Out.

[lookwaydown]

I don’t know what to write, what to write about, which feelings to write about ‘cause they’re all there, you know? Equally important and equally unimportant when I think them through. I’ve been having bouts of angerdepression lately. And they’re not minor ones. Huge fits involving crying in the bathroom throwing things and screaming like. I really want a cigarette. Smoking wasn’t really a big deal but then I stopped and okay that was that and now I think of it and realize that it helped me breathe, kind of. The conscious breathing made me feel and focus on now on what I have to think about.

Blowing up isn’t something that’s natural to me because I’m mostly composed and rational. Maybe it’s that. Maybe you really can’t be composed and rational all the time because everything simmers under the surface waiting for the best time to blow up in your face while you think everything’s just cool. Timing has to be just perfect for screwing everything up. Something of a tidal wave hits me and I’m drowning in something horrible and I don’t even have half the mind to even think because I’m flailing and struggling and spewing vicious words out of my mouth. It’s scary where these words come from. I didn’t even know I was capable of thinking such things let alone deliberately sharpening carefully chosen words and stabbing someone with them with the main drive being to sink them exactly where it's bound to hurt the most.

I don’t want to be here. I want to be somewhere else, somewhere new where I can let things simmer again. I think I blow up when things get extremely repetitive, you know, because that’s when I start noticing more and more things and feel the littlest of feelings and amplify them just so I have something new to occupy myself with.

I'll probably be okay when you see me.