� desert thirst � 2006-09-22 � 9:04 p.m. �
Marc asked me what I want from life... he says he's watched me shape shift through existence... being who was needed in the moment but never "really living" for myself.
It's pretty fucking funny coming from him... he for whom I gave my childhood... gave my sanity... my purity... by sense of self. He to whom I gave my good... He doesn't understand yet how knowing him has rotted me... but I see his point.
He tells me I need to find some "spirituality"...
Well... Baby... it's too late.
He tells me... as a few of you have told me recently... that I'm changing again... that I'm suddenly sad... and not myself... and think he might have even used the word "needy"... I smirk...
Why can't I be needy? Why when I decide I need to lean on the people around me... people other than Davy... Thank god for him... but I'm sure he's tired... why do they pound down on me for my it? Why do they run? Why do they avoid me at my worst... and then swoop around me like hungry birds as soon as my face isn't dirty?
Fuck you... and you... and you.
Fighting Tumerella is making me lose my mind... I'm anxious a lot. I don't sleep. I can't eat. There's an ejection trigger in my gut... and as soon as I get food in there it comes up... or cramps up...
My feet and hands tingle like a million psychotic elves are in my veins with daggers... pins and needles... and teeth and claws.
I can't decide if it's worth it... or if I want it... if I want any of this at all. If I should just give up.
And I hear this accent I can barely understand in the back of my brain always saying the right thing... "You know you've made the right choice..."
Well... no... I don't. This doesn't feel right, voice... and you know it isn't.
I was putting away my clothes... cleaning my room... and I sat in my closet... and I cried. Alone. Quietly. I rocked myself... and the pressure of my sternum started to suffocate me...
I was searching my mind for someone to save me... help me... rock with me... I was searching my skin for an answer. Ticks of sanity... something to suck on... someone to fuck... anything...
I felt 19... I felt like drowning... like running my tub and holding my breath...
In the end I knew it didn't matter who I called... it didn't matter if I went down stairs... me in my little lace panties and bra... raw and salty... it didn't matter if I stood in front of my own husband... he wouldn't care. You wouldn't care... nor would you... or you... or you...
The tub would have spat me out like a lemon seed too...
I can't be needy... afterall.
No one loves you when you're a lot of work.
I knew a man who loved me once... a man who'd sit with me in the rain... I think he enjoyed being there... with all his faults... I can't deny he was there for me... and loved me anyway.
He called this my desert thirst...
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