I remember when it was difficult to go to bed with someone else in it and that's a different puzzle. I am not sure what to do. There is that dread that really, nobody should be there anyway. But there's no reason for me to be alone, from a denial point. Sometimes you want to cry and it would be nice if you had a shoulder to bleed on.
I worry. I worry that I cannot repair myself to be more than human to people.
I worry that people tell me how obfuscated I am, when I thought I was being transparent.
I think a lot and I don't put it out there into the world much, at least not the bad stuff; I don't want to worry people. I don't want anyone to expend concern because I'm going to be fine. Even if the stone is blank at twilight, I'm going to be fine. Who needs memoriams? Just write and be a good friend, right?
I don't know. I don't know that I'm good enough at either to make that statement the marker I set the game to.
I worry that I am usurping concern from people, away from lives they should attend to towards mine. And really what attention does my life need from others?
I feel very small and worth less than that. And you know what, there's something about getting laid that helps mitigate that. Whiiiich means I need some therapy. Fuck.