i don't have a title for this, i don't have anything for this. i'm really starting to believe i might be bipolar. i go from being elated, so full of joy to feeling like the scum of the earth. i'm here, slumped into my pillow, digging myself further into the earth. so cold, so wet, it promises peace. i want to run away. i want to just jump up and float away off into the wind. i'd like to float north, higher and higher. i don't want to feel the pull of gravity, i want to get lost. i want to forget this life, i want to break all ties. i want to float on, away. i don't want to have to explain anything to anyone. just as in my dream i scramble through the house, looking for an exit, i want to escape this prison. i want to get out of my head, i want to lose all inhibitions. i want to forget the song that plays itself in my head, break the broken record that's been rattling my insides. the echoes of the song, the laughter, i desire silence. take me, whatever you are, take me away. for how long, i don't know, just take me. i need a break.

what do you want me to tell you? do you even remember me? probably not. you have your own life now, i was a nice distraction, as were you. no, actually, you weren't my distraction, i made you into hope, warmth. that was my mistake. i shouldn't do that. i'm being harsh, i think i'm being harsh. part of me still feels cheated. that part, though small, is so loud. it speaks, bleeds, whatever. there is nothing in me that feels that there can be trust between us. the fear, the fear is too much and i bet it's mostly in my head. i don't blame myself for wanting to escape. if a friend had this story, this colorful little story, i wouldn't know what to tell them.

it's obvious what's happened. duh. i wish more could be done. i really wish more could be done. i'm trying so hard to cope, i don't know what else to do.

should i write it out? all of it? i hate audiences. this space i call my own is shared, i don't know how i feel about that. so far i've been avoiding it; i've started to write on paper but i don't think i'm ready to physically write pen to paper what has happened. it's so, i don't know how to describe it. i don't have the words.

this thing, these events wow. i could wait three weeks, probably won't do me any good to wait that long.

ambiguity. that word, it's stayed with me for so long. what does the beast look like. i don't know what this thing looks like. i do know it's awful. this beast has grown, as events pile up on each other it feeds off of them, forces me to acknowledge it by following me everywhere. it stands over me and i am forced to turn away. it's closer than before. i had tried to fend it off with company but the presence of others only fortifies it, the shadow grows and i am left trembling. my eyes, they cry for the pain and beauty found around me. not a cell in me has the mercy to allow my eyes to tear up for my own distress. i am left thinking, recollecting the incidents, unable to shed the tears and have my pain manifest itself in water and mucus, i rot. the water in me is stagnant. i cannot move on.

each event reinforces the message, "you're not worth the trouble; you're as good as what your body can do, and even that's not enough".

i fall. every time i fall and it hurts more than the last accident. was it an accident. i'm starting to believe it's happening too often to be coincidential.

the beast, it stares down at me, my mouth quivers, i lower my gaze, i feel the shame enveloping me. i am not worth the time. my new mantra, all too familiar.

what do i tell them. how do i, what do i do so they don't worry. smile. just, smile.