through your vile past and I'm stuck trying to reverse the karma that is surely suffocating you.


If only the thought of me caring could make you happy....


Our relationship is like a cut. I can't wait for it to scab over from the previous slash to my morale. Yet you pretend nothing happened and you talk to me about ordinary things, looking past my hollow eyes, weakened spirit, and stringent smile.
You feel satisfaction from making sure I cry over you.
You feel justified in hurting me.

I know at some point you wanted to reach out, it stitch this wound, to dress it, and then obliterate my stinging memory. The mark that you've made upon my psyche is likely irreversible, and scarring.

But you'll never care about me.
You gave up on that a long time ago while all along I've been hanging onto you in hopes to make you change.
But I can't change you. And I nearly choke on my words when I talk about this.

I wish that I could be your pulse, your pillar, and the mother to your wounded childed. Somewhere along the lines I realized that I can't fix what you've already done; I am your child. All this time I thought that by taking care of myself it would have made your life easier, but you actually took advantage of me in the sense that you quite caring; I was my own mother.

You probably don't care that you've deeply destroyed me; yourself. If you cared, even for a day, an hour, or a mere moment, it would cause your heart to deflate.

But somewhere in your foggy mind you admire, idolize, sustain, and glorify the very essence of me.

But I'll never truly know that, for you hide it in the far away recess of your mind.
You'll always swallow that pride, and grit your teeth against your own justification, chewing that curdled, god-awful hate that squeaks repulsively against your teeth. I will never be like you. I will never have to reminisce in your indifference.
You swallow the little bits I of what my soul use to be and you don't even give a fuck.

In my mind, I swore it would be the last time my complete unsoundness would overrule reason. I promised this the moment I saw my fathers beautiful face disintegrate under the weight of his indignity. And furthermore, when I turned to you and stiffened my shoulders trying to make it through the pain of my heavy steps, you caught the glisten in my eyes and told me you were done; that you had learned your lesson.

How many more inadequate amends are you planning to carelessly dump into my relentlessly forgiving lap?

To think, it all began when I was just a little child; lips quivering, shoulders quaking, tiny hands wringing, terrified essence, as you scream to me at the top of your lungs to ease you pain and to make it stop. I never learned until now that it was you inflicting the pain onto yourself this whole time.


That makes me feel less than zero.

It ends now.

Other lives, unkown.

Tonight I lit a candle, which I rarely do anymore. The thought of how much you hated them still lingers in their sweet smell. Laying in bed, I watched the light from the candle play tricks on my eyes. With each flicker of the fire, you were dancing on the wall in front of me. I seen the demons in the shadows devour you as the gust of wind overpowered the light that you had so creatively brought to me.
Now that I'm sitting in total darkness, I can't seem to get myself to go to sleep. I miss the warmth from the candle. I would have re-lit it, but I don't have anymore matches.
I've been seeking ways to relax lately; bubble baths, aroma-therapy, all that stupid shit that doesn't work. It only makes me feel good for a little while but it never fully puts my mind at ease.
Tonight I drank a glass of toxins that made me quiver from the terrible taste left on my lips. At times I can't seem to feel my legs and my eyes get heavy but your still on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking of you so I poured more into my glass and sure enough, you were gone. Never had I felt so peaceful until another gust of wind blew through my curtains and for some strange reason, it made me think of you; that in some way you were dancing among the aroma left in the room. So now I'm writing this and I'm kind of here and kind of not. I hope I'm not creating an addiction worse than you. It only makes my emotions about you stronger.
Tonight I found that I'm not a social drinker and never will be.
Instead I feel like if I ever drink another glass of poison I might start to think you're here again so I won't stop. Because honestly, it brings your memories closer to me and although my anger goes away, the pain does not.
It can't be possible that I'm like you.

Hey dad...

You have been on my mind a lot lately. Thinking about life and what it was to you; what it was to me.
You loved me like no one else and yet you hurt me like no other.
I remember all of the times when you would drive all the way over to my mom's just to get me to go out to dinner with you. It was so greedy of me to say no. We both know that you were trying. It was just how you were. I felt so mad at you when you were there and I often wished you would leave me alone just for a few weeks...

But then I also remembered the pain of separations and the defeat I felt when you would no longer fight for me. It was during that week that I wanted to let you see that I wanted to come home. But you left me anyways. Three days, four, seven, fifteen.

