I sometimes think about not having a home.

I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have one on this earth or because I haven’t found it yet.

I hate that failing at something is this shocking to my system.

This is just not working. I’m like a fucking pregnant woman crying over spilled milk.

I keep looking for things to regain homeostasis. Familiar rooms, coffee shops, upbeat music, exercise; somewhere or something that will make it click in and I’ll submerge back into normalcy.

I guess I’m intimidated. I guess I’m afraid to fail. I guess I hate disappointment. I guess I’ve reached the breaking point.

Depression is stupid. It just pins you down and laughs when you say,“cut it out.”

It’s about time, things were going too smooth. Call me immature. I’d probably have to agree with you.

I’m frustrated. How do I control it? I don’t- I let it run ramped, take its course, and scream its way through my bloodstream.

The fighter in all of us says to get back in the race, take a couple skips to get momentum, and start running in the marathon again.

For some reason this time that just seems harder to do than normal.

Maybe I need a good cry, even though tears accomplish shit. Or maybe I need a therapist, I’m sure not going on drugs. I know God has it all in control, I don’t think I’m worried… I think I’ve just finally gotten what I deserve. My priorities are obviously screwed out of whack.

I can’t solve it, I just have to keep going. Which is stupid in every way. I’m not dead, but I feel like I’m a highly functioning sick person.

That's what it is. This slice of Swiss cheese is cut so thin you can see right through its skeleton. Check out that heart- it doesn't even beat quick from a loving touch. 

It's not only that I am bare. It's not only what I bear. It's history. It's repetition. It's the coincidences of life that smack hard without even blinking. 

Ding, ding, ding- alarm clock cries out of its wound that reopens daily. I really should stich that up. Poor thing shouldn't suffer like that. 

Actually, I'll leave it be. We'll figure this out together. It cries. My hit silences it. Time passes. It cries. My hit seems to work a second time as well. Perfect. A cycle. Something I can count on. 

Normalcy.

This feels. Can't say what it feels like, but it feels.

That's a step.