Things are happening

I don’t feel good.

I’m so desperate.

For what? I don’t even know anymore.

I feel gross. I feel evil. I feel guilty.

The crazy old meth Jesus at Havenwyck was right when he pointed at me and yelled, “GUILTY, GUILTY, GUiLTY!”.

Even he could see it.

I wish I knew what you were thinking.

I hate how many things I fucked up.

It’s so hard to get better. To be better.

I’m a different person every few hours.

It’s scary.

I don’t realize what I’ve done or said until it’s way too late.

The metaphorical blood has permanently stained my hands.

I wish you’d tell me what happened.

I wish you understood me.

I so badly want to understand you.

Always have. Always will.

You are so important to me.