And then on Easter you came back for me and it felt as if we were never apart. I felt safe, but I don't know why I didn't get in the truck with you to leave. I don't know why I laughed with you and smiled but then I said goodbye. I don't know why. But from that day on....I didn't see you anymore; at least not until the day before you died. That was the last time.

You would never just calm down..you would never just rest, even briefly, for you have far more important things to do with your days. You made me smile and laugh like a father should. I love you. There is a special love a daughter has for her dad, a love that stays branded on her heart and in her memories. They are words that matter only to me. You always had a warm heart with me.
But when I left for Spring Break, I came back to you after doing all of the things I could do in my time off, but your time was up. You were cold. Unmoving. No breath, no sweet words. Just you staring blankly at the wall with fixed pupils & blue lips. I wonder if you tried to call out to me and all you could muster was the expulsion of fluid from your lungs, with your last breath. Did you say my name?

A cruelty. An injustice. You were everything to me. I tried to breathe the life I once knew into you, but I felt your soul pass me as I pounded on your chest. I would have tried to grab it, to force it back, but I would have fail.

Over 3 years have passed. There are days I don't think about it at all. Hardly. Not every hour at least. And there are nights where you haunt me in my dreams, never touching me or knowing me. I will cry out for you to see me, but you walk on as if looking for something. Or someone. I am broken and empty without you.

I look for you in every man, every woman, every child. I struggle to remain upright. I won't take the easy way like you. You swallowed my soul when you swallowed that lethal dose.

I take my face out of the jar everyday and no one ever knows I'm upset or in pain. Not really. Because if they did, they would take advantage. Make me feel better. Tell me it wasn't my fault. Make me love myself again.

I will not let this loss ever happen to me again because my heart has been stolen by you, tattered and bruised in it's casing, and I wait, futile in my efforts. But I wait.Yes, I will wait for you to give it back to me.

How could a father steal from his own daughter.
You stole my heart & soul.

I still love you with all that I have left. Goodnight.

"Mad World"

There’s a song called “Mad World”, and one of the stanzas is, “The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.”  I get this so much, and most of the dreams that I do remember, I would dream of dying.  That would be a good night’s sleep for me.
See, I don’t fear death.  For any of you who have read my blogs, you know this.  I have attempted the early out program a couple different times with the same result.
A pulse. 
When I wake in the morning, I don’t relish the smell of coffee brewing as I stretch with a lazy smile on my face.  I don’t stir to the sounds of birds outside my window, and feel warmth and inspiration.  I don’t hear the pitter patter of little feet, and ache to run after them.  The first thought in my head when I wake up is.
“Fuck.....still alive.”
It doesn’t mean I don’t love my fiance  It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy things about living.   It doesn’t mean I want to take my life by any artificial means.  It’s quite simple.  I’m ready to die.  Doesn’t have to be today, or next week, or even 10 years from now.  But if I were stricken with an air bubble in my heart while typing this, and I collapsed onto my keyboard, that would suit me fine.
I’m just here in the now collecting memories for the time I am destined.  Snapshots are taken in frames, and I keep the good ones.  Those, I will take with me.  The rest, I will write about in real time.
I made the mistake of joking with someone and telling them I wished I'd get some quick cancerous disease.  Not realizing this person had suffered cancer and been through rounds of chemo and radiation with a burning desire to live, I asked for a glass of water to swallow the foot in my mouth.  But this is the thing.
If I was eaten up with lung cancer, I would refuse any treatment for it, and light two cigarettes at a time, smoking until I broke out in a sweat.  If I had an aneurysm in my brain, I would inhale pepper with reckless abandon, wondering if that last sneeze would be the final. If I had a heart murmur, I would never exercise and eat myself into the next zip code until it quieted.  I relish driving on icy days when roads are closed, speeding just a smidge.   Tornadoes will find me with arms open, seeking their shelter.  Long,winding staircases while inebriated are a treat.
I’ll never attempt to purposefully take my life , because all I end up with is massive depression, scars, and a tremendous headache that refuses to quit pulsing.  And I wouldn’t do that to my fiance either.  Never will I do that.  But, I know what you’re thinking……..by refusing to take precautions, or treatment, and failing to wear a seatbelt, or take shelter in a closet, or traipse staircases in the dark.......I’m practically committing suicide.
Wrong.
We’re all going to die.  Some sooner than others.  I won’t take a massive overdose, or sit in a hot tub with flayed wrists, or step into oncoming traffic.  But I won’t prevent the inevitable, if given the opportunity.  
So there it is then.
I have no friends.  Well, no real “live” ones.  I despise my job, and I have had kind of a crappy upbringing.  Some of that is my fault.  Some of it is definitely not.  I have a man who loves me endlessly for just being me, and in fact, even though he keeps me walking a straight and narrow path...he's my reason for being now.  I have no surrounding family who drops a second thought about me anymore, unless I go and see them, much less remember how to spell my name. Hell, I can barely spell it and it's mine.
But today, right this minute, for now………I have my Frankie, and that is enough to not catapult the alarm out the window.  That is enough to keep me upright, and in moving air.  That is enough for me to smile, and marinate in feelings of worth, and dare I say.......love.  That is enough to steer me away from the medicine cabinet, sharp rusty objects, and imminent danger.
That is enough not to dwell on the prayerful, speedy, final necrosis of my organs. 


