If I ceased to exist, how would you know? As you’ve noticed, I have these bouts of silence when I’m not proud of myself, but content in just getting by with a lackadaisical existence.
To think, this time last year, you, my readers were my best friends–my lifeline–I’ve told you this.
My Crocodile tears
But not as slowly
As my smiles appear.
Medicated or not, I have found the depression only wanes in juxtaposition with an outside force, which will likely cease to exist after a month or two. On so many days, I feel like I would just rather
Crawl back into the hole I clawed my way out of last year.
I thought I had tried hard enough. I thought things were looking up again. After months and months of monotonous interactions–I found a voice I thought could teach me something about life. A voice I was excited could make me smile.
That voice is 3 months old today.
But there is where I continue to hiccup–I think I’m all I’m ever going to have in this life. I need to be ok with that, again. Let the tears wane, by ignoring my fears.
Alexa, please turn of my feelings.
The double coat of mascara, and the thick strips of eyeliner smear and streak, when wet.
I do like these days, though.
When I can’t seem to eat.
Involuntary fasting suits my hidden smile.
It’s not the forced one.
So I’m taking some much needed time for myself this week. Time to get my shit back in order. Tonight, I’ll probably write another post. Tonight, I’ll chain smoke a pack of Marlboro Light 100’s as I continue my journey through one of Palahniuk’s doomed protagonists, yearning to be loved, but stuck in an ugly, damaged and deteriorating existence.