to tend to yourself you have to mend what's on the inside. that includes the final words. the final message. maybe you never got to send it. maybe you never got to say it. i have fought long and hard with myself and my final message to the one who broke my heart stays on the tip of my tongue. so here i am, writing it out, and hoping it is the end of.

>>>>

long gone are my emotions towards you. my withdraw was painful and long. as i'm sure you've figured out by now when i love i, love. in all its encompassing. and i needed to find that love again. for myself. love that doesn't hurt, abuse, emotionally sting then roll over and play dead. your love was so wrong, and so violent. you have yourself to figure out and your words no longer hold any dearness to me.  i do not care to wonder about what was any longer. i was, and i still am. i'm alive and i'm living, and that's about as much as i can take day to day. anything and anyone that doesn't serve to inspire, love, support, and be in my life needs to have no place in my life.

you said it best, maybe with good intentions, maybe to rid of me finally. "let's just call it what it is, not working. and move on"

i didn't understand why you would extend an olive branch only to break it from under me as i was trying to mend. i didn't understand why you told me you were over me yet your actions said otherwise. i didn't understand why you told me you loved me but your actions said otherwise. see the pattern? you never matched. you were never on the same page with yourself. and i held on to the idea that we could start where we left off. except, we left off with your insecurities that disrupted my behavior. we left off with you hurting me. so how could we start off better? i loved you. i am at my best in love. you did not care to this love.

you are at your worst. daily. my love was not for you. we are not right for each other. you did enough damage. tend to yourself now. you shouldn't have to hurt that much. 

i'm in a weird place. a wired place where all my thoughts are intensified  magnified times 100. everything is bright, loud, and overlapping. there are lines and i'm ensconced. i am tangled. there is a strange ecstasy in being thrown to the gutters, leeches eating away at your flesh. so, this weird place is somehow comforting now. 3 days have gone by and i'm still deciding on decisions that will leave me where i first started. kind of happy? i swear i was content before i met him. went from loving one simply flawed man to loving one who has no simple bone in his body. what am i attracted to? you could ask me...... i'm asking myself and I do not know.

selfish. selfish i am. looking for attention in all the wrong places.
i'm trying to end a relationship that i'm not even sure i have. how do you quit when you're at that point you're no longer interested in resuscitating, but you're not fully there to voice it...? does that even make sense? do i? no. of course not. as usual it's a carousel.

men should really quit giving me roses.

i do not care for roses. 

roses are the poor mans poetry.

haven't we used them enough. no i am not seduced

by their aroma, and no i do not care

for their thorns. i've got my own.

disaster zone.

I can't imagine living 24 more years. or 10 years. They ask me where i see myself from now. (roaming with the daisies eh) But what can I say? Do you think I can pass off as a CEO? It's beginning to look a lot like a comedy routine.

and I feel:

Slow, antagonizing pull right off the skin. I'm no longer flinching. Accustomed to the noise growing in my brain, this feels hot, and heavy. People are starting to ask questions. They're starting to notice, and I can't keep hiding the blisters as avant garde concotions just to please the artful. Even though most of them are oblivious even when the truth daggers right in between their eyes. They bash their lashes and giggle nonchalantly. "Pass the wine, please"

It's just another dinner party, and i'm one day away from my last.

Key word.

You have to be very careful what you say to people. You may talk to them and feel as though you know, but do you really listen?

I wake up, and put on my favorite pair of jeans because they make me feel good. Shoes that I spent $250 on, such comfort for my toes. I do my laundry, and I change my sheets. I clean the house, and I cook. Every morning I put on Earl Gray tea because it soothes my soul. Madonna sings in the background and I strike a pose to Vogue. I will go out dancing with my friends, stumbling around in heels I can barely handle. In touch with my inner glam. I sip on beer and watch a movie I am not interested in to be in the company of someone who strokes my mind the right way. I want that connection that sparks.I go for walks almost every night in neighborhoods that aren't familiar. Adventure feeds. The neighbors know me, their pets sniff me. I just purchased my favorite moisturizer to keep my skin happy. I ended a friendship with a person who didn't deserve my time and effort. I have standards. I lost the love of my life, but I believed it was for the better. I am hopeful for the future. I am saving up money so that one day (hopefully sometime soon) I can visit back home and get lost in translation.

When I say I am trying I mean it. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be around to write all this.
I am trying, in my own way.
I deal with problems in my own way.
I express myself in my own way. Justifying my reasons, or trying to explain to someone who is on the outside is generally a waste of time. I wake up, that's effort enough some days. I cry hysterically and lock myself in my house for a whole weekend if I feel like it. If I want to be out of touch with the world, then I do. It's how I cope some days. It's also how I self destruct some days. I have moments of extreme hatred for every human being. Even ones I am close to. I don't want to see their faces, I don't want to smile, I don't want to talk, I don't want anything. SOME DAYS. But I try.
I have feelings and thoughts I can't always control.
Don't assume anything.

