I’m Falling to Pieces

I don’t really know how to feel anymore. Being any kind of sexual is the last thing I can think of, in this week. I hope that the New Year Faerie will bring me my sexual appetite back.

These weird bouts of… well, feelings go through me. Especially at night when I’m alone in bed. I remember moments and I become woeful, tearful. And have episodes like the one I had last night, where I sat on my mum’s bed for two hours, sobbing my eyes out.

The least bit of sound coming from either one of my parents drives me up the wall. I have so few saving graces left in a day, and they all seem to involve me shutting myself out from the world around me.

Trying to write up “Aurelia”, the first part of Dirty Kind of Grace. Trying to write up “Fever Dreams”, the eighth part of Piano Man. Tweeting, blogging, writing, watching what is rapidly becoming a daily dose of Rick Stein on the cooking channel… It’s my escape. And if anyone even dares make a sound during it, so help me, I will snap.

I don’t know what caused this. Actually, I do know what caused this. 21 years of misery falling flat on my back and making me tense up so hard that I cried when the massage parlour didn’t have an open spot for me. As if mentally hurting wasn’t enough, the stress is now physically taking its toll on me.

I’m supposed to be strong. Supposed to. But the urge to hurt someone is deep and painful.

Heh. Guess I am hurting someone.

Myself.

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1 Comment

  1. Always here to chat. Always here if you need me. But bear in mind that I give tough-love. If you need a cuddle, you know there are many many people to support you in that way as well. Either way… we’re here.

    Reply

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