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Fragmented Self who wanders through life like a dreamer and wades through the river of dreams as though it were the only truth left in this world
I'm Yours
I'm surprised no one noticed. But at the same time, did I really expect anyone to? What did I want if they did notice? Someone to call me out... I can't tell whether I wanted to be heard, to talk things out, or to be scolded. I'm not sure if I did it to push people away or to actually help me. It is a power that is good for me. I keep wanting to add right now to that sentence but logic fights against that. It's like, if I say that, I'm admitting it's okay to succumb to weakness from time to time. But, it's like my friend has said... you know it's a bad thing but you just haven't outgrown it yet. Which is so strange because I have outgrown it. It's changed. By form and purpose and skills. It has changed. I can't say exactly what or use details like a he or she or they because then it would be too obvious to readers. I don't want to give anything away. Yet, I haven't the heart to make this private. My stupid mind won't let me do certain things right now. It's a little frustrating.

I think the only clue I can give is that I'm using my dirty needle again. I call it out and think of it. I didn't clean the wound... it's getting infected. I kinda wonder how long it takes before it gets too bad and things go over the top again... and if the medications are at fault for this. Is it just the pent up frustration and anger from it that is allowing me to even consider this... this extreme joy. To even call it joy... something "good" [/ spits] It disgusts part of me. The other clings on. It brings a headache on.

Unpleasant....





 
 
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