so i've been trying to write but everything i start ends up wrong. i guess my life is kind of at a standstill right now, i'm stuck back at square one, and i don't know what i can do to change it.
i made an appointment with the spine specialist, maybe he'll be able to fix me.
if that works, maybe i can start fixing my head, too.
i'm just so fucking tired of hurting.

i'm pretty sure that that's my spine breaking
there's only so far i can bend backwards.


do you even care?

So I'm stuck in a writers block... again.
God damn this seems to happen a lot.
But in other news I fucked up my back... royally. The doctor said it was a muscle spasm and the only thing I have to say to that is holy shit do vicodin and soma (a muscle relaxer) mix well. And when you add a couple beers to the mix it's a whole different story.
I'm realizing that at this point I only turn to DA when I'm royally screwed up - and that makes me sad, I used to feel like I had something worthwhile to say.
It's kind of unfortunate that my entire life feels like a joke, and I can't convince the world to let me in on it.
I used to look at the sky and see possibilities, and now all I see is smog and destruction. The apocolypse plays out in my mind when I let my vision wander, and if it weren't for random kind words from strangers I would have lost all faith in humanity.
I don't know what I'm doing anymore, except that if the point was for me to feel good then it's not working.
I'm at a loss for words.
Seems to be the pattern for my life as of late.

I wonder if I can make it a week (weak)
without calling you.
Without going through
my saved voice mails
just to hear your voice.
i.
You left me two messages today
nothing cute
that I can listen to and
smile my secret smile,
the one i saved for you.
Already I'm sliding backwards,
falling into the void I'd only just emerged from.
Two hours later
i'm in the car
headed for home
headed toward
the hope of finding sanity, solitude, shelter,
in the house where i've lost it all so many times before.
Three more hours
and i realize
that facing my destination
is far too much to handle
Far too hard to face.
So i stop at coffee
I tell myself in hopes to forget my woes
but I know it's just a cheap excuse
to hide my hopes of running into you.
I know,
and so do they, by the fact that I'm on edge:
looking over my shoulder
at every person walking by.
ii.
I manage
to focus on other things
until i make it home
and the only thoughts that encompass
my mind
are of how much i miss your voice.
iii.
Work today,
checked my phone
five or twelve or forty times
in the hopes that you
called
You didn't.
iv.
I'm sick,
lying in bed,
wanting nothing more
than to hear your voice
tell me you love me,
that you're "sorry, baby"
and you'll hug me next time
you see me.
God knows when that will be.
v.
I made a promise to myself
that I won't be the first
to break this silence
But i'm crumbling,
hoping you'll call,
knowing you won't.
Knowing that if I call you
I won't get the answers
I'm looking for.

~~~~~

That might be a poem. I don't know yet. It hasn't been a week.

I'm forgetting what it's like to smile.

And all that once was fell to the ground
as the girl who was entrusted with holding it up
watched, silenced,
as the world disappeared around her.

i just need someone to be there when i'm falling down. is that too much to ask?