I’m going to wake up one morning & my mind will be intact, and beautiful. The pillows will no longer smash my dreams to little pieces. My heart won’t roll its eyes at whoever dares to come close. 

I feel nervous, I feel out of it, too exposed, too uncomfortable. Everything is amazing when we’re together - in an imperfect, silly way. But that is a crutch that’s too dangerous to give into. I’m just not happy. And in my unhappy state - I will destroy him. Unintentionally.

cut the strings and tie me with them.

Let's kill this motherfucker before it kills us.

I said I was kicking him out of my life, and I am. I swear, I am! But I cannot help my thoughts. I would vomit out every single feeling and image I have of him from my brain and my heart if I knew how to.  am an addict. Just one thought back to the past and I am enveloped in his body. Those sleep deprived, half lit eyes that only come to life when his ego is properly stroked. That stupid hair of his that never styles right.

It is almost impossible to go from lover to friend in under 60 seconds. We are not machines. Every form of communication is dangerous, it leads to naked bodies and regrets. Every time he calls or I see him, I vision slurps, and kisses, and things I am trying to stop visioning. I don't want to rid of him completely, but I can't move on when we are still in contact. It isn't fair. Everything is a tease, everything is foreplay.

Ciao darling. It is what it is and that's about nothing.

I am dead he says. Dead from heavy burdens, stories, peoples infections, and lies. Dead from myself, the city, my family. Dead, but I don't think so. I feel too much, instantly. Too furious, too melancholy, too happy, too pessimistic. I am not dead, I am just walking on a fine line and torturing my mind because it's what I know. The drugs can be a nice escape. They are. I am aware of the burn. I may have low self control, but I am not stupid.

I'm in a blue and red bubble. There are lines, but they aren't visible, and suddenly, everything becomes blurred. There are no tomorrow's, no paychecks. There are no responsibilities, bills to pay, bullshit to say or people to smile at for the sake of smiling. It is a scary kind of comfort. It's parties and naked people dancing in the street with their bottles of Monet, and the fake fur they got at Trendy Wendy. It is nothing and everything. Creative junkies. No false niceties. They wear beautiful clothes and they have beautiful money. Everybody is somebody.

You see the screw ups and the ditz. The flash mobs, the dancers, the depressed kids with nothing but cuts on their arms. All these fuck ups, glamorous fuck ups together, holding each other up. It makes sense. Everyone is on some hippie shit. There's no need to tone yourself down. In fact, people amp themselves until you're dangerously close to being deaf. They all love to hear themselves talk about life and culture, and politics. It's all equality this, the government is out to kill your family, big brother sucks dick. You know, everyone's got something to say. And all of it is intriguing, even if it's not. I don't need to tone myself down. I am one of these fuck ups.

Barbiturates, you know. They catapults me from wall to wall, taking me to euphoric hallways and mesmerizing skies. A lifestyle that keeps me preoccupied. Spinning. Woo do I spin and sweat and phase out until I am frightening. Interestingly enough, the mind, the one part of me I wish I could strangle does not sleep. Yet with the right amount of dosage distortion is liquid heaven on a hot summer Vegas afternoon. It comes in handy for a creative one.
Am I one? The creative kind? How pretentious. It would be a nice excuse, but no. I am not. Well,  I don't know. He tells me I don't need them. The alternations and the pills and the lines in the bathroom. I don't need the dirty boys with their gin soaked dicks and their ass hole personalities. But what does he know? He has been my crutch for a while and its probably fueled the ginormous ego in his pants.
He likes to play the savior part, you know. He comes riding in on his white horse and everyone deems him the special one. He's the one who can save me. They all bow to him. He makes me a better woman and with him I *gasp* actually have feelings. Without him I am apparently just a wasteless tart. I love him, but he is taking on too much and then complaining about it when no one actually asked him. Love will do that. You want to hold the hand and fill each other with security. You want a life of simplicity, peace. Breakfast love, afternoon love, dinner fucks. You want it all, but then you turn to your left and see the screw up clinging onto your arm, barely able to stand, barely able to string together a sentence. She is hanging on by a thread. Life has tossed her and fucked her, and in her mind she's just taking the precautions needed to survive.

I have swallowed my pride, put on a brave face and tried. The swallowing came easy, the brave face - not so much. I'm letting it go completely. It is what it is and at the end of the day, today, it is nothing. Walking on leftover glass pieces and getting cut every which way. It was fun at first, but now it's just masochistic and dangerous and we have grown and got tangled in the process of trying to hold on to the past  He says I helped him open up and trust more, which is ironic in a way. Whoever he seriously dabbles with next is in for some theatrical performances of romance, cuddles, kisses, and 9 inches.
I hope he's happy. I'm off in my blue and red bubble, and my dysfunctions are my friends. For now.