 
At least for today........

Vulnerability

Vulnerability. It's become the choice I make everyday. The longer I feel alone in the world, the harder it is to choose.

It seems smarter to live in a world of “I,” sometimes. If I am in control of protecting myself, then I get to choose what I give away of myself. I get to choose what parts of my hurt I let you touch. I get to hang onto my feelings.

I can view the world then from a “safe place” where I can touch you, even through things like these words. I keep you at a distance because I really don't have any other options. The professionals like to call it detachment, I believe.

I can't help but wonder at how my friendships and relationships have changed with people. We are fashioning a world where trust and touch and vulnerability are equated with weakness, danger & stupidity.
We talk, and we listen. Do we hear, or feel, or even reach for what is underneath anymore?

I don't have a champagne taste for life. Rich, simple flavors & full moments & that bubbly feeling aren't the things that matter to me. I don't want tenderness. What I want is, dare I say it, depth. I would like to swim with someone in the deep water of emotion and intellect and vulnerability.

I'm a very good friend of depression. He shows up at my door in his homey, despair. It hangs for a few days and lingers with me. I still answer the door every time my depression comes knocking. I don't have to let it in. I can choose to leave it standing there as I head out that other door called vulnerability and into the world of possibility.

We all deserve some happiness. We all can be someone else's happiness. Sometimes I forget that I am a part of “we” and so it's not right to stand around depressed all of the time. Like everyone else, I deserve visits from goodness & her pal Mercy.

To get there I think I have to keep choosing vulnerability. It's a way to open myself up to a new life. It's become the choice I have to make everyday but I keep going back to my bad habits & emotions. The more challenging finding happiness becomes, the more I know I'll be alone. I'm hoping that renewal is somewhere beyond the door with the big scary “V” on it.

Off I go..

Stepping outside

I'm picking through my dreams lately because there is a strange feeling in my chest. I feel as if something has been lifted and the only thing I can seem to think of is my father. When I sit down and actually think deep about it, it all makes sense. He is no longer as violent in my dreams and I feel much more at ease when I talk about him. Idk...just read if you must....;

In my dreams I look him in the eyes, deep and hard. I blame him for many of my failings. I just do. If he was faster in picking things up, I wouldn't have ever had to clean up after him all of these years. I simply would not have to. If he wasn't so god damned easy to distract, so fucking mercurial, I would not have to fight to finish up his work.

Even in dreams I can stare at him and see his mind wandering, moving on to new problems & possibilites. If he would just live up to his potential he might just change things. If he would just believe that...I mean it, really believe it. But his look eventually goes blank and all of my words bounce off.
He is not as worn as I thought he would be. It's been a long time since I have seen him clear like this. He's always on the move. I'm not sure what's holding him with me in my mind right now...but he's not talking. I see the long curls in his hair. He seems to grind his jaw a little bit. His eyes seem an empty pool of wonder and kindness if I look past the surface. But the surface is rough now, all waves crashing, winding pushing them in, bits of moisture left on the shoreline.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask as she runs his fingers across his damp forehead. I know what he will say. It will be about children and stability. It will be about circumstance and finance. It will be some shit about karma, and owing, and paying for his choices. But in this dream he says nothing.

