A few moments ago I found myself sifting through TMZ.com. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to renounce my American citizenship. Instead I promised myself that I would read two Huffington Post articles to every one TMZ.com snip-it my eyes laid upon. Once again I lost the fight. Just like I have with smoking, eating, and finding any form or self love. Tragic? I have yet to determine.
I fit well in tragedy. It feels comfortable to me since my mind is at an elevated state of angst, fear, and turmoil constantly. Maybe that’s why I was numb today when I watched my mom cry. Her sister is in ICU, she has been ill for quite some time. I just sat here and wondered why I didn’t feel anything. I IMed someone at work about it and she said that “everyone deals with things differently.” Such a beautifully poetic and politically correct answer. My response was that there are also those of us that don’t deal with it at all.
Never in my life have I wanted to run away from everything I know. Never in my life have I looked around and felt so distant and alone. Never until now. Then I sicken myself further by becoming a cliche’. Just find me a dark place with a bunch of candles, some paper, and a pen. Drop me off, leave me until I can’t take the sound of my own voice in my mind anymore. If you love me let me walk the bridge, let me decide if I will jump, and still love me if I come running back and don’t accept your hug. I’ve never been good with affection.
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