I often find myself frustrated by a craving that I can’t seem to satisfy. Is it the same craving that I have tried to fulfill with cigarettes, food, pot, alcohol, masturbation, sex, love, running, work, drama, drama, drama?

I want. That’s all. I want. I want something I can’t have, something I can’t find, maybe even something that doesn’t even exist. How will I ever know? I don’t know what that “something” is.

Since I’ve been on my own I have been trying to curb it with exercise. Although this is a more healthy way of dealing with the issue, I still can’t rid myself of this knot that gets lodged in the pit of my stomach sometimes.

I guess it’s feelings. Is that right? The first time I heard someone say that fat girls keep their feelings inside and put food on top to keep them down, I thought “Yes! Exactly!”

There is rarely a moment lately that tears aren’t ready to spring forth from my eyes, just waiting for the thought or comment that will make them overflow. I feel like I want to throw up or hide or pull my hair out.

It used to put me in bed for a week. It used to make me do stupid, reckless, drastic things. It used to rule my life.

So, maybe it’s the whatever-it-is that I have spent a decade taking anti-depressants for. That makes the most sense, I think. They don’t take away the problems, they just keep you off the floor in that moment.

I need to cry but there is nothing to cry about. I need to scream at the world but there is nothing to say. I need to hate and blame and vent but there is simply nothing wrong – at least nothing wrong enough to warrant those behaviours.

Yesterday my eye started twitching again. It comes and goes. I used to wonder why it happened but the last time I realized it was stress related. When it started again my first thought was “am I stressed?” Well, yes. Work is piling up to an unmanageable degree, I’m living with half the income and more expense, I’m alone and lonely, I feel like I’m fighting a constant battle that I just cannot win. So, twitch away!

The thing that scares me most, I think, is that I’m slipping back into this need for perfection. Everything has a time and place, every moment accounted for, every thought dissected and tested for error. It wouldn’t matter, though. I could throw my clothes off and run around screaming, I could debase myself or have someone whip me into submission, I could eat or drink or smoke until I can’t eat or drink or smoke any more and it wouldn’t go away. The only answer is time. This, too, shall pass and all that, yes?

Yes, please.

I’ll wait. I don’t understand it but I finally know how to deal with it/tolerate it. I think. I’ll wait. I’ll let you know.


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