as i am
This is what I think.
I'm fickle and selfish alot of the time. I want everything out of the world. If I could I would have three careers at the same time, own two homes on two different continents and have a million kids everywhere.
I know it's impossible to want two things like I want these two things.
No matter how this all plays out, someone is going to hurt and carry these wounds for a long time after.
It doesn't matter what I do. I'm going to hurt someone.
And this, all of this, is pushing me again. It's shaking me up. I'm back to crying at least every hour. Every song I listen to makes me feel guilty someway. Ridiculous, I know. But that's what i get for listening to the music i listen to.
I wanted something clean and fresh . I wanted something without the guilt, the suspicions, the rift of hurt and words that never were said, and words we wish each other never heard.
I wanted something that didn't make me ashamed, and didn't make me feel guilty or dirty.
But no matter what, that guilt is going to be there. I can't expect it not to. But guilt with me morphes into other stuff and gets taken above and beyond what it should be. I know this, but I can't stop it.
Paul is back in the hospital. The doc's are talking rehab. He's talking about it being a good idea until he gets his head right. He hasn't used in over a year. He keeps telling me that he doesn't want to drag me into this, that i just got out and i don't need this sending me right back in.
what he doesn't get is I do need this.
I do need to be happy again and loved again. I need someone to look at me and not just see "the healy house whore" or see someone they can have a quick fuck with and then be on their way.
I need this. I do. I'm happy.
despite the pain in my chest.
the tears in my eyes
the rock in my stomach.
and my personal demons that keeping threatning to suck me back in to that sick little part of brain that only wants to hurt, bleed, and starve. That part in me that looks at all 5 of my medications and thinks that taking them all would at least provide a peaceful way to go.
I'm diaster to the people in my life. All I do is take, and have stopped giving back.
I'm beginning to think my happiness might have actually been a lie.
Maybe I never really got over anything those days i spent in the hospital.
I'm fickle and selfish alot of the time. I want everything out of the world. If I could I would have three careers at the same time, own two homes on two different continents and have a million kids everywhere.
I know it's impossible to want two things like I want these two things.
No matter how this all plays out, someone is going to hurt and carry these wounds for a long time after.
It doesn't matter what I do. I'm going to hurt someone.
And this, all of this, is pushing me again. It's shaking me up. I'm back to crying at least every hour. Every song I listen to makes me feel guilty someway. Ridiculous, I know. But that's what i get for listening to the music i listen to.
I wanted something clean and fresh . I wanted something without the guilt, the suspicions, the rift of hurt and words that never were said, and words we wish each other never heard.
I wanted something that didn't make me ashamed, and didn't make me feel guilty or dirty.
But no matter what, that guilt is going to be there. I can't expect it not to. But guilt with me morphes into other stuff and gets taken above and beyond what it should be. I know this, but I can't stop it.
Paul is back in the hospital. The doc's are talking rehab. He's talking about it being a good idea until he gets his head right. He hasn't used in over a year. He keeps telling me that he doesn't want to drag me into this, that i just got out and i don't need this sending me right back in.
what he doesn't get is I do need this.
I do need to be happy again and loved again. I need someone to look at me and not just see "the healy house whore" or see someone they can have a quick fuck with and then be on their way.
I need this. I do. I'm happy.
despite the pain in my chest.
the tears in my eyes
the rock in my stomach.
and my personal demons that keeping threatning to suck me back in to that sick little part of brain that only wants to hurt, bleed, and starve. That part in me that looks at all 5 of my medications and thinks that taking them all would at least provide a peaceful way to go.
I'm diaster to the people in my life. All I do is take, and have stopped giving back.
I'm beginning to think my happiness might have actually been a lie.
Maybe I never really got over anything those days i spent in the hospital.