God, how he pisses me off sometimes. I just want to grab his ass and shake some sense into him. I want to scream that this moment, this day, is another fading from his grasp. I want to pound in the fact that he controls his destiny, that he needs to reach if he wants to grasp. I want to beat a future into him. If I push him hard enough, I can make him right, I know it. But still....I can't do anything.

I reach my hand out to grab a hold of his. Nothing. No response. When the waves are gone, the deep and vulnerable tender eyes remain. It's as if he left me all over again, but this time it was for my best interest.
When I sit in front of him, legs crossed...looking down...it's then when he finally says to me “stop,” and I do because I'm growing.

after this, I woke up a little but only long enough to collect my thoughts and write them down.
<<>>

I lay back down only to find myself in another dream

I run my fingers through my wet hair and take in the features of my face. I would love to say that I know myself. I would love to tell you that I know where I'm going, or that I'll know when I'm going to grow up. I'm not quite there yet. I may never be.

Even in dreams I realize what's holding me back. I just never accept the fact that he is a much better man than I can ever give him credit for. My father's technique in life was sometimes poor, but his heart was always strong and kind. I don't know if I can ever give him my best and let him go. I almost always notice that I have that choice now. It's a gift I suppose, I'm just not really ready to use it and to set him free from my almighty grasp. I've kept his memory prisoner deep in my hear for sometime now.

For the past few years I've thought life was a riddle, a destination, a puzzle. Now i'm pretty sure that life is wonderful and I am simply the puzzled one. I also suspect that I'm supposed to be puzzled until I let go and just forgive. I don't fight it as hard as I use to though. Divinity it seems, might be somewhere inside me, and like Jeprody, it may come in the form of a question. One persons cosmic answer is another's question.

I try not to beat myself up much anymore about him. Lately I've tried to step outside of the moment, or the circumstance, or the emotion and see how things really look. At first I did it to get away from the moment, to escape. Somewhere along the line I realized that I can see more calmly and clearly from here.

I don't know how we get where we end up. But I know we are where we need to be for now. The past week has been nice to find that something is clearing up in my soul.
Life might have been easier if I would have just learned to ask myself to “Step outside”


I can't say how we get where we end up. I do know we are were we need to be. It was nice to find out this week that I'm not alone out here, outside. I tend to think I busted out alone. How arrogant is that....

Anyway, I'm not here to preach. But I will say that life might have been a little easier if I had learned earlier to ask myself to “Step outside."

Ghosts & Wind.

It's a porch. It's not mystic or surreal. But I'm sitting there and looking at the sun, all stretched out and comfortable. I'm totally there, and i'm totally not as the moments float past. I'm lost in the moments passing sometimes. I'm also lost in moments already past.

So is she sometimes. i can tell when the tense changes in the telling. Sometimes we are in present tense. Sometimes it is the tension long held and the conversation crosses the grave of something we've buried. The it becomes the past tension making the present tense.

I'm not sure how I spun up that dust, that wind. I've been swirling gently in it all week. Perhaps it's simply summer. Maybe it's uncorking the past three years. Or it could just be that this is how healthy feels. To be able to move gently through the past and the present with a palpable absence of pain is pretty new and strange to me. 

I worried sometimes that my tears came too easily now, you know, after the fall. My dad used to be like that when something touched his heart it pushed his tears right out. I told him not to be embarassed about his emotions, so I didn't have to hide mine either. There was no need to worry anyway. They slowed on their own. Sometimes now they only come when I call. 

As I sat there with nothing but my thoughts, I often feel another person, see another glass on the table, stacked with ice and a piece of fruit. When we shared desert I was totally there and strangely gone, like the flavor between bites. The old taste flees to make room for the new. It becomes hard in a moment to tell if this is a new goodness, or the memory of an old sweetness. 

In that moment it really doesn't matter what manner of sweetness is on the tongue. I'm just tasting it all, tasting it all again. 

I'm still tasting. 

No matter if it's food or people, fear or challenge, we all step away from something every time we step. Even when we step towards something else. At times I think that if I move forward to fast I will lose track of where I have come from. Of who and where I have been. It's bullshit. 

No matter were we go, what we do, who we become, ghosts and wind and memories travel with us. The memories change quickly as we grow, slowly as we age and never if we freeze them in frames we call perfection or hate or can't or some other inflexible thought that holds them trapped. 

Ghosts and wind are beyond our control. We only feel them as they move around us, touch us, mess our hair. We look, or we don't. Our choice, really. 

