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9:24 p.m. - December 06, 2010
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I'm not in a good place, and I'm afraid for myself. At random moments throughout the day I think about books I've read and loved, favorite songs, look over prized memories like flipping through album pages, and again and again I think, I'm done. I've had enough and where to go from here? Usually I snap out of these sad places and this time, for a while now, I feel dried and withered like a pressed flower that's fallen behind the bureau gathering dust. That's melodramatic.

Try again. Sometimes at night there's a physical ache in my heart, and visualizing 3D, I'd say the pain is localized towards the bottom of the right ventricle but sometimes shoots up along the side of the left like a half-hearted tickle. Blocked artery cholesterol heart attack murmur who knows because I don't see the doctor and don't plan to. I want to go. There, I said it. That's emotionally manipulative.

Try again. I have everything, what am I complaining for? A fancy loft that I love even if I feel guilty for my yuppie over-consumption because does one person really need a 3 floor loft, 3,000 square feet, a rooftop deck, 23 huge windows, live blocks from the harbor, bars, supermarkets, with shiny maple floors, a stainless-steel-and-black-granite kitchen, and an absurdly expensive stereo system to top it all off with? I know what it was, it was running away with wishful thinking, that if I had this place I'd magically change and have people over, I'd be the bloom on the shrub gardeners gave up on years earlier, I'd fill the house with laughter and happiness and plain, boring, simple, contentment. But no. I walk one end to the other looking out the windows, then I walk upstairs and repeat, and then upstairs again and repeat, looking at the city lights and feeling lonely and how simple to jump, but too messy and inconvenient for the neighbors. This is bragging and demonstrates an insincere concern for neighbors I don't know.

Try again. I'm tired of being alone and not knowing the secret to filling my life with friends who mask the disappointment and loneliness that being alone is even if it's not freely admitted. Yeah, someone to go to a movie with. Or take to dinner just because. Or talking about politics or the news or the latest inane popculturewhatever. Ah, so self-pitying. Yeah, so I'm single and have been for a long, long time. But that's not what I'm talking about. I just want, so badly I can't stand it, to hold hands with somebody for even just a few minutes so I wouldn't feel so alone, know that yes in fact I am connected to someone else and the world, and have reason to stay. Just a few minutes. That's all.


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