I got kind of worried today that I would be alone for the rest of my life. Meaning everyone I meet would not want to compromise or not let me compromise to their needs and eventually no matter how much you care about that person you’re torn away from them anyways. It makes me nervous. I don’t want to get hurt like that, be pulled back from that. I don’t know, maybe I want someone to just whisk me away and say okay we’re together on everything, and we’re going to do it together and I’ll do what you want and will you please do what I want, and we’ll do it for each other always. I don’t know really what I’m writing.

Sometimes I just want everyone else to go away. Sometimes I want to be the last of two people left on earth.

Sometimes I feel like my very veins are quivering with psychosis.

I’m not taking off my peace band.

I want to be home for ages, which is unusual, and I don’t think it’s entirely related to what you might think.

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I miss extremely green eyes sleepy under funny long lashes.
Finally I look at a picture and am longing so much for who is in it, in a giddy way.
I want to freeze how I felt Saturday night, the last night, and press play when I come back in three weeks.
I realize a lot now, that I didn’t see before, that all my psychosis had blocked, that AIM didn’t convey.
It feels hard to breathe only because I miss home in a different less panicked way then before.
I want to see what happens in a months worth of time, if all that happened in one weeks worth of time.
Everyday I put more confidence into proper things, and everyday I realize the less I control the more it will just happen. If I just give myself over, instead of being so damn defensive… If I just zone into the real stuff, the stuff that is hidden only because they do it differently, then I can really find some jewels.

But I am on thin ice here. Any negative pressure from outside sources, any doubts that rise up from my pool of weirdness will crack it. I'm holding onto a whisper. Help me to keep that whisper...help me to sing it at the top of my lungs...

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This is a picture from my afternoon at Camel Rock...

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The way I am able to sit down and think things through has been a little less then stable over the past few weeks. But it seems to be settling a little bit more. In the time after being cut off, when I went to Camel Rock, I thought about all the things I wanted to show and share, and never got to. That hurt me a lot, almost more then the cutting off. Being cut off, I thought was wrong on their part, so it didn’t hurt me at the time. It’s strange how certain things said mean a lot more, or hurt a lot more then just flat out saying other things. Sometimes when I think about making things all better, I get confused with who I put in that situation, and that still bothers me. But I think I only place them in my imagination cause I have only felt like that with them. But there were other things left out back there, other things I was not getting. And those things that are added now, that I’m not appreciating should be the ones I’m focusing on. I know that I don’t want to be drunk at parties, meeting random people and hooking up with them. After that I felt gross, not only because it was just too much all at once not my style, but because my turn around rate was nasty, and always is nasty, and because I was being touched by someone I wasn’t even attracted to in the first place. The guilt tore through my chest that night, and I lay there, half conscious of any of the stuff happening to me, or being sad to me. Everything that he offered, were the things I wanted to be offered to me, and I didn’t want any of it. It was lighting me up less, then the slow process I was going through on the other side. Now I wanted to do it the other way, but now I couldn’t. When I got the email, I realized then, and only then, not from the stupid text message earlier in the week, how much I actually was needed. I realized how much I meant to them. They admitted they were wrong. That said a lot. That meant a lot. Of course after that I threw up, literally. I sat down wrote about my nights shenanigans, and sat anxiously for three hours waiting a response. When I got it, I was so relieved, and my body let go literally and it felt so good. Everything I said was in my defense, but also more of an offering. I answered all the questions as truthfully as I could and as honest to my heart as I could. But there were no more promises made. Just a burning feeling in my heart that I needed to find out what I wanted, and he agreed, yet I know now he needs me, and that cannot do it with out telling him all, and sharing it with him, and maybe through that I can get over this depression. The past few nights hearing his voice, the way I got to know him in the first place, completely reminded me of a few months ago, when I was sublimely happy with my situation, and reminded me of the path I was on that was leading me towards the place I wanted to be. But now, with all that has happened. I don’t really know what will happen. I just know the things I don’t want, not really the things I do. I know what I would love to see happen, that I always imagine doing with a really important significant other, travel. But I do not know if what I want in the meantime will get me there.

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This is a letter from a short story in The Sun called Me Me Me by April Wilder.
It doesn't really matter the context in the story, but Gilda is writing to herself, as part of therapy for compartmentalizing disorder. She writes and sends letters to herself.

Dear Gilda,
Thanks for writing. Your letter came as quite a surprise! I have just gotten off the phone with your sister, who's (big shocker) got a you-know-what up her you-know-who hole. Why are still wearing that hat? Stuart is out of town, and, as always, you miss him more than you expected to. Sometimes you miss him when you're with him. What does that mean? The night before he left, you watched him sleeping. He was on his back, his hands behind his head and one leg propped up, a smile on his sleeping face, ad you thought, as you had umpteen times before, that besides you was a man complete in himself, ultimately inaccessible to you. To love a man who's whole, this is the loneliest thing.

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I am a envious, selfish, anxious, disgusting, jealous, demanding, sad, confused, weak, impatient, lonely, depressed, muddled, irrational, fragile, cracked, insecure, frightened, hopeless, worried, panicked, pathetic, ugly, worthless, cold, shaken, startled, person, self-pitying, and I deserve it all.

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Leave me alone life.

I’m too weak.

I’ve turned into a babbling fool.

I’m lost.

I’ve lost sight of what had grown in me. Rhiannon, Cerridwen, Deirdre, Brihgid, Eriu and all those other versions of her. I need someone else. I can’t skip through the woods alone anymore. I need help with my wings. Where is my hearts secret Alder, I cannot find it’s roots.

My lack of anchoring frightens me. It gets worse everyday, like I have floated out farther and farther to sea. Away from what I used to know as security. Why did I ever give it up, will I ever get it again? This will be my last ditch effort. Afterwards, I know I should just let life go on it’s own, without forcing it. Without wanting to force it. Without being inadvertently controlled or controlling in. I just want to be held forever, kissed all over. My hand in someone’s. Everyday over and over… who the fuck am I?

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