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fuck, it's so hard to accept "I'm not just broken. I'm like put a bullet in my head might be best broken." she doesn't look at the towel she bought to torture herself as much as she used to - something to say to her "see, you are a fucking loser and no one wanted you - especially to cuddle you. fuck off and stop bothering us bitch."
It reminds her a lot of the mushroom trip with all the ...
oh fuck.
I'm so lost.
reading in the only thing that I have left that doesn't seem like some billionaire fucker boy tool - reddit and typed in "divorced while manic life ruined" and saw that I sure as fuck wasn't alone. The saddest story I read was about someone like me and the story was told by her husband who was divorcing her but died a widower because she hung herself before it was final. It made me cry. So many lost people with me. To be loved and understood. How do you understand someone who's crazy? I don't know - maybe listen to them and actually care. Instead, you just make everyone terrified of you and want you out of their lives as quickly as possible. I mean I get it, but that bullet in my head just doesn't happen - and I'm left still living and wondering how I'm going to fare when it gets even worse (and it will) and why for the love of god and all things holy do I never have a VOICE unless I'm manic or drunk. Why can't I ....
Why can't I?
forever and ever and ever then death then more of this until you finally get your chance to be reincarnated/back in the simulation? - again. I can't see why I'm always told that being here is a miracle - a gift - for all 8 billion of us. It makes no sense to me, but I loved that ex-spouse writing about his dead wife. He said he wished she were still here. It makes me cry because I know my second husband wishes I were dead. He totally was my emotional regulator for 8 years. I used him like a child uses a parent - "is this right?" "is this too much" "am I ok?" then one day after a pretty significant amount of reckoning, I went off on him told him every single thought I had about him, and oddly enough - he wasn't like "oh, the bitch must be bipolar. she's sick and out of her mind. I'll get some help." I knew exactly what was going on.... after the fact.
It's like waking up from a bender. Tiny bits get into your psyche and you want to fucking die of shame. How could anyone let you back into their lives? Would I? Would I have compassion on someone who called me a pathetic coward who they never loved? take them back? well, I guess I would have to see how they apologized. In my past, I wanted it all erased. An apology would be bringing it all back to the front and acknowledging and accepting what I did. It was so much preferred to block that shit and repress the fuck out of it.
I'm LIII old. I'm old. I "shouldn't" be so stupid, but fuck you - I'll show you some immature ~80-year-olds in four seconds if you'd like. And to have a ruined life. To have a charity life. To be out there again trying to ensnare some dipshit into distracting me from my own pain.
could I rephrase that? looking for someone to finally see me, know me, and be fucking grateful they found me. I can't go back to the same thing I did with #2 "safe, stable, dad who I don't love a smidge but will take care of me." That was a mother fucking lesson.
did I learn it?
and it's so hard to be vulnerable. I tried it with ghost-man. learned a lot.
mark - thanks for the memories. and thanks for being unlike any human I've ever encountered. Kent - without you, I wouldn't have even that one person who has known me since I was 17 years old and thinks I'm fun to hang out with.
oh fuck.
how am I going to do this.
how do you live?
the birds are singing their feathered asses off. the false spring is all over the place.
gene hackman died and enjoyed writing novels aforehand.... interesting... here I go on my novel Eliot smith.
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