Skip to content


February 27, 2013

You’re the only one I’d like to tell my problems to.

Nobody knows me. I’m flailing. I’m doing everything wrong. But it’s been ten years and you’re as foreign to me as the language you speak now on a daily basis.


I’ve been writing more lately, and I’m glad. Literature is missing from my life in a tangible, taxing way. It’s been a rough month. I think the universe might be trying to tell me something, and I’d better figure out what it is quick.

Every part of me feels broken. My body is falling apart, quite literally, and I can’t stop it. Always tired, always in pain. I’m moving from one crisis to the next with no solution in sight.


I’m not okay. And it’s okay for me to acknowledge that.


It takes everything I have not to walk away from this, to drop it all on the floor, smash it in a fit, in a rage and say “enough”. Everything I have, everyday. All I can think about is sleeping and reading and thinking and taking walks in the sunshine and how much more sense everything would make were I to do that.


“A beautiful woman is a terrible disappointment”

I think that’s what I was. I’m sorry. I was trying.


“Don’t you EVER speak to me like that! You think you’re a man?”

A man who embodies and performs masculinity in its most extreme iteration, one who adheres, perfectly, to the coded call-response script of our culture. And if I think I can step to him, it’s no wonder it never works out for me with the men I choose to bring into my life. Cowards.







One Comment leave one →
  1. Pareidolalia permalink
    February 28, 2013 1:00 am

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s