Loserville

In my head there exists a strange anomaly. One moment it is filled with everything - ideas, love, desire, goals, sudden motivation, plans to get going on something, and even story ideas. In this moment I want and long for things, and I even long for people (dangerous). In the next moment there is nothing. I feel very deeply alone. The only really useful thing I did in the past many days is paint the second headboard for A & J's room Thursday morning. It seems like such a small and insignificant thing, and so do I. I'm losing my hope and I don't know where to go with that. I don't know, so I guess I have decided that it's unimportant. That split second of sorrow I experience when I feel the hope draining away gets thrown on the scrap heap with everything else and declared unimportant. I know intellectually that this is a bad sign, but I can't seem to make myself care. My mind knows why, but I don't feel anything. Things are this way because I don't want to dare to hope that I might be important only to be crushed when I find that I am not. I cut myself off then, the same way I wanted to do to my breasts to make sure they could never get a cancer.

I've been faking my way along whenever I am able. When I'm not able, then I hide away so no one has to see me. I hide and I wait. Seems I've forgotten what I'm waiting for. Maybe I'm just waiting to get old and die.