h1

disappearing from everywhere except here for a while.

August 20, 2013

Thinking about disappearing.

 

Write it out they say.

 

Writing helps you, they say.

 

And i’m stuck in  head over heels tumble down a rabbit hole of things that i can’t tell are real or not.

 

Does writing help me? Is this just another lie i’ve told myself? Another lie i’ve told everyone else to make myself believe it? It takes these words- probably not even well put together words- and sticks them on paper that no one will read. Or throws them to the interwebs where maybe a few people will read them and i can look at my blog stats and say oh, x number of people came to my blog.

 

Does any of this make me feel less alone? Not especially. X number of people read my words and went on with their lives. There is no connection in that.

 

It’s cathartic. Yes, this one might be true. It is, in fact, a way to take some of the crazies in my head and pick them apart into sentences kind of like magnetic poetry. It makes me focus on one thing rather than feeling overwhelmed by all the tiny pieces. And then i stop and it starts again. It keeps my hands busy. i can’t use a razor blade and type well at the same time. i guess this counts as some sort of healthy release even when i’m thinking about the blade the entire time i’m typing.

 

Maybe the words don’t get me anywhere because i don’t let them. i’m admittedly terrified of everything that might come out if i were to really sit down and somehow be able to shut of the self censor i have. i’m scared of what to do with those words if or when i ever let them out. And i’m really scared to show people those words because words change things.

 

The tears haven’t stopped. i want them to stop. i need them to stop. i need everything to stop.

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