I ditched my Creative Non-Fiction class and drove to the Lake.
I'm not willing to accept that I'm depressed,
but I'm not well and the surest way to deal
with this form of unwellness is either isolation
or ativan. I'm not keen on drug dependence
although I brought my prescription bottle in my
backpack today, just in case. Emotional pain.
So much pain.
Greg gets all concerned today and tries
his version of "cheer up, it's going to get better."
I'm sorry, but he just doesn't get that right.
We're bros and all, but I had to get over a mild crush
to maintain the friendship. If one more eligible guy
comes whining to me about how he's been rejected
and it's sure to get better I will vomit on him.
Vomit. You have no clue what I've been through.
You have no clue how degrading it is to be turned
down for a date for living through a series of hells imposed
on me and my children by complete selfish assholes.
You have no idea how lonely and hopeless and painful
the last ten years have been, and I've got ten more
ahead of me. And then what? Who's going to be there
at the end of the line when I suddenly don't have kids
needing me every few minutes?
It took a demon microburst to open this
portal I'd shut over all these collected vulnerabilities.
And now I'm just naked. And alone.
And feeling more for a person than I
ever thought I would again.
If I could give him a blowtorch to thaw his own
icy self-preservation I would, but then what?
I'm so very tired.
Hope is a lie.
Stones in a housecoat.
Goodbye all! And a leap
into the dark waters.
Or just take photo after photo
hoping that something more will develop.