March 22nd, 2018
I’m back. Don’t know why, but I am.
Scratch that. I do know why. My shitty shrink thinks I’d benefit from “cathartic writing” because “we all need a non-judgmental confidant.” I told him my parents were paying him a lot of money to be my “non-judgmental confidant” and he said, “I am, I am, for sure you can confide in me, but sometimes people filter themselves, even with a psychiatrist. Some feelings are too real to share with anyone, so a journal might help in a way I can’t.”
Scratch that. I do know why. My shitty shrink thinks I’d benefit from “cathartic writing” because “we all need a non-judgmental confidant.” I told him my parents were paying him a lot of money to be my “non-judgmental confidant” and he said, “I am, I am, for sure you can confide in me, but sometimes people filter themselves, even with a psychiatrist. Some feelings are too real to share with anyone, so a journal might help in a way I can’t.”
What a shitty sack of shit. Doesn’t he know I can get that kind
of vapid, hole-in-the-head advice from television?
But hell. That’s when I thought
about AdaEyes. Total page views since April 2016: 1. And that was me making
sure my post went up. I was so sure I’d write everyday on my new blog. But I
was a junior and didn’t know shit about shit and I basically forgot about it
the second I finished my first post. So I guess Shitty Shrink had a point. Here
I am, writing. Like this is some super secret medicine that’s going to cure my
sick soul and bleed all the bad from my life and just make everything sparkly
and new. Like it never happened.
But something did happen. Fuck did
it happen. No amount of writing is going to change that. None. No amount of
anything. It’s all over and done and I’m still here and still fucked and I just
want to fucking SCREAM, but this is on a fucking COMPUTER and CAPITAL LETTERS
just don’t FUCKING do the same FUCKING thing as FUCKING SCREAMING.
Fuck.
I’ll try it, though. Might as well. Nothing else going on.
But not today. Today, I’m going to
find the thickest pillow in the quietest room and I’m going to scream my fucking
head off into that pillow until my throat is raw and I pass out from breath
loss. A couple of days. I’m going to come back and sit my happy ass down in
front of this computer and I’m going to write it all out. Everything that
happened to me and everything that happened to the other people and it’ll be
like screaming into a pillow – empty and silent and maybe, but probably not, cathartic.
Damn I hope Shitty Shrink knows
what he’s talking about. Because if screaming doesn’t work and writing doesn’t
work (and these friggin meds sure as shit aren’t working; just make me feel
even lazier) then there’ll be nothing left but an endless road paved in pain
and regret and that just sucks the big one.
Carrion wings blot out the sun
But for that,
I do not care
Let them come,
for at least some shall be spared
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