i let too much people know me to good. heck, they know everything i could tell em. and they don't care about it. or about me. wrong sorts of people i get close with, i guess. a fresh start would surely help, but it's hard and there is no promise of it being rewarding – so i'm obliviously terrified of doing it.
my mind is buzzing with gross sticky thoughts and my back does kind of the same thing, but with weird dull pain. i feel like a lemon with no juice. somebody's drinking that juice right now. or maybe they drunk it a long time ago. i have none of it now, it all went to someone else.
mom won't always be with me. i can't lay miserable at home forever. honestly i don't want to. i want to die. i want to be brave enought to do it. to not even exist. how nice would that be. no me. no i. nothing at all. but laying miserable at home is what i get drawn to. it's painful and hard, but getting out there is more painful and hard.
eat, do something, eat, go to sleep. eat, do something, eat, go to sleep. try to crack your neck. try to know what to do. try to hold on to something.
and of corse i fail at that. i fail at all of it, really.
how little limitation i have in failing.
it hurts, but it must be very silly.