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Sometimes I believe that I was born despite myself. I feel like I’m in a constant battle with Me. If I’m in a room full of people, I just want to go home to my room. When I’m being quiet in the solace of my room, I’m lonely and wishing for company, well certain company. If I’m hungry, I eat then kick myself in the butt for it. When I’m in love, I wish I wasn’t so I could go out into the big world, then I remember how safe I feel in his arms and I retreat. See? Constant battle.

Do I drink or don’t I? Do I do meth or don’t I? If I drink it’s a disappointment. I haven’t done meth in over 20 years now so I’m not sure what it would feel like again.

I think the theme here is escapism. Which I am in a constant state of being.

I don’t even know what day it it half the time. But I do take lots of medication to help minimize the need for escapism. I think it helps. I know it helps me not be PSYCHOTIC, but does it cinch my nerves? Sort of. Well, no. Even when I’m not alone, I’m alone. Because I want to escape somewhere else. Wish I was getting high. That would keep me busy for a few days. Ever scrubbed a trailer with a toothbrush? I have.

I don’t know. I’m sitting here by myself and I just got to thinking, I’m never satisfied. There is always this insatiable need inside of me to be doing something different than what I am doing, except when I write. When I can write I feel free. I wish the words would flow forever.

Mommy, Daughter glam day with my mini-me

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