Story of my life right there. Everything escalates as it percolates and then encapsulates my mental real estates. It is a constant series of ups and downs. It may be hard to read, but it is nigh impossible to live.

I am not suicidal. I have children. If I were suicidal I would be a cunt. Bad word there. Perfectly describes a parent that kills themselves.

The moment you decide to ruin a creature by spitting it out into this cold dead world you lose all right to your life. It belongs to them. And you do not even blink. 

The pain from the incisions is more than. I expected. Maybe I am fucking stupid. I don’t know what I expected. But the constant stabbing feelings is releasing endorphins like mad. And something has to balance that out. 

Hello darkness my old friend. 

So I have been pretty assholish. I have been kind of pushing back at the two main girls I am chatting with heavily. I like the idea of long distance, meaningless laughter. But they are both circling and, frankly, I don’t know. Dear reader, I am a fucking mess. If I regaled you with tales of misery from my not so distant past you would shed a tear. 

Clearly I have not gotten over my father passing. My mother has cancer. I spent six years enabling a woman to Peter Pan and not grow up. After a spiralling dumpster fire of a marriage. After years of crippling depression and fear of intimacy. And that ain’t shit. Just a broad overview of a burned out shell of a human that can barely string together three positive things.

So I am shit. This what I bring to the table. I do not want to ruin a person’s life by saddling them with whay will at best be a whirlwind fire burst that dies a quick but glorious death. Or more accurately a corpse on machinery, forced into the most basic of function with none of the life or joy.

Love you guys. Hugz.