I had another one of those days again. Today I really wanted to talk to someone. I listened to a lot of people, but I didn't get to attain mutual commiseration. It sucks. I don't mind listening to everyone else's woes, as long as they actually ask me how I'm doing and wait for my reply.
It's getting worse. I'm starting to not feel connected to anyone, which makes me ache for it on any level I can get. I haven't been this alone in a long time. It's beginning to feel as if I'm no longer real.
I don't leave my apartment unless I have to. The phone hardly rings and when it does, it's rarely good news. I eat a lot of pizza because that's the only food a stranger will bring to my door. I take extreme measures to avoid human contact, but it's the thing I think I need the most.
Fuck.
I'm starting to see truths from my past which have alluded me for years. However, knowing the intellection of my demons doesn't make them any easier to control. Especially when you have to carry them unaided.
That's why I do this stuff.
See, writing for me isn't a hobby. It's a goddamn necessity. Without the entire process it takes to get it out I can't even function. I write down every word I never get to tell another human being.
Then I send them out into the abyss of cyberspace. A distress beacon which has, until this point, fallen upon deaf ears.
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