11:34 p.m. - Friday, Mar. 12, 2010
Lonliness
I am being smothered. To death. And if you are reading this right now to check up on me, I don't know how you found me - but fuck you! Let me have some fucking space. Trust me or leave me. Let me work my own shit out - and you go work on yours. And if you can't handle me or this or whatever - please, just leave.
I'm paranoid. Constantly wondering whether he's making a jab at me, or trying to use something against me . . .god, this must be what it feels like to go insane.
I just want to be alone for five minutes without explaining where I am and who I'm with and when I'll be home . . .and then hearing snide comments about where I was, who I was with, and what time I came home.
I wanted this to be about other things, and now it's about you. And the more I write, the angrier I get . . .And the angrier I get, the more I want to come downstairs and slap your face. This instant.
�
�
