he was manic. and he was out of his mind, one of those people that make you feel really comfortable to feel amused and sad in their presence, but are profoundly empty and twisted.
and he thought i was manic depressive. okay, what's new?
had i said, i cry, i don't sleep, i run like hell is on my tail, i cut, i scream, i was nurtured by drunkeness and coldheartedness, quite literally, i was nurtured by myself the last four years of my existence, and i don't feel anything anymore like i used to. what would he have said then?
he talked like his father didn't exist, joked about being too old, he was terrified of it and he kept saying he was remorseful fot the things he let go, for the times he just played the role of the audience. said to me not to do that, he kept saying again and again ' you are alone aren't you?' and i kept thinking, i am not lonely yet.
fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire.
there is nothing nowhere
and once again i am anticipating too much to come out of nothing. haven't we learned that we cannot be whole again? obviously we never ever were.
there is something really distasteful talking about misery this way, i never realised before.
don't , don't give me hope, please, don't. don't if you are going to leave me behind again. there is no point in two weeks of relief in 6 years of unfullfilment.
yesterday was my birthday. i slept through it. i hadn't slept before that for 40 hours.
there is no point in that either. now i can get legally drunk out of my mind, no? no.
we'll have time to sleep when we die. for now, we are awake.