I sat at a table alone on Sunday. The first time I've felt calm in 3 years. I was surprised to find myself looking into myself, not away. When I did glance around my head it was strange to see no pictures in frames on the table anymore. The memories were fluid and quiet. They did not require my attention anymore. They were simply okay. I could pick them up in my head and look and then return them to the air. They had lost their sharp edges. 

And him, he has become some combination of ghost and wind. Something of who I thought I knew wrapped in currents that were familiar and foreign. You can reach for both. You can hold neither. 

Today the ghosts in the wind are smiling somehow....I can feel it. The people I can't hold, the steps I'll never take toward, the possible choices never made, they all visit and swirl happily. 
It's also a happy thought that some of you are caught up in the wind. 

Anyway, thats where I've been. 

Standing like an oak as it whips my hair around like leafy branches on a sunny day when the world is content, as the ghosts play among the branches. 

They may not know that I'm looking. But I am. 

And although I am sad today, I'm trying to be happy for his sake.
It's strange to feel happy.

You were my anchor...& therein lay the issue & therein lay the problem.

I'm starting to remember why I'm alone in all of this again. Some time ago I decided to just stop talking to people and stop living my life. The day that he was taken from me, I took myself away from everyone else. Seeing everything slip away so fast made me realize that there is never really anything to hold onto to begin with. Whatever you hold on to you will lose grip of. That's proven to be true with so many things in my short life. I can't have a relationship with my mother because I can't "accept" her drug addiction and way of life. I can't keep friends because I know that with time they will find other interests and I will no longer be of importance to them anyways, not that I ever was to begin with. The last "friendship" I had was just ripped to shreds for no fucking reason. That person holds so many of my fears and deepest secrets and she just betrayed me because I was having a hard time in my life and I couldn't bare to have a sleep over or a girls day out. She pretty much just turned into a different person. I know it shouldn't bother me but it does. I thought that....nevermind.
Things change, people change. It's just really crappy the way shit turned out. It didn't have to be that way. I'm not just passing blame, I'm accepting it. Our interest changed...not to say that they were the same to begin with. -And with that all being poured out..that would be the reason why I no longer want to get close to anyone unless I absolutely have to. I don't want to open up to someone and waste my time if they are just going to fuck me over in the end. That's not the only friend that I lost though...
I never really had a lot of friends to begin with, just people to talk to. I've always shifted my hurt feelings on everyone else. That is true. I don't think I'm capable of having a healthy human relationship with someone because unless they can relate to my hurt I feel as if there is nothing else for me to talk to them about. I know it's wrong and I should be able to deal with my own personal issues and put them aside for the sake of socialization.
I'm just better at being a social outcast. I'm a displaced person.
Even though it sucks ass to go into college without any friends, I know I will get through it. And I honestly know I can do it.
The possibility of me actually getting to know someone might be somewhat possible if I just let go of the past and my losses. If I just stop feeling so damn sorry for myself I can be happy.-I'm just not ready to.
I honestly think that I keep my grief with me because I'm the only one that can push it to the side & reject it. My sadness can't abandon me.. I have to make it go away on my own.

Unclear Mind.

I have an unclear mind cluttered with more than my own thoughts, a box of secrets from various people that came open. In it I hold their thoughts, opinions, their bad days, their sorrow;everything that fuels pessimism. From both males & females, just jumbling around in my mind mixing and like a parasite feeding my own thoughts and making me vulnerable to my flaws. I cant help but to get depressed again, jealous, angry, annoyed, its eating at me. Its about 25 different problems...

I am spilling out this info here in hope it goes away like a bad memory and shuts the box or purges out the thoughts, whats the point in keeping some of this info? I dont know and wont know why some lingers more than others. But it seems there is different sickness and technology is failing, relationships are shattering faster this month alone. This seems to be a bad month a hurricane of issues piled up, and I am here trying to swallow the bad and convert it to a better time.

I have been able to control most of my nightmares now, slowly and surly trying to keep that balance and convert it to peaceful sleep for another night and to let me rest. So far so good, but when things like this spill over im bound for more nightmares tonight, I am really tired of avoiding sleep.

the only thing thats keeping me sane right now is the love i am getting from one person. its beautiful and warm, i cant lose it now, I need it more than oxygen. And all in the same moment that I realize that I need it ....I keep pushing it away and distracting myself with useless things of other people and their issues and I make them my own.