God And I Want The Same Thing...UPDATE

Dear Hearts,

I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to do anything.

Writing this makes me feel like a weak fucking loser who isn’t even gonna bother about grammar.

But maybe if I get it out…

Is there something clinically wrong with my brain? Is something just broke? Permanently? Did the ECT damage me forever. But I felt like this before the ECT.

I have so much to be grateful for. So many blessings. I pray to God and Mother Mary. I surrender to them. I imagine myself in Christ’s arms telling me it will be okay.

The pall. The heavy wet woolen blanket just falls on me without warning. Xanax won’t help this feeling.

I can’t I just feel like I can’t go on one more moment.

But I have to and I am.

I am writing this. So obviously I am going on.

But my finger literally feel  heavy on the keyboard. I just want to go away.

Every bit of will power is keeping me writing. That’s God.

I have no dreams. Aunt has dreams. Dad and Mom do. I don’t have any dreams.

I don’t want to run home and hide in mom and dad’s house.

I want to help papa.

But I feel like sometimes…I can barely help myself. Just fucking barely.

I should feel happy. I had a good day. I had alone time. I have pie tonight. I know all my blessings. I thanked God for them…but I just can’t feel anything but hurt. I am so selfish. Oh here come the tears. I don’t deserve what I have.

I have no image of the future.

I told God that if he wants me to walk life alone with no partner I will.

Whatever He wants. I’ll fucking do it.

But I don’t know what He wants. I don’t know what I want. 

That’s not true.

I am sure that God and I do want me to stop hurting—to stop feeling empty.

I’m sorry.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Pie

Coffee

Angel

Cigarettes

ER on Hulu

Health

Family

Posting as is.

I will shower and eat and maybe give myself another, extra smoke tonight.

Thank you God for the will power…I am using every remnant of it.  

now the shaking comes

it's like i'm okay...okay for me but then the riptide comes without warning and i fall into the well

i know a mixed metaphor.

somebody maybe the devil pushes me into the well.

and i'm too chicken shit to even ask for help. because i need to get the fuck over it. 

i used my breakdown excuse

so i write it

passive aggressive cunt

i am made in the image and likeness of God and no one can touch that.

hollow words. i am wearing kevlar and the good above statement can't get thrrough

evn the woman with the wolf tattoo--her howl is weak.

UPDATE

I cross stitched and watch two episodes of ER. I am those doctors' ages---or older. I remember when I watched it in the 90s--they seemed so grown up. They still do.

I can trick the demon into his cave--the mere with Grendel's mom--but he'll be back. He always is. And I hear his hissing always always alway.