The End

I'm closing down the blog because it's a year old, and no longer represents how I feel and where my life is going.

I will probably start up writing elsewhere.

I think about writing him every day, but make an argument against myself just as easily. Maybe I'm going through the stages of mourning--maybe I'm processing.

Maybe there's an end to this after all.

Can Go On

I cried a lot when I got the news about my car. It signaled the end of my hope that I might someday have my freedom back.

I hardly leave the house unless I have a doctor's appointment or need lab work done.

My days are filled with housework, reading and watching TV.

I wonder how long I can go on like this.

The LSU Professor will not loan me the money for me to be able to fix my car.

I am now stuck.

The General Drinking Mode

I've been drinking, feeling sorry for myself, the general pity mode.

I have to figure out how to come up with $1,500 dollars to fix my car (in addition to the money I've saved, and the money my parents are pitching in). This is close to the amount the car is worth. It's either this or buy a used Honda Civic or Accord.

Most of the time, I'd just spread my legs to get it, but it's a little difficult when you have no wheels and you live at home with your parents.

The original estimate for the car was around $1,800, but once the mechanics opened it up, they saw there was more damage. The service advisor called me after they inspected the Mercedes and said they need $3,200. My parents wouldn't make up the difference even though I know that they have the money. So much for my birthday present. 

 I have made two phone calls to the LSU Professor, the only person I know who knows cars, and would possibly loan me the money. I haven't heard back. Money comes between friends, but I'm especially desperate.

I've been highly irritable.
 Sometimes I want to die.


I don't know what keeps me going, to be honest. Why I wake up everyday, and get out of bed. Habit, it seems. I take no joy out of life.

I realized a few days ago that there is no one here for me, if I was in the ER, if I was hospitalized, no one would come and be by my side. I have friends, sure, but many of them are far away.

Some of my depression is the knowing that the LSU Professor would not be there for me if I was in mortal danger again.

But most of my depression is about Morpheus.

I've decided to disappear--not physically, of course--but only off of the communication channels with friends. I'm doing this because I don't have anything to say to anyone.

Hello. How are you?

I'm sad. 

The end. 

I try to be sympathetic to friends' needs and wants, but I can't handle it now. It's draining.

Everyday is the same. I can't imagine a way out.

Kill YOu

"These drugs can kill you."

--my psychiatrist, referring to my daily cocktail

Mysterious Ways, REply

Re today's post: Maybe good things come in threes.

--Harry, one of my readers

Mysterious Ways

I doubt it seriously that the Universe will throw me another handsome, rich guy with an eight inch dick considering during my lifetime I've already had two (Mr. G-Force and Morpheus), but then again, it does work in mysterious ways.

Hold Down a Fucking JOb

In the beginning, I didn't deal with it because I was psychotic.

Now, I'm left with it, every day.

I don't know how people break up and hold down a fucking job.

Give

I promised myself that I would always forgive Morpheus for being the person he is.

That includes right now.

Not returning my email that is over a month old.

You can't make people be who they are not.

YOu can't make them give what they don't have inside.

Tears For Lies

I don't know why I've been feeling so alone lately. Nothing has changed.

Every now and again, I will conjure up the image of his smiling face in the kitchen of his home.

And I am reminded that I am being punished by God and his gods for being with a married man--not separated, not divorcing.

Just married.

And then I start to cry,

Good Grief

No one knows the pain. The people who do--they defy the statistics. They don't marry or they don't marry again.

They wander through life, closed off, cheated out of love, cheating others out of affection and closeness. Gifting cruelty.

I sense I'm about to enter a league of permanently fucked up people.

Maybe that was his present to me, a lesson of sorts, and now, I carry it on my back, this boulder of a burden.

Do you still love me?

No one gets it because I don't. Mourning isn't a practiced art usually. YOu don't walk into a room, wave your arms, and say, "Oh, pick me! Pick me!"

You, in the back, you're next.

No one knows when it's going to get better, when the pain will go away, and neither do I. We've never done this before.

It's the absolute alone-ness in the pain that drives in the insanity. No one can dig you out. Friends peer at you as you struggle down at the bottom. Some make comparisons to break up's that they've had, but no one has had voices of their ex-boyfriends, now have they?

Almost No ONe Cares, Part II

I've decided to pretend that I'm getting over him, at least to Morpheus himself.

That means, no more emails sent.

I will pretend until it's an actuality.

I'm trying to move forward with my life.

Almost No ONe Cares

Almost no one cares.

They've all heard it before--about Morpheus.

The fact that it's still living hell for you is no concern of anyone else. IT should be over by now.

I rarely talked about him with my therapist for a reason. She never understood.

I'm locked in a battle that I'm not sure I'm going to win half the time. Morpheus roams around my brain freely. He says what he wants to say, conning me, toying with me, teasing me.

"Love you, Lace," he just said.

The real person is conveniently absent for reasons that I pointed out in the email sent, called "On Cheating."

"I was, and I am low on your list of priorities..." I wrote to him.

ONly In Silence

You send out a letter baring your soul, you expect some reply.

"Fuck off."

"I love you more."

"I can't."

Instead, only silence.

IF I could learn to read silence, I would make millions in practice, books, TV shows and touring.

It's all very tragic, can't you tell?

In Saving You

All I ever wanted to do was to love you and to be loved by you. I was happy just being next to you. I had such high hopes for us.

Now I don't know how to even talk to you. I am blade you are healthy now. I wish I could be a part of that life I wanted you so much to get there.

I feel like I am left with nothing and it is hard to take, sometimes. In saving you I was hoping that you would breath life into me.

--Hades, in a comment

DEpression Crawling

Today, I feel the depression crawling back from whatever corner it was hiding in. Today, I feel it taking ahold.

I don't want to do anything, I don't want to move from this bed, even though I know I need to exercise, and ride Gizmo, and do some housework.

I try to think of positive things, but a part of me wants to die, and another part of me is afraid of death.

Time is precious, but the schizoaffective disorder is stealing it away from me.

On the Mirror, "No SEcond Troy"

WHY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn? 

--W.B. YEATS "No SEcond Troy"